Hugo pitied the viscount. Guilt must eat away at his insides, knowing he was partly responsible for his sister’s demise. “While I’ve always found Miss Harper unstable and rather temperamental, none of us expected her to lose control of her mind.”

  “What with disease rife and the state of her mental condition, Sir Ellis doubts she’ll last twelve months in an asylum. Hanging her will only bring disgrace on our family, and to some extent, negative attention to the Bellhams.” Northcott hung his head in his hands.

  Silence descended.

  Hugo gave the viscount a moment to gather his thoughts before saying, “I gave Miss Venables fifty pounds and Flanders escorted her to Upavon. She’s staying with the vicar until she’s able to journey to London.”

  Northcott looked up. “While I knew she was a gentleman’s daughter, I did not know her father was Mr Hendry. The man was a reckless spendthrift. I could afford to gamble on my future. Evidently, he could not.”

  There was no easy way to accuse a peer of treason, of supporting the French and acting against the Crown, and so Hugo came straight to the point. “From what I hear, you’ve had to resort to smuggling to keep your creditors from your door.”

  “Smuggling?” Northcott narrowed his gaze. “Smuggling!”

  “Bellham worked for the Crown. He received information that you’re smuggling French spies into England.”

  “French spies? But that’s ludicrous.”

  “Miss Venables gave Bellham a note the night your sister murdered him, detailing specific journeys the Strawbridge was to make from Bordeaux to Southampton. I wrongly assumed that someone looking to retrieve the information killed Bellham. In truth, your sister knew nothing of your criminal activities and perceived of some other scandal. Bellham knew nothing of your sister’s fragile mind.”

  “Christ!” Northcott rubbed his bristled jaw.

  “Should I send for Sir Ellis and have you committed to Marlborough Gaol on the charge of treason?”

  Northcott’s chin dropped, and his eyes widened. “What the devil? Tell me you don’t believe that nonsense. When you mentioned the Strawbridge last night, I thought you were referring to the vessel being unfit for sea. The crossing from Bordeaux to Southampton can be treacherous this time of year. Some investors aired their concerns about carrying heavy cargo. Your friend Lord Kittredge was one of them. I presumed he mentioned it to you.”

  Hugo dropped into the chair and pondered the information. “Bellham must have heard about you smuggling spies from someone.”

  Northcott shrugged. “Perhaps an investor told a tale hoping the authorities would ground the ship. Then again, I’ve had dealings with a French merchant who roused my suspicions when he insisted a guard travel with his cargo. The cargo was so precious not even the captain could inspect the crates. Sensing something nefarious afoot, I told him to find another ship.”

  Hugo rubbed his temples to alleviate the dull ache. “Then why did Miss Venables record specific times and dates and give it to Bellham?” Hugo snatched the tatty note from the desk drawer and pushed it across the polished surface.

  With a brow wrinkled in curiosity, Northcott took the note, peeled back the folds and attempted to read the tiny script.

  “This might help.” Hugo retrieved the magnifying glass from the same drawer and handed it to the viscount. “Bellham must have asked her to make the note small enough to hide it in his boot.”

  Northcott peered through the glass and then snorted. “I hate to tell you this, but the only accurate pieces of information are the names of the ports and the ship. Did no one think to check the tide times?”

  Hugo relaxed back in the chair. Something Miss Venables said about lying to Miss Harper regarding the viscount’s whereabouts entered his mind. Had Miss Venables been so keen to make the viscount suffer that she fabricated information to pass to Bellham?

  Northcott sat forward. “Look, I shall visit the Home Office myself and explain all that’s occurred. Surely that will convince you I speak in earnest.”

  Miss Bennett was right—about most things, as it happened—Northcott was a rake, a gambler, but not a murderer and not disloyal to his country. Indeed, Hugo suspected Miss Venables may have fleeced him for fifty pounds. He’d lay odds she’d already fled the vicar’s house and was making her way back to London.

