One Winter's Night, page 9
“I understand completely.” He stole a glance at Miss Bennett. “One’s passions can be all-consuming.” Indeed, a man about to plunge into a grand love affair might act recklessly, too. And he’d most certainly grasped his opportunity with both hands.
Miss Pardue blinked back her surprise. “You mean you do not disapprove, my lord?” Hope shone in her eyes. “If I thought you might support my ambition, I might be more inclined to wed. Evidently, your mother is desperate to find you a bride.”
Hell, the last thing he needed was another Miss Harper fawning over him. “Contrary to my mother’s wishes, Miss Pardue, I am not inclined to marry because position demands it. But have faith. I know of other men who are forward thinking. There’s a surgeon of some eminence in London who has expressed a need to find a wife. Love can blossom when two people are like-minded. I imagine there are lively discussions to be had on the matter of cadavers.”
“Decomposition is a fascinating topic, my lord.”
“Might I ask a question?” Miss Bennett looked at Miss Pardue’s boots and breeches. “What prompted you to dress in gentlemen’s clothing?”
Miss Pardue smoothed her hands over her beige buckskins. “Because one feels surprisingly efficient in breeches.”
Miss Bennett smiled. “If you have any hope of changing men’s opinions, Miss Pardue, you must embrace your sex, not disguise it. Now, might we borrow your notes to show the coroner and magistrate? Your rough sketch of the wound is most impressive.”
“Of course.” Miss Pardue beamed with pride. “I trust you won’t mention this incident to Lady Denham. My mother would have a fit of the vapours if she knew. They lock girls away in Bedlam for less.”
“You have our word we shall not mention your hobby to a living soul.” Hugo inclined his head. He was desperate to get rid of the woman for he had his own consuming passions to contend with. “Good night, Miss Pardue.”
The lady bowed and curtseyed. “Good night, my lord. And good night to you, Miss Bennett.” Miss Pardue paused in the doorway. “My lord, should you feel willing to offer an introduction to the gentleman you mentioned, I would not be averse to a meeting.”
“Then I shall host a dinner party on my next visit to London.”
Miss Pardue clutched her arms to her breast. “And I shall be most eager to attend. Thank you, my lord. Good night.”
Hugo waited for Miss Pardue to close the door, waited to hear the crunch of snow as she retreated along the path, before turning his attention to Miss Bennett.
“We should dress Mr Bellham,” she said with some urgency, “and then return to the house. I can barely feel my toes.”
Hugo had a remedy for that, but the old bothy was no place to seduce the woman he intended to marry. “I can see to matters here if you wish to return with Miss Pardue.”
“Why would I want to leave with Miss Pardue when I can spend the evening with you?”
Masculine pride sent a bolt of desire straight to his loins. “Then attend to Bertie’s stockings and boots, and I shall see to the rest.”
They worked in silence for a minute before Miss Bennett said, “I’m not an expert on human nature, nor do I profess to know anything about the workings of the criminal mind, but I believe Miss Mason-Jones and Miss Pardue are innocent of any crime.”
“I am inclined to agree with you.”
“Then, other than the servants, that leaves Miss Harper and Miss Venables on the list of suspects.”
“I can vouch that none of my servants committed this heinous act. And you’re forgetting Lord Northcott. Perhaps the man has a strawberry embroidered on his silk drawers.”
A resigned sigh escaped her. “I doubt Mr Bellham even said the word strawberry. What if confusion addled his mind and our amateur investigation is for nothing?”
Hugo fastened the last brass button on Bertie’s waistcoat and stared at the woman who held him enthralled. “Not for nothing.” His passion for her clung to every word. “We may have struggled to find a motive for murder, but we’ve found something infinitely more rewarding. And when it comes to sharing an intimate moment with you, I’m no dabbler.”
She fell silent for a moment.
Doubt surfaced. He’d not imagined the lustful look in her eyes or the affectionate way she touched him. He’d not imagined that she had devoured his mouth with equal enthusiasm. Yes, they’d known each other for a ridiculously short time, but their attraction went beyond mere compatibility. Fate knew of his dilemma and had delivered an angel to his door.
