One winters night, p.3
One Winter's Night, page 3
“If Miss Bennett means to remain here for the festivities,” Lady Denham continued, “you must introduce her to our guests.” She raised her chin. “Should anyone ask, I am away discussing seating arrangements, now we have an extra guest to contend with.”
Two extra guests, Lara thought, though she daren’t mention Lord Montague Forsyth would arrive at Wollaston Hall tomorrow. Based on her previous reaction, the matron would expire on the spot.
Lady Denham brushed her skirts and sauntered from the room, leaving Lara alone with the earl. Perhaps now he would reprimand her for her outspoken comments regarding his character.
“Allow me to play butler, Miss Bennett, and take your cloak.” Amused blue eyes scanned her face.
She tugged at the damp bow, permitted him to come behind her and ease the garment from her shoulders. A shiver of awareness coursed down to her cold toes. When Lara agreed to assist in Montague’s harebrained plan, he failed to mention the earl’s striking features or that the gathering was arranged purposely to find the gentleman a bride.
“May I commend you on your bravery?” he said, draping her cloak over his arm.
“Why? Because I managed to battle through the terrible storm?” Or because she was the first lady to dismiss his wealth and title in preference of character?
“No other lady alive would dare tell my mother to attend to her hair.” The earl seemed rather pleased, spoke as if he had finally found an ally. With a light touch to her back he guided her from the room, and again she experienced the comforting sense of fellowship. A warm glow swirled in her stomach that had nothing to do with the nip of brandy she’d taken earlier.
“So, Miss Bennett, are you ready to meet the vultures?”
Lara cast him a sidelong glance. “Cynicism is the devil’s friend, my lord. How might you notice a lady’s virtues if you’re constantly living in the dark?”
“You’re as free with your opinions as I am, Miss Bennett.”
“Perhaps, but I express them to those concerned, and only when prompted.” She hoped she was a little more tactful.
Mischief played in his bright blue eyes. “What are you saying? That I might always expect an honest answer from you?”
“Yes, always.”
He paused, though his smug grin spoke of a wicked plan. “So, you meant what you said earlier? You think I’m handsome, Miss Bennett?”
Hell’s bells. The man was a tease and a cynic.
Lara looked him keenly in the eyes. “Dangerously so, my lord.”
Chapter Three
As expected, Miss Bennett received a lukewarm reception from the ladies in the drawing room. While the chits’ mouths curled into half smiles, and they welcomed the new arrival with the politeness befitting their stations, fear and loathing flashed in their eyes whenever Miss Bennett shifted her attention.
The opposite might be said of Lord Flanders whose brown eyes glowed as hot as his fiery red hair. He looked upon the new guest as if she had descended in a shower of gold—a heavenly miracle delivered in celebration of the religious festival.
“How remarkable, Miss Bennett,” Lord Flanders said as they moved to the outskirts of the room. He brought the lady’s hand to his thin lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “My carriage is also stuck north of West Chisenbury.”
Hugo suppressed a sigh. Hardly remarkable considering the weather. “I’m to fetch Miss Bennett’s valise if you wish to accompany me and assess the conditions.” Flanders’ love affair with his new carriage had seen him cursing the weather as one might a jealous rival with wicked intentions.
Flanders’ eyes grew wide. “Most certainly. But should you not simply send a groom?”
“Why trouble the staff when I have need to inspect the roads?” And any excuse to leave the house would have him in the saddle in seconds. “It’s a five-minute ride on horseback.”
Flanders glanced at the ladies seated on the sofas. “Ah, you find their company tedious and wish to escape. I cannot blame you. There is nothing more disconcerting than desperate gels.”
“Often it is not the ladies who are desperate but their controlling mamas,” Miss Bennett pointed out, not at all offended by Flanders’ outspoken manner. She turned to Hugo, and he found himself held captive by her big brown eyes. “There is no need to venture out on my account. I shan’t be here long. My grandfather will have the cavalry searching when I fail to arrive in Chippenham.”
