One winters night, p.6
One Winter's Night, page 6
“There is something else,” she eventually said. “It’s utterly ludicrous, but I cannot keep it to myself a moment longer.”
Intrigued, he straightened. “Then don’t.”
Did she feel the connection, too? Was she just as shocked that an attraction had formed so quickly?
“Mr Bellham muttered a few other words last night, but I thought they were naught but the ramblings of a dying man.”
Disappointment flared. What had he expected? That she would stare into his eyes and say she wanted to kiss him, too? That she might suggest they partake in enjoyable pursuits to become better acquainted?
“What sort of words?”
She shook her head. “You will laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“Strawberry.”
“Strawberry?”
“See, I knew you would find it ridiculous.”
Hugo shrugged. “I merely wished to clarify what I heard.” He paused. “Have you any thoughts on the matter?”
She explained her observations, explained that every lady had something on their person that might have prompted Mr Bellham to offer the clue. “I think we can discount your mother, but we must not assume the other ladies are too weak to drive a blade into a man’s chest.”
“No, and while Northcott had ample opportunity to commit the crime, he has no motive that we know about.” A peer would need a damn good reason to murder a man. “You said Bellham mumbled other words.”
“Yes, but I cannot decide if he said jewels or Judas.”
“Judas would suggest a betrayal. Is there any better motive for murder?” Miss Mason-Jones had suffered for Bellham’s disloyalty, and there was nothing more dangerous than a woman scorned.
She glanced at the door once again. “Perhaps he meant jewels. Yesterday, Miss Harper wore a ruby brooch in the shape of a strawberry.”
Yes, he could imagine the spiteful wildcat exacting revenge on anyone who dared cross her path. “Though I loathe the fact we’re not observing a respectful day of mourning, we must do as you suggest and use the festive season as an excuse to probe further.” Bertie didn’t give a fig for propriety, but he would want his murderer brought to justice.
Hearing a whisper of conversation and the drum of footsteps descending the stairs, Hugo stood. “The other guests appear to have found the courage to venture from their bedchambers. I shall check on Bellham, and then we’re to distribute alms to the poor though I suggest only a few of us attempt the trek into the village.” He offered his hand and brought her to her feet. “Perhaps you’d like to ride out with me again.”
“I should like that very much, but one of us must remain here if we’ve any hope of learning anything from those who stay behind.”
An unexpected sense of desperation took hold. “There’ll be plenty of time to question them later this evening. After a few glasses of sherry, the ladies will be more forthcoming.” And over a bottle of port, Northcott’s opinions might flow a little more freely. “I expect Miss Harper will insist on coming into Upavon to demonstrate her skill in the saddle.”
“In that case, you should be firm in your decision regarding who should go. News of Mr Bellham’s murder might rouse fear amongst those in the village.”
“Sir Ellis will have alerted the coroner, and we should expect him at any time. News will spread quickly throughout the area then.”
“Hugo?” His mother’s voice captured his attention.
He stepped away from Miss Bennett just as his mother came gliding into the room.
Penelope de Wold looked different this morning. When it came to daywear, she preferred dull browns and muted purples. Yet today she wore turquoise sarcenet which greatly enhanced the hue of her vivid blue eyes. Gabrielle had fashioned the countess’ dark hair into an elegant coiffure that defined the jaw. The wisps of grey at her temples added an air of sophistication to the style.
“You look rather lively this morning, Mother.” Hugo may have been mistaken, but her spirits seemed lifted despite the tragic death of poor Bellham.
She patted her hair. “Oh, Gabrielle kept pestering about trying a new style from Paris. After the trauma of last night, I merely sought to appease the girl.”
“And you thought to apply rouge to your cheeks, too?”
His mother shook her head. “Give Gabrielle carte blanche with one’s appearance, and she takes liberties.”
“Turquoise suits you, Lady Denham,” Miss Bennett said. “Your complexion is positively glowing.”
“Such trifles are not the concern of mature ladies, Miss Bennett, but during trying times one must assume the appearance of cool equanimity.”
