The Match of the Century

by Cathy Maxwell

  In that moment, he reminded Ben of no one more than their father, a man who prided himself in always gaining his way.

  As for Elin, she smiled at him, her face pale. Ben knew her mind was on her father. She proved him right when she said to her cousin, “If you are here, who is with my father?”

  “Theresa is with him,” he answered, swinging his leg around and sliding off the horse.

  “Theresa?” Ben questioned.

  “My wife. In fact, her personal maid is waiting in His Grace’s coach. We don’t want it to be said that my cousin was not properly chaperoned.”

  “Absolutely,” Baynton agreed.

  “Pity those lads are dead,” Robbie said. “I’d like to hear what they have to say. You didn’t manage to learn why they were on such a murderous rage, did you?”

  “No.” Ben knew he was being terse but he was in that kind of mood. He was not pleased to be sent away like an errand boy even though at another time he would believe returning to those bodies was the wisest course of action. After all, he could have missed something.

  “Miss Morris and I will see you in London,” the duke said decisively.

  Elin held up a hand. “Wait.”

  Ben’s spirit lifted. Was she going to announce to Gavin now that her feelings had changed? Would she dare to cry off publicly?

  “Before you go, do you need something to eat, Ben?” she asked.

  In Greek times, the young Icarus dared to fly too close to the sun and plunged to his death.

  Masking his disappointment that Elin was more preoccupied with fears for her father than this love they professed to each other, Ben felt very much akin to the foolish Icarus.

  Then again, what did he expect her to do? Did he doubt her profession of love?

  No. And whether he liked it or not, he knew he must trust Elin to see her way out of her entanglement with Gavin one way or the other.

  In the meantime, he needed to find out who and why someone had hired killers to murder her.

  “I’m fine, Miss Morris. I’m not hungry.” Ben looked to his brother. “See that my friends are released, and you may want to give them a reward. After all, Miss Morris is alive because of them. Let’s go, Perkins.”

  Ben rode off.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elin knew Ben was not pleased. Tension, disappointment, annoyance—all the Ben emotions—had radiated from him.

  She knew he had not been pleased that Gavin had taken control of the situation and her.

  But what did he expect? For her to announce in front of all the men the duke had hired to search for her what she wanted to do with him?

  How would such a display help? The whole matter of asking Gavin to release her from her promise to him was delicate. If she handled this in the wrong way, well, life would be impossible.

  Of course, Ben would claim he didn’t care whether they were outsiders to society or not. She could imagine him telling her that they could live in the woods forever.

  But that was unrealistic.

  And she had no intention of causing anyone, including the duke or her father, harm if she could avoid it.

  She had been shocked when she discovered her father wasn’t among the forces Gavin had marshaled to search for her. She could barely wait to climb in the haven of Baynton’s well-appointed coach and ask for a moment alone with Robbie to discover why he was absent.

  “First, let me pour you a glass of wine,” the duke said. “Molly, a nibble of cheese and some bread for Miss Morris.”

  Theresa’s maid was like most ladies’ maids, an extension of her mistress. Robbie’s wife was known for her excellent taste. She set a lovely table, and her home was to be admired. She understood the nuances of society, and there had been a time or two when Jenny Morris had openly wished Elin had a bit of Theresa’s respect and affinity for the ton.

  Elin took the food the maid offered. She sipped the wine from the glass Baynton pressed in her hand. They did not taste better to her than Osprey’s cider and apples, especially when she was so worried about her father.

  “May I have a private moment with Robbie, please?” she begged the duke. “And have you had the opportunity to clear the name of Lord Ben’s friends?”

  “I have not, but I shall give the word now.” He reached for her hand. He wore gloves, and Elin found herself wondering exactly where she’d lost hers, then remembered taking them off so that she could fire the little pistol still in the pocket of her cloak.

  “All will be well. I promise,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Come, Molly.” The duke and maid climbed out of the coach, leaving Elin with Robbie.