And he would need help from the cavalry to make it this far. “I’m told the roads are impassable between Cherhill and Upavon. Carriage travel is out of the question. Only a fool would dare risk riding their mount further than a few miles.”
Miss Bennett’s bow-shaped lips curled into a coy smile. “You don’t know my grandfather. He would rather perish in the cold than sit at home worried and idle.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Hugo noticed Miss Harper slither towards them.
Every muscle in his body stiffened.
“Though you mentioned your grandfather, Miss Bennett, I have no recollection of ever meeting the gentleman,” Miss Harper said, depositing herself into the conversation. “Every notable member of the nobility attended Lady Monroe’s summer ball, though I recall no mention of a Lord Forsyth.”
“I doubt you would,” Miss Bennett replied, unfazed by the chit’s probing. “My grandfather finds town tiresome. The people dull and dreadful bores.” It was said as a statement of fact, not a set-down.
Hugo suppressed a grin and took a sidestep. Miss Harper had no concept of personal space, not when on a mission to seduce a man into marriage. He could not deny the lady had an enviable figure. And while considered beautiful by most men’s standards, her ugly arrogance distorted her fine features.
Miss Harper sucked in her cheeks. “When a gentleman prefers sitting alone by the fireside to waltzing in town, one must question who is the bore.” Her affected chuckle grated.
Miss Bennett simply smiled—a serene image of loveliness—though he suspected her reply would prove entertaining. “I did not say he prefers sitting alone. On the contrary, Montague Forsyth does not queue on the streets of Mayfair like a herd at a gate waiting to gain admission. He hosts his own select parties and receives many distinguished guests.”
Excitement fluttered in Hugo’s chest. Perhaps it stemmed from the sense of pleasure he gained from seeing Miss Harper struggle against her formidable foe. Perhaps he fancied himself a tiny bit in love with any woman who could command a conversation so eloquently.
“Distinguished guests whose names you have no doubt forgotten.” Miss Harper’s bitter counter made her look ridiculous and petty.
“Yes.” Miss Bennett pursed her lips in contemplation. “You might be right.”
Rather than ring with defeat, Miss Bennett’s reply defused any hostility. If anything, her honest response drew attention to Miss Harper’s spitefulness. Still, the latter had poison for blood, and the pernicious substance looked for any means to attack and denigrate.
“But you’re not a Forsyth,” Miss Harper clarified. “Bennett is a relatively common name.”
Miss Bennett laughed. “Common, yes, but that is the last word I would use to describe the gentleman whose name I bear. He was the most spirited, most inspiring person I have ever known.”
Love radiated from Miss Bennett. It glowed in her wide brown eyes, stirring envy in his chest. Any man would be lucky to be the subject of such esteem and admiration, which reinforced Hugo’s determination not to marry a lady of his mother’s choosing.
“A landowner?” Miss Harper persisted with her questions.
“An excellent painter and a hopeless romantic. Most famous for his works detailing notable places on the Grand Tour. His particular fondness for Italy is evident in his catalogue of works.”
Hugo snapped his head back. “Not Phineas Bennett?”
“Indeed.” Miss Bennett’s beaming smile played havoc with Hugo’s insides. “Did you know him?”
“I had the pleasure of meeting him once in Florence. He was painting a picture of the Basilica di San Lorenzo and explained most passionately why he thought it an architectural masterpiece.”
“Yes, that painting hangs in my grandfather’s study. The Bargello courtyard is a favourite of mine, though I believe Lord Gray owns it now.” She clutched her hands to her breast. “My father was granted a special dispensation to paint there. One can hardly believe such a beautiful place is used to house prisoners. Surely it must affect the rates of reform.”
While Miss Harper glared with her snake eyes, and Flanders looked on in wonder as the angel spread her wings, Hugo felt something he had never experienced before. Interest. Interest in a woman for more than her curvaceous body—interest in her mind.
Hell’s teeth!