Miss Bennett smiled. “Well, I cannot sit here reading all day. If you will excuse me, I shall see if Miss Mason-Jones wishes to take tea in the drawing room.” She swept them a graceful curtsey and strolled from the room.
For some reason, Hugo mourned the loss of his companion. Life seemed less of a burden when conversing with Miss Bennett.
“What on earth are we to do, Hugo?” His mother drew him further into the library. “Everyone is so glum and morbid. I suppose we should lament the loss of Mr Bellham, though it hardly creates an atmosphere ripe for proposing marriage.”
“Good. As I have no intention of marrying any of the ladies you invited.”
Penelope de Wold huffed. “Must we go through this again? You should be grateful I’m offering you a choice. My father dragged me to church and forced me to marry your father without so much as a discussion. Of course, as a gentleman in possession of a vast fortune, it’s different for you. Still, you must take a wife, Hugo. Soon.”
“No one should have to suffer as you’ve done.” He suspected a part of her had died on that fateful day. A heavy sadness lay buried beneath her haughty facade. Even his father’s passing hadn’t lifted her from the doldrums. “Which is why I cannot abide by your request. I’m not remotely attracted to any of them.”
That wasn’t entirely true. He longed to kiss Miss Bennett.
His mother patted him on the arm. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings. Christmas is a time to assess what’s important, to prepare for new beginnings.”
“It’s a time to give thanks, Mother, not hurl oneself into the fiery pits of hell.” He straightened. “Now, due to the severe conditions outside, I suggest only a few of us distribute alms in the village. I shall take Flanders and Miss Bennett and head out after luncheon. Upon our return, we shall all gather in the drawing room and partake in amusements to lift our spirits.”
The countess blinked. “Why not take Miss Harper? She might welcome—”
“Because Miss Harper hasn’t a benevolent bone in her body.”
“Piffle. Take Miss Pardue, then.”
“She’s liable to rouse the women to riot.”
The matron frowned. “Must it be Miss Bennett? I might even prefer Miss Venables. Montague Forsyth is a most unreliable gentleman. Reckless and capricious. Surely some of that has been passed to his offspring.”
“I’ll take Miss Bennett, or I’ll take no one.”
There was a truth to his determined words that held him rigid. While they were discussing a simple trip to the village, he found the statement to be true in every regard. If there should be dancing, he would choose Miss Bennett as his partner. Miss Bennett could take his arm to dinner. Sod etiquette. If he were to kiss anyone under the mistletoe, he would kiss Miss Bennett, kiss her until all the berries were gone.
Chapter Six
As soon as Lara entered the drawing room later that evening, all eyes were upon her. None more so than Lord Denham’s, who stared at her more frequently with each passing hour. The heat in those beguiling blue eyes sent her stomach flipping. Her insides turned to molten fire whenever their arms touched. Lord, she might combust the next time he placed a guiding hand on her back—and he seemed to do that rather often, too. The ache in her core was impossible to ignore. It was the reason she’d rode her own horse on the short journey to Upavon. The feel of his muscular thighs holding her captive was too much to bear.
The Earl of Denham was a most enthralling gentleman. Amusing, generous and respectful to those in the village who struggled more so at this time of year. The tenants had swarmed around him in a sea of untold gratitude. He rewarded their thanks by showing an interest in their families. Had Mr Hughes fixed the leak in his barn before the snowstorm struck? Was Mrs Parson’s mother still suffering from a fever? Lara understood why they gravitated towards the handsome lord. Indeed, his magnetism tugged at her insides as if she were attached to him by an invisible thread.
No wonder the ladies at Wollaston Hall had snapped at each other during afternoon tea. Miss Harper moved seats twice just to sit next to the earl. Numerous times, she patted his knee and laughed, although he had said nothing remotely amusing. Miss Pardue called the lady out for her ridiculous efforts at flirtation and bemoaned the weakness of women who manipulated men with their bodies, not their minds.
Lord Flanders had sidled next to Lara and informed her that he found her appealing on all counts. Much to the annoyance of Lord Denham, who cast his friend an irate glare.