“No, my lord, there was nothing amateurish about the way you kissed me.”
“I’ve never kissed a woman like that before.”
She frowned. “Like what?”
“With the need to fuse two souls into one.” He could drink from her mouth for an eternity though doubted it would be enough to quench his thirst.
“My experience amounts to a few stolen pecks with the youngest son of one of Montague’s friends.”
Jealousy writhed in his chest. “Tell me his name, and I shall call him out for the indiscretion.”
She laughed. “It is not an indiscretion when both parties are willing. I was curious, but he tasted of cheroots and brandy, and it was terribly unpleasant.”
“And how did I taste, Miss Bennett?”
She arched a coy brow and smiled. “Warm and spicy. Like nectar from the gods.”
For the umpteenth time in less than an hour, lustful urges took command of his mind and body. He would make this woman his before the weekend was out. Indeed, had his conscience not waged war with his throbbing manhood, he might have suggested they retire to his bedchamber.
The lady bent down and picked up Bellham’s boot. She gripped the sole and was about to push it onto his dead friend’s foot, but then suddenly gasped. “Good Lord!”
“What is it?”
“This is not Mr Bellham’s boot. After his mumbled words at the gate, I took notice of his footwear. He wore hessians with the notable V-cut at the front. This is a tan top-boot. Judging by how easy it is to push it on, it’s clearly too big.”
Hugo couldn’t help but smile.
“You find something amusing, my lord?”
“No. It’s just I told myself that a lady with your sharp perception would notice. As well as removing the blade, I swapped boots with Bellham when I brought him in here and asked for some time alone.”
“You did?” She blinked rapidly. “Might I say that’s rather ingenious given the circumstances. If Mr Bellham’s dying words were to convey that the killer came from the house, his comment about his boots might be equally important.”
“The problem is, Bertie’s boots are so small my toes curl at the ends.” Suppressing his desire for Miss Bennett did that, too. “I hid them in my dressing room but sensed someone had been rummaging while we were distributing alms, and so thought the safest place for them was on my feet.”
“Have you examined the boots? I presume you’ve checked Mr Bellham hasn’t sewn a note inside the lining.”
“I’ve checked the stitching and looked for bulges in the leather.” He’d barely had a moment to himself since they’d found Bertie’s body. And he reserved every spare second for amorous thoughts of Miss Bennett. “But after walking in them tonight, the heel of the left boot feels loose.”
“Loose?” Miss Bennett’s eyes widened. “I know it’s cold, but perhaps you might remove it so we can examine the heel in more detail.”
“That’s easy to say, but I fear we’ll need the strength of ten men to yank the damn thing off.”
“Maybe I can help.” She pushed the boot onto Bellham’s foot to demonstrate. “I find the best way is to grip the boot at the ankle and perform a twisting motion.”
Was there anything this woman couldn’t do? Erotic images played in his mind. He might suggest she straddle his lap and push from the knee. It would prove useless, of course, but what a pleasurable few minutes it would be.
Hugo watched her thrust the other boot onto Bertie’s foot. “Then I suggest we leave Bellham to rest in peace and take our examination elsewhere.”
“Not the drawing room. Montague and Penelope are discussing the reasons she married your father all those years ago. The conversation sounded rather heated when I crept past while fetching my cloak.”
“Although distressing at first, your grandfather’s arrival has wrought a change in my mother. We should afford them privacy to air their grievances.” And a man of Forsyth’s experience would take one look at his granddaughter and know some devil had plundered her mouth. “Besides, we cannot risk being seen in the house.”
While he contemplated what to do, frustrated that an earl faced restrictions in his own home, Miss Bennett wrapped her cloak around her and shivered.
“If this were the height of summer we might escape to the barn.” Her icy breath mingled with the frigid air. “But I fear if we do not return to the house soon, we shall be naught but frozen statues come the morning.”
