“A thoroughly stimulating connection,” Lord Denham agreed. He released her buttocks and bestowed a rakish grin. “You should know I’m extremely skilled in all aspects of conversation.”
Lara smiled. “I speak from experience when I say your tongue is remarkably flexible.” She captured his hand and drew him out from behind the apple tree. “We shall say that, due to the delay in the coroner attending, we’ve come to make a sketch of the wound.”
“A plausible reason under the circumstances. As the daughter of Phineas Bennett, I presume you have some skill with a pencil.”
Yes, but she didn’t practise as often as she ought. “A skill that suffers from my impulsive and untamed nature.”
“A nature so impulsive you’ve forgotten to bring the necessary materials.”
She shrugged. “Our quarry will be so terrified to see us hopefully she won’t notice.”
A sudden thud from the bothy captured their attention. Heaven knows what the wicked woman was up to in there.
Lord Denham put a finger to his lips as they approached the crude wooden door with caution. “Stand behind me,” he said, his expression turning grave. “At the first sign of danger, I want you to run.”
Chapter Nine
With the rickety door creaking as soon as Hugo turned the handle, it was impossible to enter the two-roomed cottage and catch the culprit unawares. From the person’s height and build, he knew it was Miss Pardue. As for the reason she’d chosen to don gentlemen’s attire and attend a dead body, they were about to discover.
Without the frigid wind biting one’s cheeks, the room felt a few degrees warmer than the temperature outside. That said, it was still as cold as the icehouse and yet Hugo’s blood burned with a passion for Miss Bennett that could melt a glacier.
“So, a quick drawing of the wound and the—” Miss Bennett stopped playing her part in this charade and stared at the half-naked body of Mr Bellham stretched out on the wooden table.
The lady holding the lantern aloft, and with her face a mere inch away from the wound that had ended Bertie’s life, straightened and swung around to face them.
“Miss Pardue?” Hugo scanned the greatcoat, boots and breeches that appeared to fit the petite woman rather well. “Are you so displeased with your outfit that you must steal the clothes of a dead man? Is that what you call paying your respects?”
The lady blanched. “Lord Denham, I … I …” Miss Pardue looked back at Bellham’s body, stripped of his boots and stockings, and whose waistcoat and shirt hung open to reveal areas of mottled skin. “It’s not at all what it looks like. I can assure you.”
In the hellholes of London, a person might have a multitude of reasons for acting with such depravity. In the bleak Wiltshire countryside, not so many. “Well, either you have a morbid fascination with the dead, Miss Pardu
e, or you killed Mr Bellham and have come to ensure you left nothing incriminating on the body.”
Miss Pardue turned ashen. With a shaky hand, she placed the lantern on the crude table behind and stood dumbstruck.
Miss Bennett lowered her hood, closed the bothy door and stepped into the room. She walked over to the old table and picked up a small black book and pencil. From what little Hugo could see, Miss Pardue had made her own sketches along with a few scrawled notes.
“You have an interest in medical matters, Miss Pardue?” Miss Bennett looked up and met Hugo’s gaze. Despite the grisly aspect of the scene, despite his curiosity about Miss Pardue’s motive, his mind raced to the moment he might kiss her again. “Might I commend you on the quality of your drawings.”
“Society does not permit ladies an interest in anything other than the feminine arts.” The bitter edge to Miss Pardue’s tone rang of frustration. “Had I been born a man, Miss Bennett, I should have liked to be a surgeon. Saving lives, understanding the complex nature of the human form, is worth more to society than a neatly sewn tapestry.”
Miss Bennett handed Hugo the lady’s pocketbook. He read one note aloud. “‘His muscles have begun to loosen ready to pass through the stage of rigor mortis, although the cold extremities have slowed the process considerably.’” He looked at Miss Pardue. “Is this the first time you’ve examined a body?”
“Indeed.” Her eyes grew brighter. “What little I know on the matter comes from books, though I am keen to learn by whatever means necessary.”
Hugo observed Bertie’s bare feet and dishevelled attire. “Out of respect for my friend, I cannot permit you to continue your examination.”
Miss Pardue’s shoulders sagged as her gaze dipped to the stone floor. She gave a resigned sigh and lifted her chin. “I meant no disrespect, my lord, but a passion burns in my veins that is impossible to ignore. If I knew of some way I might pursue my cause, I would grasp the opportunity with both hands.”
“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?”