  “Very well. I shall expect a written statement from you denying Bellham’s allegations, detailing your version of events and who you’ve spoken to at the Home Office. A man is dead. I’ll not give anyone reason to question my loyalty.”

  The matter was agreed, and after the viscount conveyed a message from the coroner informing Hugo that Mr Palmer at Oakfield Farm had found Bellham’s horse, he left Wollaston Hall to visit Sir Ellis before continuing his journey to London.

  Having received Lord Forsyth’s permission to marry Miss Bennett—they would have eloped had he refused, and what lord didn’t want his granddaughter to marry an earl?—Hugo was surprised when a knock on the study door brought Forsyth and the soon-to-be Dowager Countess of Denham.

  When he reminded his mother of the impending change to her title, she said, “Well, that’s what we wanted to discuss with you, Hugo.” The lady sat in the chair vacated by Northcott. Forsyth stood behind, looking rather debonair in his forest-green coat, his elegant hands resting on Penelope’s shoulders. “We just hope we don’t offend you with our scandalous proposal.”

  Hugo kept his composure. What the hell were they about? Did his mother want him to marry or not? “Nothing will prevent me from marrying Lara Bennett. Let me make that clear at the outset.”

  Forsyth smiled. “I wouldn’t presume to come between two people in love.” There was a certain tone to the lord’s voice, a hint that he demanded the same consideration. Indeed, he confirmed Hugo’s theory when he added, “Your mother and I have discussed marriage, and we come hoping to secure your blessing.”

  Their desire to wed came as no surprise, though it added certain complications. His stepfather would also be his grandfather-in-law.

  “Do you want to marry at your age?” Hugo hoped to tease a reaction. While convinced the couple cared for each other deeply, he would hate for his mother to marry out of some past obligation. “You’re free to do as you please. It’s not as though there’s any financial reward in joining your houses. Is marriage not a business decision, Mother?”

  “Don’t be a pompous prattler, Hugo.” Penelope sighed. “What do you want me to say? That I’m a hypocrite? That you were right, and marriage should be about love?”

  “I’ve loved your mother for forty-one years,” Forsyth said with an air of supreme confidence. “And while I’ve wanted to marry her since the day we met, our personal experiences have tainted our view of matrimony.”

  The pounding in Hugo’s temples started again. “Please, it’s been an exhausting morning. You must explain yourselves clearly.”

  “We have decided not to marry,” Forsyth informed him. “We’ve decided to live together in complete and utter sin.”

  Penelope looked up at her suitor and smiled. “I’m tired of conforming to society’s expectations. Love cannot be determined by a set of rules.” She turned her attention to Hugo. “Of course it’s different for you. You need a countess. You need heirs. But say you’re happy for us. Say you’ll give us your blessing and agree to our thoroughly outrageous proposal.”

  After the shocking events of the weekend, this news proved mild in comparison. “There is nothing I want more than to make the woman I love my wife. How you choose to celebrate your love is your own affair.”

  “See!” Penelope exclaimed. “Did I not tell you he would understand?”

  At their age, few would cast aspersions. They possessed wealth and titles. Why couldn’t they live how they pleased?

  Penelope jumped from the chair, raced around the desk and kissed Hugo on the cheek. Clearly Forsyth’s flamboyancy was infectious. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe what a night we’ve had. We didn’t get a wink of sleep. Did we, Montague?”

  Good Lord! He had no interest in the details. He’d heard enough of their goings-on with his ear pressed to the bedchamber door.

  “While you were all tucked in your beds without a care in the world,” Penelope continued, “we were rampant—”

  “Mother!” Hugo held up his hands, a shield against hearing the words sure to rouse haunting visions whenever he entered that godforsaken room.

  “What?” Penelope blinked at him. “You look horrified. What have I said?”

  “We were rampant with excitement while planning a trip abroad,” Montague informed him, though the sinful smirk on his lips told an entirely different story.

  “Of course we were planning a trip abroad. What on earth did you think I meant?”

