Lara stood and raised her hood, ready to tackle a storm as volatile as the one indoors. The lump in her throat made it hard to swallow. She moved to walk past the earl but stopped in the doorway. “Forgive me. I simply wished to make an old man happy.”
The earl inhaled deeply, but when he spoke his tone remained as harsh as the winter weather. “Then your task is done. Perhaps it’s best you leave on the morrow.”
Lara nodded, though a sharp pain tore through her heart. “I shall leave later today, my lord. The hour has passed midnight. It’s already Christmas Day.”
The earl’s mocking snort rent the air. “Then you might want to wish me a happy birthday, Miss Bennett. I’m sure it will be one I shall not soon forget. Indeed, perhaps I might offer for Miss Harper. At least her cunning is plain for all to see.”
A sudden flash of anger made Lara lift her chin and look at the earl directly. “That might be for the best, my lord,” she said just as coldly. “A man who cannot see that compassion and a desire for justice formed the basis of my actions is a man wholly deserving of a wife like Miss Harper.”
With that, she gathered her cloak across her chest and stormed out into the night.
Hugo closed the door to the Summer Tower behind him and raised the collar of his greatcoat. His heart was as heavy as his footsteps as he trudged through the snow back to the orchard. Thank heavens Miss Bennett wore a red cloak else it might have been impossible to trail her as she fought through the blizzard.
The gentleman in him would see her safely back to her room lest she encounter a murderous devil. Pride made him want to catch up with her and whip her with his vicious tongue. A fitting retribution for making him believe that fate had conspired to bring them together. That a heavenly force had worked behind the scenes to grant him his heart’s desire.
“Fool!” he cursed himself and kicked at a mound of snow.
Another emotion he refused to claim made him want to take her in his arms and pretend she’d not made the damning confession. He’d made a vow to marry, and a woman perfect for him in every conceivable way had knocked on his door one cold winter’s night.
Damnation!
This was not how he envisaged their retreat to the tower would end.
To distract his mind from his misfortune, he considered the note he’d found in Bertie Bellham’s boot. None of the guests at Wollaston Hall would have found the information useful. Miss Bennett was right. Bellham must have wished to reach the house before Lord Northcott to seek a private audience.
But the flaw in Hugo’s logic was as glaringly obvious as that first glimpse of Bertie’s blood in the snow. Bellham should have reached Wollaston at least an hour before Northcott. Two if they rode at the same pace. Either the viscount lied about the time, or Bertie met with someone else prior to his murder. If the latter were true, then one guest found details of the Strawbridge’s schedule important enough to murder a man. And Bertie had insisted his killer came from the house.
Miss Bennett had not mentioned seeing Bellham on the road. All the ladies were present in the drawing room before Hugo rode out to West Chisenbury to collect Miss Bennett’s valise. Which meant Bellham must have arrived late.
Hell, the whole damn business was confounding.
Almost as confounding as his feelings for the lady who dazzled in red.
Hugo blinked away the snowflakes clinging to his lashes and realised that during his moment of introspection he had lost Miss Bennett. Crippled with a sense of trepidation, he narrowed his gaze and frantically scanned the cluster of apple trees ahead in an effort to locate the lady.
He spotted her hiding behind the trunk of a tree near the bothy. What in heaven’s name was she doing? Then he noticed the unexpected glow of candlelight inside the old brick building.
Hell’s teeth!
If he found Miss Pardue examining Bellham’s body again, she’d get the full force of his temper.
The door to the bothy creaked open. A woman appeared carrying a lantern, her height and build different from that of Miss Pardue. Hugo shot behind the trunk of an oak tree bordering the orchard. His heart raced, not from the sudden exertion, but from a fear that this might be the murdering fiend, a fiend who might seek to silence Miss Bennett.
Hugo peered around the tree, praying Miss Bennett wouldn’t do something irrational, wouldn’t jump out of her hiding place to surprise this late-night suspect. He should have known better than to doubt the lady with a mind as logical as his own. Indeed, as the cloaked figure hurried along the path leading towards the house, Miss Bennett remained rooted to the spot.
With a desperate need to reach her, he moved stealthily through the orchard. “Tell me you saw the woman’s face,” he said as he came up behind her for the second time tonight.
“It’s Miss Venables.” Her breathless pants came in puffs of white mist. ?
?I could tell from the shot of red hair escaping her hood. Unless Lord Flanders has taken to wearing women’s clothing and prowling the gardens at night.”
“After recent events, nothing would surprise me.” The tension vibrating in the air between them smothered all attempts at humour. “I witnessed Miss Venables sneaking into the viscount’s bedchamber earlier this evening.” He’d pressed his ear to the door, heard the lady’s irate voice quelled by the soothing drawl of a rake out to use seduction as a means of distraction. “Perhaps the couple colluded to bring about Bellham’s demise.”
“You should question the maids and Miss Harper and try to find flaws in Miss Venables’ alibi.”
The fact she had not said we or turned to gaze deeply into his eyes in the way that hardened the muscles in his abdomen roused a longing so intense he could barely catch his breath.
She stepped out from behind the tree, her countenance as stiff as the bare branches. “I must return to the house. My toes are numb. The cold weather has seeped into my bones, and I shall need to huddle next to a warming pan if I’ve any hope of sleeping tonight.”