Page 14 of A Lady’s Guide to Murder
CHAPTER 13
A Matter of Life or Death
The remnants of a winter haystack provided Henrietta’s mattress for the night, and she awoke to the sight of sheep-dotted pastureland bathed in clear morning light. The sun had only recently crested the horizon. Since these were the long days approaching midsummer, she estimated the time to be around five or six in the morning.
She yawned away her exhaustion, rolled her shoulders and stretched her legs, wiggling her toes inside her boots. Her body was stiff and damp. Though she rested partially upon her saddle blanket, the thin wool hadn’t protected her from the dew.
But a warm garment covered her, smelling pleasantly of ink and man.
A vague memory surfaced. In the depths of the night, Theo had tucked his coat around her. Cringing, she recalled that she might have produced a sound rather like a purr when it happened – and God forbid, she might’ve even nuzzled her cheek against his fingers like a cat showing affection.
She grimaced. Yes, her feelings towards the journalist had undeniably softened a lot the evening before – between his sincere apology and his story about his mother, how could she possibly still hate the man – but if she’d rubbed herself on his hand, that was beyond mortifying. Definitely best to pretend it hadn’t happened.
She sat up, intending to freshen herself before Theo awoke.
‘Morning,’ said a deep voice behind her.
So much for tidying up.
Henrietta peeped over her shoulder, wishing her hair weren’t so dishevelled and stuck through with bits of hay, and that her damp gown didn’t cling quite so tightly to her bosom.
Theo was reclining in scattered hay some three yards distant, looking as merry as a cricket. Bright eyes, cheeky grin, relaxed limbs, as if he had slept upon feathers and silk. How he could look so handsome with his head propped on his saddle, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his cheeks shadowed with stubble baffled Henrietta, but he did. She’d never seen him without a hat in the daytime before, let alone in the morning sun; his hair was lighter than she’d previously supposed. A medium brown, glimmering with gold in the sunlight. Nor were his eyes dark brown, but hazel with deep golden flecks, like the mottling of a hawk’s feathers.
‘Did the duchess sleep well in the haystack?’ he said teasingly.
Henrietta pulled a face. ‘Naturally, I would have preferred a feather mattress, but I daresay any sensible person would, so if you are attempting to provoke me, you haven’t succeeded. But,’ she continued, holding out his coat, ‘it was extremely kind of you to wrap this about me.’
Surprise flickered across his face. ‘Aw, keep it, if you like.’ He glanced at her short sleeves. ‘My shirt and waistcoat provide more warmth than your frock.’
‘Thank you again.’ She tucked herself into the garment’s folds as if it were a blanket. It was much too big, but it warmed her chilled arms. She looked at the sun, which was now well over the horizon, a white orb in a cloudless sky. Already, the day carried a promise of heat. ‘I doubt I’ll need it for long.’
Indeed, by the time she’d readied her horse, she was warm enough to return the coat to Theo. He was kneeling by his saddle, gathering his belongings, and shoved the coat into his leather satchel, evidently intending to ride about the countryside in his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Henrietta lifted a shocked brow, but his forearms’ corded muscles flexed so admirably when he buckled his satchel closed, her appreciation made her rather warmer yet.
As she dabbed her damp upper lip, the juxtaposition of the well-oiled but worn satchel and the smoothly finished, full-grain leather of Theo’s exceptionally fine saddle stilled her hand. She frowned. Why did a city journalist who went about Mayfair on foot have a Corinthian’s sport saddle, designed for long hours on the hunt and ease of jumping? Any saddle Theo owned (in the unlikely event that he owned one at all) should have been more like the one she’d borrowed from the innkeeper: a practical, hard-working, high-pommel-and-cantle affair.
Perplexed, she turned to his horse, a magnificent black beast with perfectly matched white leg markings and a star high on his forehead. She knew that gorgeous gelding – she’d seen him before on a number of occasions, most recently at the Christmas hunt on the Percy estate.
He was one of Perceval’s horses.
Which meant Hawke had been outfitted by Perceval .
Henrietta’s hands flew to her mouth, too late to conceal a horrified gasp. Theo wasn’t in a partnership with her – he was in a partnership with her enemy. And to make matters worse she’d asked him to put her pistol in his satchel the night before, so he was in possession of her only weapon. For all she knew, he had it in his pocket now. If she didn’t take him by surprise and overpower him, he might kill her.
Theo looked up from his task securing his satchel, his traitorous face the picture of worry. ‘What is the matter?’
The element of surprise would be lost if she hesitated, so she launched herself forward, aiming to wind him with a solid thrust to the abdomen …
The moment she moved, Theo responded, jumping to his feet, catching her in midair and twisting her around so her back was to his chest. With her arms pinned between their bodies, he squeezed her torso, rendering her effectively immobile. She could kick her legs, but her feet were an inch or two off the ground, so she gained no traction and her heels merely pummelled his boots. She squirmed, but her struggles were futile against his iron grip.