  A chuckle burst from Hugo’s lips. He tried to suppress it, but the need to release the tension of the last few days sent him into peals of laughter. Before long, they were all laughing though no one knew why.

  “Mother,” he eventually said, holding his stomach to ease the ache. “Do what makes you happy. Now, if you have nothing further to discuss, I intend to give my betrothed a tour of the stables.”

  Penelope frowned. “But it’s St Stephen’s Day. You gave the grooms and stable hands the day off.”

  “I’m quite capable of remembering the names of my own horses.” And it occurred to him that the stables would be deserted enough for lovers to partake in a quick roll in the hay. “Will you take tea with the remaining guests?” Someone needed to play host while he was otherwise engaged. “Lord Flanders has travelled widely and is a fountain of knowledge when it comes to touring the Continent.”

  Excitement brightened Penelope’s features. She hurried around the desk and captured Forsyth’s arm. “We could ask Lord Flanders about Greece as it’s one place you’ve never visited.” Usually, Penelope lacked the enthusiasm to leave Wiltshire. To see her like this warmed his heart.

  Leaving the couple to hunt for Lord Flanders, Hugo scoured the house looking for Miss Bennett. Knowing everyone else sat in the drawing room, he dared to venture into her bedchamber, hoping to find her there. When that proved fruitless, he found Crudging.

  “Have you seen Miss Bennett this morning?”

  Crudging inclined his head. “As I was trying to tell you a moment ago, my lord, when you raced upstairs, Miss Bennett left you a note.”

  A note!

  Curse the saints!

  Panic brought bile bubbling up into his throat. Forsyth mentioned nothing about her leaving.

  “Well?” Hugo thrust out his hand when Crudging failed to offer the missive. “Where is it?”

  Embarrassment stained the butler’s cheeks. He reached into the pocket of his immaculate coat and placed a tiny square of paper into Hugo’s palm. “I swear, my lord, that when the lady asked for paper and ink, she was given every resource.”

  Hugo patted his butler on the arm. “I’m sure Miss Bennett did not find our resources lacking. Now, I shall retire to the study and root out my magnifying glass.”

  He did just that.

  Relieved to find but six words written on the note, and not a lengthy explanation why they couldn’t wed, he studied them with feverish excitement.

  Love awaits you in the tower.

  His mouth curled into a wicked grin.

  Minx!

  With his body burning to join her, he threw on his greatcoat and raced to the orchard. The torrential rain poured down as if the heavenly angels had taken to emptying hordes of buckets. Water lashed his face, dripped off the brim of his hat. As he quickened his pace, he slipped on the sodden grass more times than he could count.

  Once at the tower, he hurried inside, removed his hat and greatcoat and shook off the excess water. Then he mounted the stairs two at a time.

  “Crudging gave you my note.” Lara’s soft voice reached out to him like a siren’s song, pulling him into the room. Dressed in nothing but a thin chemise, and with her damp hair cascading over her shoulders, his betrothed stood poking the fire.

  “You’ve been busy,” he said, removing his coat and draping it over the chair. He noted the split logs filling the wicker basket, the plush bed on the floor made with furs and blankets. A tray laden with shortbread, spiced apple cake, wine and two glasses sat on a trestle near the fire. “Clearly you have magical powers. You bewitched me the moment we met. But how the devil did you achieve this on your own?”

  She laid the poker on the grate, brushed soot off her hands and padded over to him. “I wish I could say I used a spell.” With deft fingers, she unbuttoned his waistcoat. “But I’ve made at least three journeys while you’ve been busy with Lord Northcott.”

  He shrugged out of his waistcoat and let it fall to the floor.

  “Did your mother tell you that she’s planning a trip with Montague?” Lara untied his cravat, gripped one end and tugged it slowly from his neck.

  “Yes, they’re planning to live in sin.” He didn’t give a damn what they did. Blood pumped through his body at a rapid rate. He was so hard for this woman he was surprised she hadn’t noticed. “Planning to live in sin while touring the world at their leisure. Considering Penelope has never ventured north of Upavon, it’s rather remarkable.” Not as remarkable as the woman currently tugging his shirt from his breeches.