  She didn’t mince words. “What is wrong with Father and why haven’t I been told?”

  “He didn’t want you to know.”

  “To know what?” Elin demanded.

  “It’s age, Elin. Your father is up there in years, and you know he didn’t take your mother’s death well. He’s been heartbroken.”

  “Why didn’t he send for me sooner?”

  “Why didn’t you just come?”

  Elin frowned at Robbie. “I’m not fond of the city. And,” she had to concede, “Father and I needed time to mourn. He buries himself in his business concerns. There isn’t much I can do in London.”

  “The museums, the theater, the soirees,” Robbie said as if she was being silly.

  “I was in mourning. Those attractions hold no amusement for me.”

  “Actually, I thought about writing to you of my concerns, but it seemed disloyal. Your father was adamant about keeping his difficulties from you. You know how he can be. Your mother was the only one who could bend him to a will other than his own.”

  “So you say it is just age?” Fyclan Morris had been years older than his wife, but Elin never thought of him as being aged.

  “That is what the doctors are saying. He tires easily, and sometimes he forgets details. He’s never done that before.”

  “No, never.”

  “Occasionally, he had pain in his abdomen, but he carries on. He’s a stoic. There are times Theresa and I believe he is uncomfortable, but he doesn’t complain.”

  “Who is his doctor?”

  “He was refusing to talk to anyone until His Grace insisted he see the Dowager’s personal physician, a Mr. Bartland.”

  “What does he say?”

  “Age.” Robbie shrugged. “Man does not live forever.”

  Elin fell back into the cushioned seat. Once again, Death was calling, and she felt a coldness steal through her. Had she just started to believe all was happy and right? More fool she!

  There was a knock on the door right before it opened. “May I come in?” the duke asked.

  “Please,” Elin said. She looked down at her hands in her lap. They were trembling.

  The men exchanged a glance. She caught them and was annoyed that they were trying to be so solicitous of her.

  Something inside her seemed in danger of exploding. Nothing made sense. She wished Ben were here. Ben wouldn’t be solicitous. He’d assure her that there was definitely something uncommon going on.

  “I’ll ride outside,” Robbie said, and left—or rather he ran. Elin knew her strained silence made him nervous.

  “Molly,” the duke said, standing on the coach step. “We are leaving. Ambrose?” he continued, addressing his driver. “With all haste.”

  “Do you wish to stop for the night, Your Grace?”

  “Not if we can help it,” Elin answered.

  “Did you hear?” the duke asked Ambrose.

  “Aye, Your Grace.”

  Gavin gracefully swung into the coach. Molly hurried in on the other side, squeezing herself in the corner opposite Elin as if to make herself unnoticeable.

  The duke sat in the bench seat across from them. He knocked on the roof, a signal to Ambrose that they were settled in and ready to go.

  As the coach began the trip home, he leaned forward and reached for Elin’s hands.
She let him have them. He’d removed his gloves. For a long moment, her fingers rested on his. He had good hands. Swordsman’s hands, her mother would say. Long, tapered fingers and a good grip.

  Ben had the same sort of hands. She could close her eyes and recall his fingers teasing in all the secret places.

  There was another difference—Ben’s hands had calluses. He’d done work.

  What could Gavin possibly offer her?

  The thought almost moved her to tears. She wanted to pull her hands away from him and tighten up in a ball of self-pity.

  Instead, she said, “Robbie informed me my father is very ill and didn’t want to send for me.”

  The words were painful to speak.

  “One of the reasons my mother pushed for us to move ahead with the wedding is because she knew that this was one way he’d let you come to London.”

  She glanced at the maid, who sat in the corner, silent and immobile, pretending she wasn’t there. Her presence didn’t seem to disturb Baynton. Then again, he was accustomed to having servants all around him. At official dinners at Menheim House, footmen were assigned to stand behind each guest’s chair, ready to fulfill any need. If the maid didn’t bother him, well, Elin would not give her another thought. Frustration and worry could not be held at bay.