‘Why are we doing this again?’ He growled the words, his chin on her shoulder, the side of his mouth touching her cheek. She could feel the movement of his lips, the scratch of his stubble, the warmth of his breath. ‘Stop wriggling and tell me – am I to expect you to pounce on me several times a day, as if you were a cat and I a mouse?’
‘You’re a rat , not a mouse, Theodore Hawke.’ Her squirming was making her breathless. ‘Here I was, trusting you like a fool, when you are Perceval’s man! Well, I won’t let you succeed in turning me in or killing me or whatever it is you plan. I’ll get my pistol and I’ll … I’ll …’
‘You’ll what, Henrietta?’ His breath against her cheek did odd, tingly things to her body. The thrill was further enhanced by his muscular arms under her breasts, and his impossibly hard and broad chest against her back. Good Lord, she was responding to his overpowering her like he had responded to her tussle the night before; her bosom was heaving with each short and shallow breath, and that wasn’t exactly an unpleasant sensation. ‘We already established you aren’t going to kill me. So what do you propose doing with that pistol?’
‘Force you to submit,’ she replied breathily. ‘Then I’ll tie you to a tree and leave you.’
‘You’ll tie me up?’ He deepened his growl. His vocal cords vibrated against the side of her neck, and the warmth of his body and his intoxicating scent made her close her eyes and let her head fall against his shoulder, her fight gone. It didn’t make sense that Theo was her enemy, she realised. His voice and manner were not the least bit threatening – despite his grasp having rendered her immobile – and if he’d intended to hurt her, he would have done it already. He could have done anything as she’d slept helpless in the hay, yet he’d only covered her tenderly with his coat. ‘How will you manage to tie me?’ he said, his lips on her cheek. ‘You haven’t any rope.’
He was … sort of playing with her, was he not?
She thought he was. And she … liked it.
Enough to want to play back.
She drew in a deep breath and responded slowly, tantalisingly. ‘I’ll tie you with my stockings.’
This time the growl was wrenched from his throat. ‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ he said, burrowing his face into her neck and speaking into her hair. Through her skirts, Henrietta felt his manhood harden between the crack of her bottom – if she stretched out her fingers squished between their bodies, she could have touched it through his leather breeches – and between her legs, her body throbbed a deep, silent response.
Her head swirled and she exhaled softly, her cheek against his. ‘Theo, why do you have Perceval’s horse?’
He answered gently, his words a reassuring caress. ‘Percy sent me after you because he thought I’d be eager to expose you as a murderess. But my only interest is in reporting the truth . You know that about me, Henrietta – whatever mistakes I’ve made, you know my goal is truth. I am under no obligation to Perceval Percy. If he is the murderer, I swear on my poor mother’s soul, that is what I shall report. Now, you really must stop attacking me or I shall be forced to teach you a lesson we might both regret.’
He lowered her feet to the ground and eased open his arms, releasing her, and the absence of his embrace left Henrietta longing. She peeked over her shoulder. He was staring at her, his gold-flecked eyes dark, his lids heavy, looking very much as if it might not be difficult for her to encourage him to take her in his arms again.
A thrilling thought.
‘You swear on your mother’s soul that you won’t betray me?’ she asked, to confirm.
‘If I’d intended to betray you, I would’ve taken you to a magistrate in the night. Unlike you, I do have rope.’ He jerked his head to the side. ‘There, in my satchel.’
She nodded, satisfied. ‘Very well. Our partnership still stands.’
He raked his eyes over her body, released a slow breath, and then met her gaze. ‘So. Should I saddle my horse and we’ll be on our way?’
He sounded as if there might be other things he’d prefer to do.
Henrietta hesitated, more than half tempted to pounce again with an altogether different objective. But the potential repercussions of her desire, and how this electric connection with Theo fitted into Edmund’s last request for an heir, demanded extensive consideration before action.
And nothing helped her think like fresh air and exercise.
‘Likely best we start our journey, yes.’
Nevertheless, as Theo bent to pick up his saddle, her gaze lingered on the contours of his firm backside, admirably displayed under his taut leather breeches. Any man would want to bed you , he’d said the night before. He’d been embarrassed afterwards. Tried to conceal what he’d accidentally revealed about himself.
Henrietta might not have much experience, but she knew one thing.
Sure as could be, Theo Hawke wanted her.
And God help her, she wanted him back.
But the last time she’d acted impulsively with a man, it hadn’t turned out well, so the only sensible action was to wait.
For now.