“It must have been some time ago, my lord.” Miss Bennett’s captivating smile faded. “Both my parents perished in a boating accident off the coast of Italy eight years ago.”
Hugo inclined his head. “Please accept my condolences.”
During his tour, he’d been a young man of twenty with a feverish enthusiasm for adventure. Now, the weight of responsibility hung like a heavy chain around his neck. The duty to marry and sire an heir would add a few more links to his burden.
“My parents were very much in love, my lord. I take comfort knowing they’re together.”
“Ah, love, the elusive emotion that evades the best of men.”
“Indeed.”
The sadness in her eyes caused inner turmoil. The urge to see her smile again overpowered all other thoughts and feelings. So much so, he hardly noticed Miss Harper slithering away to join the other ladies on the sofa. Hardly cared that Flanders stood drooling on the Persian rug.
“Perhaps you might like to accompany me on the ride out to your carriage, Miss Bennett.” The words left his lips before his brain engaged. Why the hell would she? The bitter wind bit the cheeks. Three steps from the door and one would struggle to feel their toes. “The air in here can be somewhat cloying, and we’ve more than an hour until the dinner gong.”
No other woman of his acquaintance would accept. Most worried about their complexions, their new boots, the damp conditions ruining their hair. An hour was not long enough to preen themselves to perfection. Hope sprung to life in his chest. The daughter of such an eminent man as Phineas Bennett must surely be different.
Miss Bennett’s curious brown eyes studied him. “Is it wise to take the horses out in this weather?”
“Spurius is my preferred mount. Does that answer your question?”
“Spurius? As in the name once popular throughout the Roman Republic?”
Hmm. Her level of intelligence proved most impressive. “In Latin, does it not mean champion?”
“I have no notion but will trust your word.”
“You may ride with me.” Again, he spoke before logic intervened. “Purely out of concern for the horses, you understand. Besides, we will be there and back within twenty minutes.”
The corners of her mouth curled into a smile. She glanced at the closed curtains. “It’s dark out.”
“You may hold the lantern.”
She needed no further inducement. “Very well. I shall find your butler and fetch my cloak and gloves.”
Good Lord! An adventurous spirit proved highly attractive.
He thought to summon Crudging himself but did not wish to alert the other guests of their plans. He thought to retrieve her cloak but did not wish to leave her alone with Lord Flanders. Instead, Hugo stood and watched Miss Bennett leave the room.
“By Jove,” Flanders said, slapping him on the back. “Once you’ve made the obvious choice of taking Miss Harper for your bride, I was going to comfort Miss Mason-Jones and suggest a possible alliance. But the new arrival has blown everyone’s plans out of the water.” Flanders exhaled. “I mean, have you ever met a woman happy to converse about art and travel?”
“No. Such women are a rarity.”
Miss Bennett had swept into the house and turned everything upside down. Not since his youth had he felt the need to warn a man away from a woman he was pursuing. Jealousy roused the devil inside. Possessiveness flowed like blood in his veins.
He glanced at Miss Harper, whose beady gaze still lingered on the door. “Miss Bennett has certainly made an impression.”
The mile ride to West Chisenbury was not without its hardships. It had nothing to do with cold fingers or navigating the inches of snow covering the lane. It had nothing to do with the constant flurry of snowflakes sticking to one’s lips and lashes. Or the fact the sinking feeling in his stomach meant dinner was long overdue. Miss Bennett struggled to hold the lantern in the blustering wind. She swapped hands, shuffled her bottom against him in the seat. Being a man of experience, a man able to suppress the unexpected effects of desire and bouts of lust, he found himself in a quandary.
“I can hardly see more than a few feet ahead.” Miss Bennett held the lantern aloft although the blizzard threatened to extinguish the flame. She wriggled in the saddle. “It cannot be much further, my lord.”
Hugo suppressed a groan. “No, just around the next bend.” It didn’t help that she sat trapped between his arms, locked in a sort of embrace, or that sometimes the gusts forced her back against his chest. “Would you prefer I hold the lantern and you take the reins?”