  “I saw Lord Northcott leave. He seemed rather jolly for a man accused of treason.” She pushed her hands up under his shirt and caressed his chest.

  Hugo closed his eyes briefly and tried to calm his breathing. “Miss Venables invented the details in the note to make Northcott look guilty. She’s probably on her way to London with my fifty pounds filling her reticule.”

  “It’s only money,” she said as she teased his nipples to peak. “Nothing surprises me when it comes to any of the guests.” She drew his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor to join his other garments. Lust lit her eyes when she gazed upon his bare chest. “I’ve wanted to do this all morning.” And with that, she took his nipple into her mouth and sucked.

  “Hellfire! Love, you know how to tease me.”

  “Oh, I’m not teasing.” She offered a sultry smile. “You will have me, Lord Denham, make no mistake about that.”

  The moment she traced the line of hair leading from his navel down below the waistband of his breeches, his control snapped. Indeed, he was naked and thrusting inside her on their makeshift bed before his mind caught up with his body.

  “God, have I told you I love you this morning.” He pushed deep, relishing the feel of her warm body.

  “Numerous times,” she said just before a sweet moan left her lips. “And I love you, in case you’re in any doubt.”

  “This has been one hell of a house party.”

  The dreamy softness in her eyes spoke of lust and love. “So you’re not at all mad at me for inventing a story?”

  “Hell, no.” He bent his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that conveyed all that was in his heart. “This festive season has been the most taxing, the most trying of my entire life. But in the process, I have found something wonderful.” He stilled above her, filling her full, claiming the only woman he had ever loved. “I found you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Three months later

  “Montague writes a very entertaining letter.” Hugo laughed again and shook his head. “I didn’t know he could draw. Not as well as your father, of course, but he has some skill with a pencil.”

  Lara gazed at her husband across the dining table. Whenever he laughed, it played havoc with her insides, but she resisted the urge to round the table and straddle his thighs.

  “See, he has drawn a little sketch of my mother in front of the amphitheatre in Verona.” Hugo passed the letter across the table and then tucked into his ham and eggs.

  “They’re extending their stay.” Lara scanned the missive, looking for an indication of how long they might be away. “They intend to visit Pompeii and Herculaneum.” Lord, that would add weeks to their journey.

  Hugo dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they went further afield. Neither of them have any real reason to return. In his last letter, your grandfather spoke of visiting a friend in Egypt.”

  “Well, they’re certainly making the most of every second.” Lara looked at the food on her plate and almost heaved.

  “As are we.” He arched a brow in the sinful way that usually had them racing upstairs.

  Lord, she could not get enough of her husband.

  Knowing she should try to eat something, she took toast from the silver rack and spent an age slathering butter from corner to corner while she read Montague’s letter.

  “Would you like more toast with your butter?” Hugo teased.

  She took one bite to appease him. One more and she might have to race from the table and cast up her accounts. While she considered herself a knowledgeable woman when it came to most things, she wished Penelope was around to offer advice in feminine matters.

  Aware of her husband’s gaze, she looked up to find him staring intently. “You look tired this morning. A little pale. Am I to blame, for keeping you up late last night?”

  Lara smiled at the memory of their midnight escapade to the tower. She had been tired, but Hugo had spent the last month overseeing the new decoration, creating a sitting room for her on the third floor that boasted fabulous views across the terrace. Of course, they’d fallen into bed and not returned to the main house until the early hours.

  “Perhaps,” she said, “but I wouldn’t change last night for the world.”

  He continued to study her with some suspicion as he sipped his coffee. “They’re finally starting work on the old bothy next week.”

  “Are you sure you wish to see it razed to the ground?” Every time they walked past the brick building, thoughts of Mr Bellham and Miss Harper filled their heads. “It won’t change what happened.”

 

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