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“Is he likely to have notes about it in his study?”
Beatrice looked at him frankly. “I really cannot say. Uncle Matthew was eccentric and really kept himself to himself. He came out for meals, and to go to church on Sunday but, other than that, he was always in his study. I never really got involved with his botany work. Whenever I ventured in there I always got shouted at because I inadvertently disturbed something Uncle Matthew deemed precious. Maud always left his tea trays on the floor outside his door. More often than not, it went cold and remained untouched, but she left it there anyway, just in case he remembered that he wanted a drink.”
To Ben, Matthew Northolt sounded like an incredibly selfish man; or a mad genius. He couldn’t understand anyone wanting to ignore Beatrice at all, especially when she was living in their house. If he ever got to a point in his life when he had such a wonderful woman like Beatrice in his home, the last thing he would do was practically ignore her.
He took the opportunity to study her while they drank their tea. She had started to dry out a little now that the room had started to warm up. Her damp hair had started to curl into ringlets which bounced against her face whenever she talked, or moved her head, and it merely added to the fine, porcelain beauty of her face. His fingers itched to stroke that velvet cheek to see if it really was as soft as it looked, but he kept them wrapped tightly around his tea cup instead. To sit beside her now was a stroke of good fortune. The last thing he wanted to do was push his luck, and frighten her by trying to touch her.
He tried to remind himself that he was a gentleman, and so should behave like a gentleman. It would be foolish to attempt to seduce someone who was injured and needed his help in her hour of need, not his lechery, but it was damned difficult given that the memory of her lush curves pressed tightly against him hovered in the recesses of his mind and refused to be ignored.
“I cannot remember seeing anything like this before either outside or in the conservatory. I am sure that I would have remembered,” she murmured.
She studied the single slender stalk that barely held on to several heavy flowers, all of which were the same cream colour, which darkened to a golden yellow the closer it got to the stalk. Its heady scent reminded her of honeysuckle mixed with chocolate, tainted by the cloying odour of Mr Tinder’s sweet shop. Individually, they were wonderful scents she usually enjoyed. Combined, they were sickening enough to make her stomach churn alarmingly.
When he placed his cup back into its saucer, and it rattled alarmingly, she studied the fine trembling in his hand. Immediately, a wave of guilt swept through her at her lack of manners.
“You must be frozen. You have been outside in the pouring rain and are soaked through.” She assessed his height. “Would you like to change into something dry so you can get warm? You are about my uncle’s build, I am sure that there is something in his wardrobe that will fit.”
Ben contemplated the wisdom of that for a moment. His first instinct was to say no, but then really wanted to know a bit more about the plant; and her. Now that he was in her house, he found that he wanted to stay with her for as long as possible.
“I think that would be a wise idea, if you don’t mind,” he replied ruefully. “Before I get your floor too wet.” He studied the water that dripped steadily from the hem of his trousers and threw her an apologetic smile.
She smiled at him, relieved that he was going to allow her to at least try to make amends for her lapse of manners. “If you go to the top of the stairs, the bedroom immediately to the left was my uncle’s. I haven’t touched any of his belongings yet, so you should find plenty there that should fit you.”
“Thank you,” he murmured gently and nodded to the tea tray. “Will you be alright to pour another cup while I go and change?”
Beatrice nodded and watched him go. With nobody to talk to, and nothing else to do, Beatrice placed her saucer onto the table beside her and picked up the packaging paper again. She studied the label but it really was completely illegible, and there was no sender address. Curiously, there were no stamps either, which pointed to the fact that it had been hand delivered and not posted. Once again, she thought of the strange thud she had heard in the hallway and wondered if someone had attempted to knock on the door. If so, why hadn’t they knocked again when there was no answer?
“What is it?”
Beatrice jumped and turned to study him, and felt a surge of awareness at the sight of him in the doorway. He had borrowed one of her uncle’s white shirts and had folded the sleeves back to reveal the corded muscles of his forearms. Her stomach fluttered and she studied the thick patch of chest hair hidden beneath the pristine cotton which lay open at the neck. The rather casual look was emphasised by dark brown trousers, which made him look more like a workman than an urbane gentleman, but even that seemed to emphasise his rugged handsomeness.
She watched him walk toward her but it was only when he took a seat beside her that she realised he still waited for her to reply.
“I was just thinking that it is rather curious that someone would travel all the way out here to deliver something like this and not even leave a note.” She looked at him. “I don’t know how to look after it,” she declared and wafted her arms around the room for emphasis. “I mean, does it like sunlight, or does it prefer to be somewhere cold? Is it a tropical plant, do you think?”
“Did your uncle work on his botany projects here?”
“Well, yes. The conservatory is stuffed full of things he worked on. Why?” Beatrice frowned at him.
“Did he work on his plants in the study?”
She shook her head. “No, he only did his paperwork in there. He had a conservatory out the back where he spent time with his plants when he wasn’t in his study.”
Ben drank his tea for a moment. He wanted to kiss her and see if her lips really were as soft as they looked, and knew that if he remained on the sofa with her much longer, that was exactly what he was going to do. He sighed and forced his attention back to the plant.
“Let me go out to the conservatory and see if there is anything like that plant in there. If there is, we know that this one you have is something that your uncle may have been working on. It may have been returned to him by someone who doesn’t realise he is dead.”
Beatrice nodded and mentally kicked herself for not having thought about that herself. She opened her mouth to speak but, to her consternation, he was already on his way to the door.
“Ben?” It felt terribly familiar to use his first name, especially given their relatively new acquaintance, but he didn’t appear to have any objection to her familiarity. “Would you mind putting this into uncle’s study, please? It is the room next door.” She put a delicate hand to her nose and tried hard not to sniff. “I can’t take any more of that odour.”
Ben nodded and happily complied. If he was honest, the stench had started to grate on his senses too. He just wished that there was something else he could waft around to smother the smell.
Holding the plant carefully away from him, he walked casually into the study and stared in horror at the sight that greeted him. He quickly put the plant onto the floor by his feet and hurried back to the sitting room.
“Beatrice?”
She eyed the cold fury on his face and felt her stomach drop to her toes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