“No. You know the road and the horse better than I do.”
Miss Pardue would have accepted the challenge, desperate to prove herself equal to a man. Miss Harper would have snatched the reins, eager to feed her voracious need to take charge. Miss Mason-Jones would have been so lost in a daydream she would not have replied. But Miss Bennett possessed the skill of speaking with authority without stripping a man of his masculinity.
Damnation!
Surely sometime soon the lady would make a ridiculous comment, display an ugly trait to dampen his ardour. At this rate, he’d end up with black toes, as the only warm blood in his body continued to pool in his loins.
“Perhaps Miss Bennett should ride back with me,” Flanders said, nudging his horse forward. “In these harsh conditions, it will be less strain on your mount.”
Like hell!
One wiggle of the lady’s soft buttocks and Flanders would be on his knees professing love.
“Spurius is an Arabian stallion and has carried saddlebags heavier than Miss Bennett.”
“Not in this weather, Denham.”
Hugo firmed his jaw. “I can tell by his gait that your horse will struggle with extra weight in the snow.” It wasn’t a complete lie. “The horse is used to pulling a carriage as part of a team.”
Flanders may well have protested, but they came upon a conveyance at the side of the road. Five inches of snow covered the roof, the box seat and footboard. Snow covered the wheels right up to the hubs. Poor Flanders practically sobbed when he realised it was his coach and not Miss Bennett’s.
“Oh, Lord!” Flanders dismounted. Snow crunched beneath his feet as he clambered towards the vehicle, his boots leaving an ankle-deep trail. “The damp will swell the doors and rot the sills. Help me clear the roof, Denham, before that blasted stuff trickles inside. Watermarks on leather seats are a devil to disguise.”
“Do you have the rope and canvas sheet Hodges gave you?”
“Yes, but I fear it’s too late for that.”
Hugo lowered his voice as he dismounted. “Wait here, Miss Bennett. Flanders will be a blubbering wreck if I do not help him protect his coach.”
“Then I shall help, too.” The lady thrust the lantern at him and had her foot in the stirrup before he could protest. She jumped to the ground and brushed flakes from her cheeks before surveying the scene. “There must be a shovel in the boot. Every coachman worth his weight has a means of freeing the wheels in these conditions.”
Hugo couldn’t help but smile. “No doubt there is.” He turned to Flanders and was about to chastise him for not dragging along his coachman when Miss Bennett marched over to the vehicle and dropped the boot hatch.
Flanders sidled up to him and whispered, “Hurry up and make your choice, Denham. I intend to offer for that girl before the weekend is out.”
Hugo inhaled deeply. It took effort to maintain his composure. “A lady like Miss Bennett does not marry out of duty or for convenience.” Did the man know nothing? Had Flanders not heard the passion in her voice when she spoke of her parents’ marriage? Miss Bennett would marry for love or not at all. More’s the pity.
“This should suffice.” The lady removed a short-handled drainage shovel and beckoned Flanders forward. “Start with the roof.”
“What the devil do I do with it?” Flanders looked upon the tool as if it were a medieval means of torture.
“The slim end is for digging trenches.” Hugo had never dug a trench in his life, but some things were common sense. “Use the handle to push the snow off the roof.” When Flanders stood with nothing but bewilderment swimming in his eyes, Hugo took control of matters. It was too damn cold to dally.
He cleared the coach in minutes.
Flanders unfastened his greatcoat and withdrew the thick canvas package. Together, they covered the carriage and secured the sheeting with ropes. They found Miss Bennett’s conveyance stuck two hundred yards along the road. Hugo retrieved her valise, forced Flanders to balance the luggage on his lap, leaving him one hand to grip the reins.
On the ride back to Wollaston Hall, the cold extremities did little to cool Hugo’s blood. He was rather partial to a woman who exuded confidence as opposed to arrogance. And few had a knack for remaining calm during trying situations.