The mere mention of summer jolted his memory. “There’s the Summer Tower, though no one has used it these past forty years. It’s a few minutes’ walk beyond the orchard.” His heart galloped at the prospect of being alone with her in a place considered a lovers’ hideaway. “Should someone discover us there, you might find yourself shackled with a husband.” And he didn’t mean Lord Flanders.
“Is someone likely to find us there?” The glint in her eyes said he’d aroused the adventuress within.
“I doubt it.”
She studied him for a moment. “Then let us tend to Mr Bellham and be on our way.”
The tower was once a lookout post for the medieval house that had originally existed on Hugo’s land, and his great-grandfather had turned it into a secret hideaway. Hugo’s father had insisted the solid oak door remain unlocked. Bartholomew de Wold’s lack of faith in his wife often roused ugly suspicions. Distrust thrived in the mind of a man whose wife was forced to the altar, even during those times they lived in different counties.
“How quaint.” Miss Bennett scanned the small sitting room, sparse but for two chairs, a small oak table and sideboard. “I presume there are more rooms in the tower.”
“The spiral staircase leads to a bedchamber.” Hugo pointed to the arched doorway. He placed the lantern, left in the bothy by Miss Pardue, onto the table. “The third floor gives access to a roof terrace. Sunrise is spectacular from such a vantage point.”
“I would love to take a tour.” She arched a brow. “Then again, it’s one thing being caught sitting around a table, another for someone to stumble upon us in a bedchamber while I’m tugging off your boot.”
“You cannot leave without taking in the view,” he said, sucking in a breath when she lowered her hood to reveal a mass of rich brown tresses. “I shall remain here.” He welcomed the diversion. Keeping his hands from exploring every inch of her delectable body grew more difficult by the minute.
She nodded and took to the stairs. The echo of her boots on the ancient steps told him she’d gone straight to the top floor to admire the white winter landscape that stretched for miles.
While awaiting her return, Hugo tugged at his left boot. After a brief struggle, he yanked the damn thing off.
Miss Bennett found him sitting at the table examining the heel beneath the light of the lamp. “I could stay up there all night,” she said, pulling out a chair to join him. “You can almost touch the stars where the clouds break to reveal an inky sky.”
He glanced up from his task, and her brilliant smile sent his heart leaping to his throat. “Indeed.”
“Is the heel loose?” she asked. “Shall I see if I can find a knife to use as leverage?”
“Yes, there might be one in the sideboard drawer.” While she rummaged around, he continued to tug at the heel. “There’s definitely something—wait.”
Hugo twisted the bottom of the heel, and it came off in his hand. Inside the hollow space, he found a folded piece of paper, two inches square and a little damp and tatty around the edges. He peeled back the folds and studied the minute pencil notes.
Miss Bennett appeared at his side and bent over his shoulder. “Can you read that? The writing is so small.”
He pointed to the first line. “The word Bertie muttered wasn’t strawberry but Strawbridge.”
“Strawbridge? There’s no one here by that name. Unless he’s referring to one of your servants.”
“From the dates and times recorded, it is fair to assume that the Strawbridge is a ship. See, here is the schedule for three upcoming journeys from ports in France. It looks like the route from Bordeaux to Southampton.”
Miss Bennett leaned closer, so close he could smell the intoxicating scent of her jasmine perfume. A silky lock of her hair fell over his shoulder. “The fact Mr Bellham hid this in his boot implies something nefarious will occur on these dates.”
Hugo cast her a sidelong glance. He tried to ignore the way her lashes fluttered against the perfect softness of her skin. “And he must have planned to pass the information to someone here.”
“Though not to Lord Northcott,” she said. “Else he would have given him the note whilst staying at the Swan in Amesbury.”
“Unless Northcott is lying.” A conversation he’d had with his mother the night Miss Bennett arrived flashed into his mind. “Northcott has recently invested in a new shipping venture. What are the odds one vessel is named the Strawbridge?”
Silence ensued while they both pondered the information.
