Chapter Nineteen
Henry
“You’re not truly going to look at Perrin’s body?” Miss Smith clutched her elbows. “Lady Mary must have been jesting.”
Henry arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think even Lady Mary would joke about that.” Besides, he was curious what the constable had seen that he hadn’t on that night. “Stay here.”
He descended the steps and pulled open the door.
He had to stoop inside the hut, wondering why the builders hadn’t added a couple more inches to the ceiling.
But this structure wasn’t built to linger inside.
Blocks of ice were stacked within, and along the far wall, the blocks were stacked to form a bed of sorts.
Perrin lay atop, a blanket covering his form.
The light from the open door wavered. “Do you see anything?” Miss Smith asked.
“I might if you didn’t block the light.” He should have thought to bring his own lamp.
“Oh.” She hurried down the steps and to his side. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t mean for you to join me down here.” He pressed his lips flat.
Miss Smith circled to his other side, her gaze fixed on the blanket-covered form. She stood closer than was proper, her skirts brushing his legs, her bosom grazing his arm.
The lady was trepidatious, of course. Her body instinctively sought out a live body as comfort against the one who was dead. He understood it, and he would be lying if he said his own body didn’t appreciate her nearness.
But this was a nasty business. “Go back to the house. I need to lift the blanket.”
She shook her head. “I want to see. I don’t remember striking him, but my memories of the event are a bit muddled. I want to know what I did.”
Henry grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. He put his finger under her chin, turning her head from Perrin’s body and raising it to his. “Whether you struck him or not, you didn’t kill him. Poison did. There’s no need for you to see him.”
She swallowed. “I know. And when I was outside, there was nothing I wanted to see less, but now that I’m here, I don’t think I can leave without seeing him. I know it doesn’t make sense, but if you’re going to look at Perrin’s face for bruises, I feel that I should, too.”
He examined her. Miss Smith may look like a typical society miss, one whose biggest concern was the latest fashion, but she had a spine made of steel. He’d been impressed with her composure after learning what had occurred between her and Perrin before he died, and he was even more impressed now.
Her father might plant him a facer if he learned that Henry had allowed his daughter to examine Perrin’s body, but from the determined glint in her eyes, he knew it was the right thing to do. And it wasn’t as though she hadn’t already seen the body.
Henry shuffled forward, a crick starting to form in his neck. Miss Smith matched him step for step, keeping close. He reached for the top of the blanket. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, her gaze again fixed to Perrin’s form.
He pulled back the blanket, his shoulders lowering an inch.
The face wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. The skin was grey in this low light, and there was a purple bruise along one cheek that Henry didn’t remember seeing before, but the ice had done its job.
There was no decay as yet, and only the faintest cloying scent reached his nose.
“That seems a large bruise.” Miss Smith held out her right hand. “Wouldn’t I also have a mark if I’d struck him that hard?”
If she’d struck him that hard, she’d most likely have a broken bone. He tried to picture the woman beside him winding up to sock an overly-familiar Perrin, and his lips twitched.
“You didn’t cause that bruise.” Henry lowered the blanket to Perrin’s hips, wondering if the earl had anything of import in his pockets and why he hadn’t thought to check them before.
“Perrin most likely obtained the bruise falling down the stairs.” He quickly stifled his disgust and swept his fingers in the body’s jacket pockets, then moved to the waistcoat.
Nothing. “I’m certain Lady Mary will be disappointed, but there’s nothing to learn here. Perhaps a doctor or coroner can discover something new, but we can’t. We should leave.”
A tremor shook Miss Smith’s body, and she ran her hands up and down her arms. “Are you certain? I don’t want to have to come back.”
“You won’t.” He shook his head. “Let’s—”
The door slammed shut, blanketing them in darkness.
“Mr. Evans?” Miss Smith’s voice was high and thin.
He stumbled forward, biting back a curse when his knee struck the edge of an ice block. Feeling his way along the roof, he reached the door and pushed.
It didn’t move. “Hallo? Did someone shut the door? I and Miss Smith are inside. Hallo?”
There was no answer. Henry pushed harder against the door. The wood creaked, but remained in place. There was no handle on the inside of the door, no lock. No reason why the blasted thing shouldn’t open.
“Oh, God.” Panic laced Miss Smith’s voice. “We’re trapped.”
He backed up a step, braced his hands on the ceiling, and planted his boot on the door. He kicked it again. A third time, each strike making a satisfying creaking noise but accomplishing nothing.
Miss Smith’s voice sounded even fainter. “We’re trapped. With a dead body. In the dark.”