  “It seems odd,” Elin said, “that a daughter must push a wedding to see her father.”

  “I don’t know that he has any animosity if that is what you are suggesting,” Gavin answered. “He has said nothing of the sort to me, and I’ve taken the liberty of calling on him almost every day. The days I miss, Mother visits.”

  “Did he not want me with him?” She frowned at her hands held in Gavin’s as if they might reveal an answer.

  “I know he has missed you,” the duke quickly assured her. “But, pardon me for saying this, he is a stubborn man. He adored your mother, and his grief is very deep.”

  “Then why would he not reach out to me? Does he believe I don’t care as deeply?”

  “Elin, I don’t know, but I’m glad you are returning to London. Perhaps you can renew his will to live.”

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Elin said, freeing her hands from his. “My father is a fighter. The idea of his being weak is hard to imagine.”

  “He hasn’t been well.”

  She shook her head. “No, something is happening. I don’t understand, but this is not the way things are supposed to be.”

  Then again, nothing had been the way things were supposed to be since her mother died.

  Her glance fell on Molly, reminding her of Madame Odette.

  “Father sent a dressmaker to fetch me back to London. You can’t imagine the quality of the materials she had,” Elin remembered. “I wasn’t impressed,” she confessed. “I mean, the dresses and workmanship were lovely, but I knew Madame had been sent to pry me out of my grief. I’d never considered that Father needed me. I feel so selfish—”

  “Don’t,” Gavin said. “You are being too hard on yourself.”

  “Or perhaps not hard enough.”

  “Elin, stop.”

  His tone was calm, reasoned. He said exactly what Ben would have told her . . . but with less passion.

  “You and your brother are very much alike,” she told him.

  “Truly?” Baynton laughed, the sound bitter. “I don’t see it. And if what you say is true, I don’t believe Ben would appreciate the comparison.”

  “He might appreciate it more than you believe.”

  His gaze shifted from her, a mannerism completely shared by Ben and, louder than words, denoting them to be of the same family. “I can only hope.” He forced a smile.

  The Whitridge brothers also shared the trait of stubbornness. But their brotherly relationship was not her concern. She had her own life to attend to. She needed to see her father.

  And she needed to speak her truth to Gavin, to tell him that she loved Ben.

  It was obviously not going to be easy.

  Elin was not a coward. She was certain of her feelings. What she had to say to him was intensely private. She hadn’t even formed the right words in her mind. She didn’t want to insult Baynton, and she was well aware that gossips in London would see it exactly that way. Like all men with power, he had his enemies. They would enjoy seeing her jilt him. Her decision could fuel the gossips for months.

  To make matters worse, Gavin might be heavy-handed in the manner in which he dealt with people, especially his brother, but he was a good man. A very good man.

  He even sensed the conflict inside her although he might not understand its reasons, because he said, “I can see you are tired. Sleep, Elin, rest your eyes and be at peace. You are safe now.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, gratefully taking his advice and closing her eyes and escaping hard decisions. She did feel a bit of a traitor. She could see no way of being true to herself and sparing Baynton humiliation.

  Her father, she must see her father, and once she reassured herself he was well, she would lay this whole story out in front of him. He would help her find her way clear in all of this. He must. She didn’t want to live her life without Ben, especially since she could already be carrying his child.

  “So exactly who are you, Perkins?” Ben asked. They rode through the woods followed by about four other men Perkins had pulled out of the search party. They were dressed like him, in hunting clothes, and had a sense of purpose that belied their being locals Gavin had hired for this task.

  The nondescript man smiled. “I carry out tasks for His Grace when he needs me.”

  “A very private man, eh?” Ben suggested.

  Perkins didn’t answer, and Ben hadn’t expected him to give one. He’d met Perkins’s like before. His father had had several he used when he wished to acquire information.

  And it bothered him that here, too, Gavin was following in their father’s steps. It seemed distrustful.

  He also wondered if Perkins had ever been asked to snoop around about Ben.

