Miss Bennett appeared aghast. “You want me to go?” She swallowed deeply. “To leave you in your hour of need?”
Hell, no!
But desperate men did desperate things
, and he would not see her caught up in this web of treachery.
“You’re the bright light of truth in a house full of lies and deceit. I’ll not compromise your safety.” Northcott had already shown a marked interest in her. But did his desire to bed her stem from more than the fact she was the most captivating woman in attendance? “Honesty flows like blood in your veins, Miss Bennett, and I’d rather you escape this rancid environment and leave me to deal with the matter.”
A heavy silence descended.
She stared at him, and her bottom lip quivered. Water filled her eyes. “You honour me with your words, my lord, but I cannot own to being truthful and honest with you. Indeed, when you’ve heard what I have to say, you will think me the worst of deceivers.”
The worst of deceivers?
Damnation! What the devil had she done?
His heartbeat galloped, hurtled towards the cliff edge with no notion of how far he might fall. Knots formed in his stomach. So, had his mother handpicked her to play the damsel in distress? She had tricked him. Miss Bennett had employed the same cunning devices as every other woman of his acquaintance. “Then I had better hear your confession.”
Chapter Ten
Stories had a beginning, a middle and an end. Simple really. So why was Lara’s mind a jumbled mess of excuses? Where should she start? With two lovers whose lives were ripped apart by a father obsessed with money and ambition? With the premise that it’s never too late to love?
Lara drew her cloak across her chest for the room seemed decidedly colder. “I did not arrive at Wollaston Hall by accident. I was on my way to Chippenham. But I’d been in London with my grandfather visiting friends. On our return home, we stopped in Netheravon.”
The earl’s face remained as hard as stone. “So, the story about your sick companion and the need to spend Christmas with your grandfather was a lie?”
“Yes, but for a good reason, I can assure you.”
“Is there ever a good reason to lie, Miss Bennett?” His icy tone mirrored the chill in the air.
Lara swallowed down the lump in her throat and gathered the courage to tell this tale. “While in London, during a discussion about marrying for the right reasons, my grandfather told me about his first love. His one true love.”
“My mother.”
“Yes. A love denied them by your grandfather.” As soon as Montague lifted the lid on his box of secrets, the contents had tumbled out. “I’d never heard the story before that night. When Montague explained how he had avoided Lady Denham these last forty years, told me that she lived but twenty miles from Chippenham, well, I encouraged him in the belief that it’s never too late for a reconciliation.”
“I see.” He folded his arms across his chest, his disappointment pinning her to the chair. “And so you devised a plan where you might knock on my door one winter’s night in the hope I might offer you shelter.” His blue eyes clouded with hurt. “Since then, you’ve toyed with me while awaiting your grandfather’s arrival. A man determined to seduce my mother with memories of the past.”
He made it all sound so wickedly contrived. Just like the devious plans of those mamas who’d sent their daughters to win the earl’s hand.
“What could I do? Should I ignore the sad story of a stubborn old fool? I’d give anything to see Montague happy.”
Lord Denham pushed out of the chair and straightened to his full intimidating height. “So much so, you plotted and schemed, tricked an equally fragile woman who hasn’t had a moment’s peace her entire life.” He shook his head, dragged his hand down his face and sighed. “You let me kiss you, let me tell you that I’ve never wanted another woman the way I want you.” His mocking snort hit like the lash of a whip. “How ridiculous you must think me.”
Oh, she’d known this would be his reaction, but she was to blame, not him.
Lara reached out to touch him, but he stepped away. “I don’t think you ridiculous at all. Quite the opposite.” She gulped a breath. “You’re the most intriguing man I have ever met. You’re honest and kind.” And so devilishly handsome. “You’re strong when you need to be. Compassionate to those whose lives are not as privileged as your own.”
“Privileged? You think it a blessing to have people fawn over you? Filling your head with lies because they desire your money and your position, yet don’t give a damn for your affection? You met Ted Hughes this afternoon. You saw how his wife clutched his arm and looked at him as if he were the most treasured man in all of England.”
Tears started rolling down her cheeks.
It had nothing to do with guilt or needing his pity.
She had developed a deep affection for this man. She felt as if she’d known him her whole life, not merely a matter of days. Her mother had once told her that she’d loved Phineas Bennett the moment they met. A young girl of seventeen—the muse of a painter seven years her senior—might fall easily to flights of fancy. But the couple had loved each other until they’d drawn their last breaths.
“Dry your eyes, Miss Bennett.” He strode over to the door and opened it wide. Outside, the snowstorm swirled as erratically as her emotions. “You got what you came for. One only had to observe Montague and Penelope during dinner to know they were once very much in love.” He gestured for her to leave the quaint house. “No doubt my mother will view your scheme as romantic. No doubt she will make regular trips to Chippenham come the spring.”