But now, due to her grandfather’s sly intervention, the guests had every reason to gape. Who else would have stolen her beloved green gown from her valise and replaced it with a new one? Not just any gown, but one in sumptuous red silk with a scandalously fitted bodice that drew every man’s eye. It had to be Montague’s doing. No doubt he had made the switch before she’d left him in Netheravon.
The earl prowled towards her with sleek strides. Twice his gaze dropped to the swell of her breasts. Twice he inhaled deeply.
Drat! A fire in her stomach ignited. “My lord.”
“Miss Bennett.” His eyes burned hot. When he offered a bow, he stole another furtive glance at her décolletage. “Might I say how remarkable you look in red?” A wicked smile played on his lips. “So remarkable I can barely tear my gaze away.”
“Red is not my usual choice,” she said, that being the only truthful comment she could make on the matter. “Indeed, had I known the modiste had taken the neckline a little lower, I might have packed a fichu.”
“Then I am rather thankful for your lack of foresight.”
She found his honesty refreshing. “Are you always so free with your opinions?”
“Only with you.”
The implied intimacy of his words sent her pulse racing. They were on dangerous ground. The surrounding air vibrated with a passion she had sensed only once in her life. Whenever Phineas and Clara Bennett entered a room, the atmosphere thrummed intensely. Not that this was the same. How could it be?
“You mean I am not a vulture out to peck every last morsel of meat from your bones?” she said with a light laugh.
“I mean I feel connected to you in a way I have never felt with another.”
Heavens, he was as skilled at being direct as he was most things. Should she say she held him in the same high regard? “At present, you look as if you wish to ravish me, my lord. I imagine this is not the first time you’ve been possessed with lustful desires.” To preserve one’s heart, it was often better to tease than confess.
He bent his head, sending a waft of spicy cologne to her nostrils. “It’s the first time my mind is as aroused as my body, Miss Bennett.”
Blessed Mary!
“This is hardly a conversation to have in the drawing room,” she said, fighting the urge to touch him. “Are we not here to solve a mystery just as puzzling as our unexpected attraction?”
“Perhaps we’re here to solve both conundrums.”
Lara glanced at the mantel clock—practically hidden behind the evergreen boughs—as it struck six. Soon, a third problem would present itself. One set to test the countess’ nerves as much as Mr Bellham’s murder.
Lady Denham had taken to ignoring the conversation of those ladies on the sofa and had fixed her curious gaze upon them.
“Then let us begin by trying to establish a motive for murder,” Lara whispered, “and leave any personal exploration for a more appropriate time.”
“This year the mistletoe has an abundance of berries.” The earl motioned to the large sprig of glossy green leaves fastened with a red ribbon and hanging near the doorway. “A man might claim a kiss for each one.”
Lara laughed. “Do you honestly think Miss Harper will let you escape without claiming a handful herself?”
The earl’s smile faded. “Then pray for rain, Miss Bennett, so they might all leave. I despise entertaining guests. Present company excepted.”
She didn’t have the heart to warn him he might expect another guest soon. And Miss Harper had taken to the pianoforte to display her only commendable skill as a woman. Indeed, she played extremely well and knew it. Whenever she looked up from her sheet music, her arrogant gaze grabbed the earl in a possessive clinch and didn’t let go.
When the lady finished her recital, everyone clapped. Miss Harper rose from the stool like a queen from her throne. After accepting a compliment from Lord Flanders, she sauntered over to the earl.
“You play well, Miss Harper,” the earl said with cool indifference.
The lady smiled in the inflated way of one obsessed with their own superiority. “I had the very best tutor, my lord, Augustine Mendoza. You must have heard of him. Of course, I have a natural ability to interpret music, one he’d rarely encountered in a student.”
“Augustine Mendoza,” the earl mused as Miss Pardue strolled over to join them. “No, I cannot say that I have. But then music is not considered a sensible pursuit for men who sit in the House of Lords.”
