Janice Preston - Return Of Scandal's Son

‘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.’

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