  They found the ruins handily enough. Ben remembered that he and Elin had approached them from the long side of the wall.

  However, he’d hidden the bodies well. The small burial mounds looked like the landscape around them, especially after the rain had done its job. It took a good hour before Ben was certain they’d found the right place. He recognized it by the clump of trees he’d hidden Elin behind.

  Perkins’s men removed the logs from the bodies. Perkins motioned his men back so that he could study the killers’ faces.

  “Recognize them?” Ben asked.

  Instead of answering, Perkins said, “What do you know about them?”

  “The big one is Darby. He was the leader. Miss Morris heard him refer to the other two as Peters and Tucker, but we are not certain if this is Peters or Tucker.”

  “He’s Tucker.”

  “Ah, so you do know them?” Ben tamped down a surge of temper even as his suspicions about Perkins were reinforced.

  “One doesn’t linger in unsavory places without eventually learning the names of some of the locals,” Perkins answered, kneeling beside Darby and starting to search his clothing.

  “I take it that you’ve met them in London,” Ben suggested.

  “Down by the wharves. Tucker is a petty thief. I wouldn’t have thought murder his game. He surprised me.”

  “Surprised me as well.”

  Perkins raised a brow at the barbed comment. Ben smiled back. Perkins was Gavin’s man. That he knew one of those who tried to kill Elin linked the murders to the duke.

  Ben was not happy about this at all. He knew Gavin did not orchestrate the attack on Elin’s coach. There was no reason to do so save to cry off from the marriage—but murder was a drastic method.

  And the Gavin Ben had just spent time with appeared unwilling to let go of his betrothed.

  “Have you found anything?” Ben asked.

  Perkins looked up from pulling off Darby’s boot and shaking it out. “Nothing.”


  “I’m thorough as well,” Ben had to point out.

  “I have no doubt of that, my lord.”

  “Then why don’t we stop pretending, Perkins, and you tell me what you know?”

  “I know very little.”

  “I beg to differ. You seem to know quite a bit. Who do you think attempted to murder Miss Morris and make it appear a robbery?”

  “It could be anyone,” Perkins answered. He motioned to his men. “Bury them.” Two of the men climbed off their horses. Ben hadn’t noticed that they’d brought shovels with them, but there they were. They set to work.

  “We don’t need to stay, my lord,” Perkins said. “We can start for London.”

  “Good, we’ll catch up with my brother’s coach.”

  “Actually, that might not be possible,” Perkins said.

  “And why not, Perkins?”

  The man didn’t answer immediately but kicked his horse forward. Ben fell in with him. When the others were out of sight, Perkins said, “You understand how it looks, your being alone with Miss Morris for a long period of time?”

  “I happened to be saving her life,” Ben pointed out.

  “Of course. You were successful. There is no doubt that without you, she would not be with us.”

  “Thank you,” Ben said, meaning anything but a courtesy. “However, I sense we are discussing Miss Morris for a reason. Or do you enjoy speaking in riddles?”

  “Actually, I do enjoy riddles.”

  “Good. You seem to have a talent for them.”

  Perkins actually smiled.

  Ben did not smile back. He was thinking he’d like to plant his fist in the middle of the man’s nondescript face.

  Sensing his mood, Perkins came to the point. “It will be best if you and Miss Morris kept a distance from each other for a period of time. There will be those who speculate and talk; however, if the two of you are cordial but distant, the gossip will die.”

  Ben had no intention of being “distant” from Elin. “Did my brother put you up to this?”

  “To what?” Perkins answered with a touch mild amusement.

  Ben reined in his horse. “You aren’t clever, Perkins. Furthermore, my father enjoyed playing these games with his sons. He called it keeping us on our toes. You can tell my brother he’ll have to do better if he expects to bamboozle me into staying where he wishes me to stay or behaving in the manner he deems proper. I will not keep a distance from Miss Morris, and I don’t care what the gossips say.” Indeed, Elin might even now be telling Gavin that she can’t marry him—which was another compelling reason for Ben to be with her.