The lady bent down and picked up Bellham’s boot. She gripped the sole and was about to push it onto his dead friend’s foot, but then suddenly gasped. “Good Lord!”
“What is it?”
“This is not Mr Bellham’s boot. After his mumbled words at the gate, I took notice of his footwear. He wore hessians with the notable V-cut at the front. This is a tan top-boot. Judging by how easy it is to push it on, it’s clearly too big.”
Hugo couldn’t help but smile.
“You find something amusing, my lord?”
“No. It’s just I told myself that a lady with your sharp perception would notice. As well as removing the blade, I swapped boots with Bellham when I brought him in here and asked for some time alone.”
“You did?” She blinked rapidly. “Might I say that’s rather ingenious given the circumstances. If Mr Bellham’s dying words were to convey that the killer came from the house, his comment about his boots might be equally important.”
“The problem is, Bertie’s boots are so small my toes curl at the ends.” Suppressing his desire for Miss Bennett did that, too. “I hid them in my dressing room but sensed someone had been rummaging while we were distributing alms, and so thought the safest place for them was on my feet.”
“Have you examined the boots? I presume you’ve checked Mr Bellham hasn’t sewn a note inside the lining.”
“I’ve checked the stitching and looked for bulges in the leather.” He’d barely had a moment to himself since they’d found Bertie’s body. And he reserved every spare second for amorous thoughts of Miss Bennett. “But after walking in them tonight, the heel of the left boot feels loose.”
“Loose?” Miss Bennett’s eyes widened. “I know it’s cold, but perhaps you might remove it so we can examine the heel in more detail.”
“That’s easy to say, but I fear we’ll need the strength of ten men to yank the damn thing off.”
“Maybe I can help.” She pushed the boot onto Bellham’s foot to demonstrate. “I find the best way is to grip the boot at the ankle and perform a twisting motion.”
Was there anything this woman couldn’t do? Erotic images played in his mind. He might suggest she straddle his lap and push from the knee. It would prove useless, of course, but what a pleasurable few minutes it would be.
Hugo watched her thrust the other boot onto Bertie
’s foot. “Then I suggest we leave Bellham to rest in peace and take our examination elsewhere.”
“Not the drawing room. Montague and Penelope are discussing the reasons she married your father all those years ago. The conversation sounded rather heated when I crept past while fetching my cloak.”
“Although distressing at first, your grandfather’s arrival has wrought a change in my mother. We should afford them privacy to air their grievances.” And a man of Forsyth’s experience would take one look at his granddaughter and know some devil had plundered her mouth. “Besides, we cannot risk being seen in the house.”
While he contemplated what to do, frustrated that an earl faced restrictions in his own home, Miss Bennett wrapped her cloak around her and shivered.
“If this were the height of summer we might escape to the barn.” Her icy breath mingled with the frigid air. “But I fear if we do not return to the house soon, we shall be naught but frozen statues come the morning.”
The mere mention of summer jolted his memory. “There’s the Summer Tower, though no one has used it these past forty years. It’s a few minutes’ walk beyond the orchard.” His heart galloped at the prospect of being alone with her in a place considered a lovers’ hideaway. “Should someone discover us there, you might find yourself shackled with a husband.” And he didn’t mean Lord Flanders.
“Is someone likely to find us there?” The glint in her eyes said he’d aroused the adventuress within.
“I doubt it.”
She studied him for a moment. “Then let us tend to Mr Bellham and be on our way.”
The tower was once a lookout post for the medieval house that had originally existed on Hugo’s land, and his great-grandfather had turned it into a secret hideaway. Hugo’s father had insisted the solid oak door remain unlocked. Bartholomew de Wold’s lack of faith in his wife often roused ugly suspicions. Distrust thrived in the mind of a man whose wife was forced to the altar, even during those times they lived in different counties.
“How quaint.” Miss Bennett scanned the small sitting room, sparse but for two chairs, a small oak table and sideboard. “I presume there are more rooms in the tower.”
“The spiral staircase leads to a bedchamber.” Hugo pointed to the arched doorway. He placed the lantern, left in the bothy by Miss Pardue, onto the table. “The third floor gives access to a roof terrace. Sunrise is spectacular from such a vantage point.”
“I would love to take a tour.” She arched a brow. “Then again, it’s one thing being caught sitting around a table, another for someone to stumble upon us in a bedchamber while I’m tugging off your boot.”
“You cannot leave without taking in the view,” he said, sucking in a breath when she lowered her hood to reveal a mass of rich brown tresses. “I shall remain here.” He welcomed the diversion. Keeping his hands from exploring every inch of her delectable body grew more difficult by the minute.
She nodded and took to the stairs. The echo of her boots on the ancient steps told him she’d gone straight to the top floor to admire the white winter landscape that stretched for miles.