Free Her Perfect Match by Jess Michaels

together.
    “Where would that place them?” he asked, cautious for fear he would frighten her away if he pressed too hard.
    She continued to stare off toward the road. “A tiny little village called Sapsgate.”
    He frowned. He’d never heard of the place and he wished he had. He wished he’d traveled through there dozens of times, if only to make some kind of connection to the person Vivien had been before she came to London and closed herself off for her role as mistress of mistresses.
    “When I came to London, I recall passing by this park. Perhaps we even stopped here to take our ease before continuing on to the city,” she whispered, still lost in memories he could not access.
    “How old were you?” he asked.
    “Eighteen,” she said, then shook her head as if she was just remembering where she was and who she was with. She smiled at him.
    He balked. He knew a little about her history, the parts that were public. She had taken her first lover ten years ago, becoming an instant point of interest from the moment she stepped into Society on the arm of…who had it been? He could not recall.
    “You very quickly came into the life of a mistress,” he said. “You were nineteen when you became well-known as well.”
    She shrugged off the statement and moved toward the blanket to look at the spread before them. “My goodness, Benedict, your cook looks to be as spectacular as ever if this food is any indication! Is it still Mrs. Sterling?”
    He drew back a fraction. “I’m shocked you remember that! Yes, she is still with me.”
    Vivien dropped to her knees on the blanket and spread her skirts around her for more comfort. She took an olive from a crockery container and popped it between her lips.
    “It is my duty to recall a great many details about the men in my life.”
    He sat down beside her and watched as she began to load a plate with all his favorites from the selections before her.
    “Do you mean to tell me you recall the names of every cook from any lover you’ve taken?” he asked as he took the plate she offered. “As well as every lover’s favorite dishes?”
    She smiled. “Your favorite dishes may be the only ones I recall, I admit.”
    Benedict straightened up at that unexpected admission and her face faltered slightly before she pushed forward, talking to fill the space.
    “And Mrs. Sterling was a stunning cook. Of course I would remember her. I suppose there are little details I recall about any man with whom I spent significant time. It is the nature of my role to notice details and retain them.”
    Once again, she shrugged off any connection that remained between them as a symptom of what she did, what she was . But Benedict had seen the twinkle in her eyes as she teased him, the light that faded when she realized she had strayed too close to emotion.
    The connection they had once shared was not quite so dead as Vivien would like him to believe.
    “You know,” she said as she began to eat from her own plate. “I heard your brother married.”
    Benedict hesitated a moment. She was not looking at him but across the expanse of lawn toward the lake. Still, he could feel her awareness of him. She spoke of his family in order to give herself space from whatever brewed between them. He would give it to her, for now.
    “Yes, Derek married in the winter and is still awash in newlywed bliss,” he responded, still watching her.
    She turned toward him, her expression questioning. “Then it was a love match?” she asked, her tone totally incredulous.
    Benedict did not understand her disbelief. She had met his brother all of three times during the months they spent together. Two of the times he hadn’t even seen them interact beyond an introduction. The third had consisted of mostly polite conversation, though his brother had not hidden his disapproval of the relationship between them.
    “I suppose it did not begin that way,” he conceded slowly. “Our mother arranged for him to meet his