The bigger concern was being trapped in the cold, but he refrained from pointing that out.
“It will be all right.” His eyes were beginning to adjust. It wasn’t full dark in the ice house, a bare amount of light filtering through the cracks in the hut’s plaster.
Miss Smith was a lighter shadow among the dark, and he groped his way to her, knocking his head on the ceiling once in the process.
He grabbed her arm, at least he hoped it was her arm, and squeezed. “Something must have fallen and blocked the door. Someone will be out here soon and move it.” He slipped off his jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. “Stick your arms inside. This should keep you warm.”
Fabric rustled as she did as he said. “What about you?”
“I’m fine.” He was colder than Medusa’s stare but he wouldn’t admit to it.
He inched around the perimeter of the hut, looking for any weakness in the structure.
It didn’t take long. The ice house wasn’t large, but it was seemingly of solid construction.
Too solid. He slapped his hand against the wall, wincing at the sting.
Since Miss Smith couldn’t see him, at least not well, he stuck his hands under his armpits to warm them.
“Any minute now someone will notice our absence,” he said.
Grimacing, he picked up an ice block and went to the door.
The skin on his hands started to burn from the cold.
Using the block as a battering ram, he attacked the door once more.
“Someone.” Bam. “Will.” Bam. “Come.” Bam. “For us.” Bam, bam.
The ice slipped from his hands and landed on his toe.
Biting back an oath, Henry rested his forehead against the door. Blast. He didn’t even bother looking for the block when he returned to rejoin Miss Smith.
“Is it becoming difficult to breathe?” she gasped out.
“No.” Without thought, he gathered her to his chest and rubbed her back. “There’s plenty of air. Take slow breaths.”
She shook against him, and he held her until the tremors stopped, until her breath slowed to match his.
He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Someone will find us, don’t worry.”
“I don’t like small spaces,” she admitted.
“Understandable.” He inhaled deeply, the scent of whatever soap she used on her hair filling his nose.
“Or the dark, though this seems to be a new fear for me.”
“Since there are only the two of us here, there is nothing to fear from the dark.” He tucked her closer. He wanted to share his body heat with her. His confidence. If she happened to feel like a soft, tempting little armful against him, well, that was only an unlooked for bounty.
“The two of us and….”
That wasn’t a pleasant direction for her mind to go.
“Your father mentioned that you and he had recently returned from a trip to Paris. Tell me about that.” He had mentioned it to Perrin, in their argument when he’d confronted the earl about the changes to the marriage contract.
Apparently he’d been meeting with a business associate there who would fund the mining operation expansion Smith had planned for the land Perrin was supposed to give him.
“We lodged near Notre Dame Cathedral.” A shudder wracked her body.
“It was lovely, but the people were disagreeable. I don’t know if it was anti-English sentiment, the fact that my father is wealthy, or just the nature of the French.
I feel no need to return.” She dug her hand into his cravat, her fingers pressing against his throat.
He flinched. “Good Lord, your hands are colder than mine.” He put just enough space between them to be able to hold her hands between his. He lifted them to his mouth and blew. “What of your sisters? Did they accompany you?”
“No.” She rested her head against his shoulder.
“Their husbands wouldn’t let them. They each do have a young child to care for,” she conceded, sighing.
“I used to hope my father would find me a good man to marry me off to. Now a part of me hopes he’ll think he has enough money and allow me to remain unwed. ”
He chafed her hands between his. “Not all men are like Lord Perrin. And surely you wish to have children of your own one day.”
She was silent for a moment. “I hope that I can choose the man who would be father to my children. I know better than anyone with whom I’d be compatible.”
That was a grand idea in theory, but Henry knew plenty of people in unhappy marriages that they had chosen to enter into themselves. And he knew plenty in arranged marriages who seemed quite delighted in their spouse.
He would be lying, however, if he said he wanted Mr. Smith to contract his daughter to another man. She did deserve to have a say in the matter. And he didn’t want to see her with another man who was unsuitable.
A small part of him didn’t want to see her with another man at all.
In the dark, he felt it was safe to press a small kiss to her fingertips.
Miss Smith snugged her body against his. Her voice grew husky. “My lips are quite cold, as well.”
In the dark, he felt it safe enough to drop his head and press his lips to hers. It was only responsible to keep all her bits warm.
Her breath heated his mouth. Her lips sought his just as eagerly. And when she opened her mouth and let his tongue slide inside, he had to assume that her body heated just as much as his.
He stopped thinking about the impropriety. They were trapped. Cold. She needed comfort. Heat.
He dug his fingers into her hair, angling her head to the perfect position.
After all, it was the responsible thing to do.