Thomas is just leaving, Aunt Lucy. He has said all he needs to say.’
She raised her chin, boldly meeting his gaze. He might have crushed her feelings, but she would rather die than reveal her humiliation.
‘Oh, no, I’m not,’ Matthew retorted, holding her gaze for what seemed an eternity before switching his attention to Aunt Lucy. ‘I have brought grave news, Lady Rothley, news that has serious implications for the safety of your niece.’
Eleanor clamped her teeth shut on the remark she longed to fling at his head. How had the mere touch of his lips managed to block the news of the attack from her mind?
‘What news do you bring? What implications?’ Aunt Lucy sank on to the sofa and beckoned Eleanor to sit by her side. ‘Please, Mr Thomas, be seated—’ she waved her hand at the chair opposite ‘—and explain yourself.’
‘Last night, a young woman was attacked in the White Lion in Stockport,’ he said. ‘She was attacked by an intruder wielding a knife as she slept in one of the bedchambers reserved for your party. I occupied the other.’
Aunt Lucy gasped, turning stricken eyes to Eleanor, who took her hand, her fear giving way to annoyance at Matthew’s brutal telling of the story.
‘It does not mean,’ she said, ‘that the attack was intended for me. Surely...’ she faltered as Matthew focused his hard gaze on her once more ‘...surely, it must be a—’
‘Coincidence?’ Matthew interrupted roughly. ‘One coincidence I can believe, but two? So close together? It would now seem beyond doubt there is a pattern. There have been three attempts on your life in the past few weeks. It is time to take this threat seriously. Tell me, can you think of anyone who would wish you ill?’
‘Why, no, of course not. I’ve barely left Ashby Manor in the past seven years.’
The very idea was absurd.
‘Forgive me, but...your husband? Could he wish you harm?’
‘Husb— But I’m not married, Mr Thomas. Why would you believe that I am?’
‘Not married? But, how...? You’re a baroness. You must be wed, or...perhaps you’re a widow?’
Aunt Lucy put him straight. ‘My niece is a peeress in her own right. Unusual, to be sure, but not unheard of.’
Eleanor watched as Matthew digested this information. He looked, at best, not pleased. The implication of his belief she was married dealt a further blow to her already fragile self-esteem.
Was that why he kissed me, because I was a safe target? A married woman who might enjoy a flirtation in her husband’s absence? And how much more disgust must he feel now, knowing I’m single and yet returned his kiss?
‘Hmm, that puts a very different complexion on it.’
‘What possible difference does my being unmarried make?’ Shame made her sharp with him.
‘It makes every difference. There are many reasons to kill or harm another. Were you married, the reasons someone might wish to kill you might be hatred, or possibly jealousy or passion. But now, with greed as part of the equation, it begins to make more sense. May I ask—who is your heir?’
‘My cousin, James Weare.’
‘Then he must be our prime suspect.’
‘James? Never!’
‘Greed has driven more than one to kill, my lady. The lure of a peerage, and the power and privilege it bestows, is more than enough, quite apart from any wealth that accompanies it.’
Eleanor was silent, weighing Matthew’s words against her knowledge of her cousin and his character. The fear that had plagued her at odd moments over the past few weeks returned to gnaw at her insides and she shuddered, thinking of that poor girl who had been hurt.
That could have been me. But...no! Not James. He couldn’t...not the James I know. It’s just too horrible. This is nonsense. It must be nonsense.
Eleanor looked at Aunt Lucy and Matthew, both wearing the same troubled expression, and bitter resentment bubbled up inside. How dare he come here and scare her like this, accusing her much-loved cousin of trying to kill her?
She sprang from the sofa to pace the room. ‘No, I will not believe it. James and I grew up together at Ashby—we were like brother and sister. It makes no sense. If he had wanted to kill me he could have done so with ease many times. I am convinced the fire and the accident were unrelated.’ She rounded on Matthew. ‘I will thank you, sir, to keep such wild accusations to yourself.’
Eleanor’s agitated pacing prompted Matthew to abandon the topic of her cousin’s likely guilt rather than antagonise her further.
The news she was unmarried was an unwelcome shock. He was not the kind of man to dally with innocents—although, eyeing her determined stance as the baroness challenged him, innocent hardly seemed an apt description. But also, to his surprise—and equally unwelcome—was a spurt of pleasure that she was unattached. All nonsense, of course. What on earth could he, a lowly merchant without even the backing of his family name, offer a wealthy baroness? His plans for the future were set. He would work hard to build up a successful business and then he would take the greatest satisfaction in repaying his father every last shilling of his debts. He would prove that the son so easily disowned had made a success of his life without his family’s backing.
That kiss, though... He clamped down his desire to taste Eleanor’s sweet lips again. Concentrate on the matter in hand, man...surely it’s serious enough to warrant your full attention without being waylaid by such thoughts.
‘You are in danger, my lady,’ he said. ‘That is a fact and, regardless of who might wish you ill, you must take all possible measures to ensure your safety until the culprit is found.’
‘Mr Thomas is right.’ Lady Rothley went to Eleanor, taking her hands. ‘Oh! It doesn’t bear thinking about. That could have been you attacked in your bed. You could have been murdered.’ Her voice quavered. ‘Please, Ellie, do not be stubborn. Surely you must see these happenings cannot all be coincidence? What do you suggest we do, Mr Thomas? Should we return to Ashby? Will that be safer than London?’
‘It might be the wisest move.’
Eleanor directed a scathing look at Matthew. ‘I’m sorry you are so troubled, Aunt, but I have no intention of returning to Ashby. Besides, Batley, if you remember, was concerned that the house cannot be made secure during the renovations, so we would be no safer there.’
‘Who is Batley?’
Eleanor scorched Matthew with an impatient glance. ‘He is my bailiff. No, we will not return to the Manor. We shall continue our journey to London. And that,’ she added, jabbing her finger in Matthew’s direction, ‘is not up for negotiation.’
Matthew bit back his instinctive retort. There was no point in quarrelling with Eleanor in the mood she was in. Never had he come across such
