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 mus
cular 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.”