“And law is not considered a sensible pursuit for ladies whose responsibility it is to birth future generations,” Miss Pardue mocked.
“Your tutor is highly acclaimed across Europe, Miss Harper,” Lara said, aware of the maestro’s talent. “My parents once dined with the British ambassador to Naples, and Augustine Mendoza sat next to my mother. She loved music and spoke about it for months afterwards.”
The corners of Miss Harper’s mouth twitched. “Do you play, Miss Bennett?” The question carried a hint of disdain.
“A little.”
Miss Harper’s green eyes flashed with mischief. “Then I’m sure Lord Denham is keen to hear your offering.”
Miss Pardue huffed. “Perhaps Miss Bennett does not wish to act like a performing monkey. Perhaps she wishes for a pursuit where everyone might take part, regardless of gender.”
“If Miss Bennett cannot play, she only has to say so,” Miss Harper countered.
Lara had nothing to prove to any of these people. She glanced at Lord Denham, whose eyes spoke of sadness while his firm jaw conveyed a volatile emotion.
“A man is dead,” he said with an element of despair. “Must we bicker over trivial matters? Should we not embrace every second instead of wasting energy on spiteful snipes?”
An awkward silence ensued.
Lara’s heart ached to offer words of comfort, but she was helpless to give the earl the reassuring embrace he needed.
“Mr Bellham loved hearing ladies play the pianoforte,” Miss Harper said, sounding surprisingly sincere. “He was always the first to come to a lady’s aid when she needed help turning the sheets.”
“More often than not Mr Bellham wasn’t looking at the sheets,” Miss Pardue mocked.
Fearing the earl might lose his temper, Lara said, “If Mr Bellham loved music, then I shall play a piece in his memory.”
Lord Denham glanced at her and smiled. “Only if you want to, Miss Bennett. I appreciate your offer more than your ability to master the keys.”
Any daughter of Clara Bennett couldn’t help but appreciate music. Lara’s playing had been the one thing to lift her grandfather’s spirits in those early days when grief was all-consuming.
“Haydn’s early works are difficult to play, Miss Bennett.” Miss Harper looked smug. “They require great precision. Everyone will notice the flaws.”
Lara smiled and straightened her shoulders. “I never play from sheet music, Miss Harper. I compose my own pieces and prefer to play those.”
Miss Harper’s ugly grin faded. “Oh, well, we all like a country tune now and then. What a shame we’ve not welcomed in the tenants to hear your little ditty.”
Lara ignored the lady’s veiled set-down. She accepted Lord Denham’s arm, and he guided her to the polished mahogany and rosewood pianoforte.
“Play with heart, Miss Bennett, that’s all I ask.”
She sat on the stool and adjusted her position. “Is there any other way to play, my lord?”
“Help me forget this whole miserable affair as only you know how.”
Pushing aside a sudden flurry of nerves, she inhaled deeply and flexed her fingers. As always when she played those songs that reminded her of her parents, she soon forgot the other people in the room. There were times during the piece that she felt the powerful rush of true love’s kiss. Times when the tempo turned introspective, and the sadness of separation drew her down into the deep vibrating notes as heavy as her heart. But life went on, and the complementing harmonies and lively rhythm spoke of an eternal love that existed beyond this earthly plane.
When she hit the last note, she dashed a tear from her eye and glanced up.
Lord Denham stood by the fireside, his muscular arms folded across his chest, his penetrating gaze fixed on her face. A smile curled the corners of his mouth while an unexplained emotion swam in his eyes. She wanted to lose herself in those alluring blue pools, dive deep into their fathomless depths.
Lord Northcott approached the pianoforte. He captured Lara’s hand in the sly way rakes do when they struggle to suppress licentious thoughts. “Your talent is exceptional, Miss Bennett. You play with a passion surprising for one so young and delicate.”
Lara retrieved her hand from the wolf’s grasp. “Not so delicate, my lord.” She leaned closer and whispered, “You haven’t a chance of bedding me, not here, not ever.” She straightened. “Forgive me if I misread the signs. But I know a scoundrel when I see one.”