She tied her bonnet under her chin and let Theo boost her onto her horse. Her skirts bunched, displaying most of her stockinged calves, and she longed for her side-saddle. Having ridden since early childhood, she could stay on a horse for hours, galloping across fields and flying over hedges, but she was unaccustomed to riding astride. Her inner thighs ached from yesterday’s journey; the prospect of another, lengthier day in the saddle concerned her.
Yet travel they must, so she steeled herself to endure it. At least her sore muscles provided distraction from her desire for Theo.
‘Where are we bound next?’ he asked, throwing his leg over his saddle.
‘Back to London, though not by way of the Bath Road, where Perceval or a magistrate might seek me out. Let’s venture into Hampshire and Surrey, and return to town from the south.’
As they travelled on the Basingstoke Road past vistas of hilly pastures dotted with thatch-roofed cottages, Henrietta related her thoughts on Edmund’s murder. ‘If he was correct that his wine was poisoned, there are only two other people who could have murdered him. Marlow or Perceval.’
She described the fateful afternoon – how Perceval and James had arrived while Marlow had been closeted with Edmund in the library, both desperate to speak to him. Henrietta hadn’t wanted to interrupt a political session, but as she’d stood in the entrance hall, encouraging the men to accompany her to a drawing room to wait, Edmund had popped his head around the library door, asking Thomas, who’d stood at his usual post outside any room Edmund occupied, to bring a certain bottle of Madeira from the cellar. A bottle Henrietta knew he’d been saving for a special occasion.
‘His meeting with Marlow was successful,’ she said to Theo. ‘Both were pleased, which makes me suspect Marlow less than Perceval. Yes, he and Edmund were always at odds politically, to the point where it often seemed Marlow had a personal animosity towards Edmund, even before I rejected his advances, but they’d arrived at an agreement that pleased them both; I could tell by Edmund’s expression when he asked for the wine that he was happy. He himself reiterated this shortly before he died, when I asked him about the meeting. I can further attest that when Perceval, James and I entered the library at that point, at Edmund’s urging, Marlow also seemed content. As we awaited the bottle of wine, which took some time in coming, I spoke with Marlow so that Edmund could converse with James and with Perceval, and Marlow – who normally despises me – was pleasant.’
‘Why does Marlow despise you?’ Theo asked.
Henrietta lifted a brow. ‘As you know all too well, I allowed him to kiss me once. The day after our interaction in the garden, he called upon me, expecting … more. When I refused him then , his ardour turned to hatred.’
Theo made a sound very much like a growl. ‘What a vile villain, to blame you for his own intemperance.’
‘I concur.’ Henrietta peeked at Theo from the corner of her eye, unexpectedly moved. Edmund and her family had been supportive after the disastrous scandal, but no one had called Marlow a villain. No one had uttered a word about his behaviour, even Edmund, who’d known the truth. All gently murmured reprimands had been directed at Henrietta – she must take care, for a lady’s reputation was as delicate as Brussels lace, et cetera, et cetera. ‘Nevertheless,’ she continued, somewhat shakily, ‘on that afternoon, Marlow was amiable. In due course, the maid, Libby – the poor girl who you say is being held – arrived with the wine. Libby is quite timid and her shyness was worse that afternoon, but no wonder, for it’s not her responsibility to serve wine to men. Marlow cast his debauched eye over her and naturally that made her even more nervous, but she was determined to be helpful.’
‘If it is not her job to serve wine, why did she?’
‘That was a bit odd,’ Henrietta said after a moment’s thought. ‘But she said Thomas was indisposed and she’d wanted to help by bringing the wine in herself. She is eager to please, especially when the task benefitted Edmund.’
‘Could she be the murderer?’
Henrietta scrunched her face. ‘I can’t see it. Why on earth would she? She had no motive. Besides, she held Edmund in awe, either because of who he is … I mean, who he was … or because she was in love with him.’
‘Perhaps he rejected her advances and she was bitter?’
Henrietta considered, but then shook her head. ‘Even if Libby had approached him amorously – and I’m quite certain he would have told me, if she had – Edmund would have said no in the gentlest possible way. Remember, I speak from personal experience. He would have been so kind that it could not possibly be motive for murder, Theo. Besides, were she guilty, would she not have fled my house the moment he ingested the wine? She must’ve known servants would be scrutinised closely in a suspected poisoning?’
‘I should imagine, yes. And naturally, my sympathy is very much with the girl. I considered her guilt unlikely myself, but one must explore all possibilities, especially if she poured the wine.’
‘But she didn’t,’ Henrietta said. ‘Edmund poured the wine himself. Libby brought him the sealed bottle, he uncorked it, smelled it and poured it out.’
‘Who served it?’
‘Libby did, though not immediately. Edmund said it must breathe after pouring, so the glasses sat on his desk.’