Miss Bennett inhaled sharply. “Perhaps the viscount is involved in smuggling, and Mr Bellham discovered his secret.”
“My mother did suggest the venture was highly lucrative.”
“Why else list specific times and dates? And Mr Bellham did mutter the word Judas.”
“Judas. A betrayer to friend and country,” Hugo mused. “Bellham must have had an ally in this house. Someone he trusted to act on the information.”
“What if he came to inform you of what he’d discovered? As an earl, you have more power to pursue a viscount than Mr Bellham does.”
A chill ran down Hugo’s back. “If what we surmise is true, it gives the viscount a motive for murder.” Yes, and the bastard was taking full advantage of Hugo’s hospitality. “We must mention this to the coroner and the magistrate when they arrive.”
That said, no justice of the peace would arrest a peer based on nothing but supposition. They needed unshakeable proof of the viscount’s guilt before throwing accusations.
Hugo folded the note and slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat.
“Wait!” Miss Bennett clasped his arm. “A man capable of murder will be steps ahead. For all we know, the viscount is aware of every aspect of our investigation. In the interests of safety, you must not keep the evidence on your person.”
Hugo observed the dark shadows of fear dancing in her eyes. “Is that simply a logical suggestion, Miss Bennett? Or might a man hope you care something for his welfare?”
Her only response was to cup his cheek. “Hide the note somewhere here, but not before we have memorised the dates and times.”
She was right.
While they were trailing a murderer, what’s to say a murderer wasn’t trailing them?
“You remember the first line. I’ll remember the second and so on.” He handed her the note to read while he reattached the heel and thrust his foot inside the boot.
Their fingers brushed as she gave him back the note. Fear gripped him. The need to protect her, to send her away, far away from this den of corruption took precedence. “You should leave this house come first light. The vicar will gladly offer you a room for a few days. As soon as you’re able, you should return to Chippenham.” It pained him to say the words, but it was perhaps the most selfless thing he had ever said.
Miss Bennett appeared aghast. “You want me to go?” She swallowed deeply. “To leave you in your hour of need?”
Hell, no!
But desperate men did desperate things, and he would not see her caught up in this web of treachery.
“You’re the bright light of truth in a house full of lies and deceit. I’ll not compromise your safety.” Northcott had already shown a marked interest in her. But did his desire to bed her stem from more than the fact she was the most captivating woman in attendance? “Honesty flows like blood in your veins, Miss Bennett, and I’d rather you escape this rancid environment and leave me to deal with the matter.”
A heavy silence descended.
She stared at him, and her bottom lip quivered. Water filled her eyes. “You honour me with your words, my lord, but I cannot own to being truthful and honest with you. Indeed, when you’ve heard what I have to say, you will think me the worst of deceivers.”
The worst of deceivers?
Damnation! What the devil had she done?
His heartbeat galloped, hurtled towards the cliff edge with no notion of how far he might fall. Knots formed in his stomach. So, had his mother handpicked her to play the damsel in distress? She had tricked him. Miss Bennett had employed the same cunning devices as every other woman of his acquaintance. “Then I had better hear your confession.”
Chapter Ten
Stories had a beginning, a middle and an end. Simple really. So why was Lara’s mind a jumbled mess of excuses? Where should she start? With two lovers whose lives were ripped apart by a father obsessed with money and ambition? With the premise that it’s never too late to love?
Lara drew her cloak across her chest for the room seemed decidedly colder. “I did not arrive at Wollaston Hall by accident. I was on my way to Chippenham. But I’d been in London with my grandfather visiting friends. On our return home, we stopped in Netheravon.”
The earl’s face remained as hard as stone. “So, the story about your sick companion and the need to spend Christmas with your grandfather was a lie?”
“Yes, but for a good reason, I can assure you.”
“Is there ever a good reason to lie, Miss Bennett?” His icy tone mirrored the chill in the air.
Lara swallowed down the lump in her throat and gathered the courage to tell this tale. “While in London, during a discussion about marrying for the right reasons, my grandfather told me about his first love. His one true love.”