‘For how long? And who approached the wine during that time?’
‘As for time, perhaps fifteen minutes. But as for who approached it, I can’t say. It could have been anyone. None of us remained seated. After I spoke to Marlow, even I walked about the room, conversing briefly with Perceval, James, Edmund and even Libby. However I’m quite certain no one entered or left the library during that time, so it must have been someone in the room.’
‘And you suspect Perceval did the deed?’
‘Did he not stand to gain the most? Especially if he believed, as James led me to understand, that Edmund intended to get me with child. Moreover, he seems eager to lay the guilt on me, does he not? He supplied you with horse and equipment, and sent you in pursuit, well aware of the enmity between us.’
Theo agreed it seemed plausible.
‘No doubt Perceval thought he would gain everything by Edmund’s death,’ she continued. ‘Until the will reading, when he realised I shall be a financial millstone as long as I am alive. Now, whether I face the noose or utter disgrace, Perceval will benefit greatly. My dower rights would revert to him and perhaps Edmund’s full fortune as well, though I confess I’m ignorant of the legal particulars of such matters.’
Theo made a sympathetic noise and they travelled on in silence past more rolling hills. Since the morning was progressing into a reasonable hour, farmers were at work in the fields, walking amongst the vibrant green grain. In pastures, shepherds herded flocks, darting collies yipping at the bleating ewes and lambs.
The day was warming rapidly and when they approached a brook, Theo suggested they let the horses drink. When Henrietta made ready to dismount, he told her to remain in the saddle, that he would lead her horse.
‘Thank you,’ she said, meaning it. Her thighs and bottom felt shaky; to her secret shame, she doubted her ability to dismount gracefully.
Theo brought her water as well, served in a tin cup from his satchel, and when she drained that, he served her another. Only then did he drink. Her breath hitched when his lips touched the rim where hers had just been. He leant his head back to drink his fill, his eyes closed and his throat exposed.
Then he knelt by the bank and splashed water over his face. Rivulets ran down his cheeks and jaw to dampen his collar, and Henrietta’s mouth went dry again. As if he sensed her renewed thirst, he brought her another cupful with a smile that made her heart flip in a most worrisome manner.
The gossip-slinging scoundrel she’d despised for years was proving a surprisingly pleasant travel companion, but Henrietta took herself to task for the tendre she was developing. Lust was one thing, but her heart mustn’t make a habit of flopping about. Perhaps Theo wasn’t completely horrid, but he had ruined her life five years ago. And even if – no, especially if – she took him to bed to give her a child, she simply couldn’t develop lasting feelings for him. If he were the father of a baby she was passing off as Edmund’s, Theo Hawke and her child could never be near each other, lest others suspect the parentage.
Shortly after they resumed their southerly progression, he returned to their previous subject. ‘Was Perceval aware of your husband’s inclinations?’ he asked. ‘Towards men, I mean?’
‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘Although I didn’t learn of this until fairly recently. Two years before my marriage, Perceval walked in on Edmund and James together. Perceval was about twenty at the time. Evidently, he made a horrid – but private – stink, threatening all sorts of nastiness if Edmund didn’t do first this and then this. From that moment, Edmund told me, Perceval never lifted a finger to advance himself of his own accord. His adult life has been one of waiting.’
‘Waiting on a healthy man to die is an exceptionally poor life plan.’
‘Yes, so you can understand Edmund’s frustration with his heir. Edmund proposed to me not so very long after the incident, thinking our marriage would solve everything. His possession of a young wife would have made Perceval’s claims significantly less believable, had he made good on his threats of exposure. Also, Edmund hoped I’d bear a son to replace Perceval as heir.’
‘Perceval knew your marriage to be unconsummated?’
‘I learnt at the will reading that he certainly suspected it, but that was a complete surprise.’
‘And do you think Perceval capable of murdering his cousin?’
Henrietta gazed towards the horizon, shaking her head. ‘Truly, Theo, I wouldn’t have thought anyone capable of killing Edmund. My husband was a kind man. Oh, he could be cool, distant, absorbed in his own thoughts for days and weeks on end, but that was due to the weight of his responsibilities, not unkindness. Though Perceval disappointed him time and again, he was never cruel, never unreasonable. He simply wanted Perceval to understand that being the Duke of Severn is so much more than wealth and social prominence, that with the title comes tremendous obligations. I thought Perceval more fool than evil until the day the will was read. Now, I can’t help but think he must have killed him.’
‘And how,’ Theo said slowly, ‘do you propose we find proof?’
Henrietta’s shoulders sagged. Confronting Perceval would be no easy task, certainly not while still hiding her identity. ‘That’s something I haven’t yet determined. But I will.’
It was a matter of life – or death.
Her death.
Henrietta shuddered.