Chasing Eliza (Cavendish Mysteries 3)

That thought made her feel so acutely alone that a wave of grief settled over her. Immediately she felt the sting of tears in her eyes and had to swallow against the choking hold the swirling emotions had on her throat. She blinked rapidly to prevent the tears from falling and wasn’t aware of Edward’s steady gaze and sympathetic understanding.

“You are not going to get rid of me Eliza.” He murmured gently. “You need to understand that here and now. You can either work with me and we can try to resolve your current situation with as little bloodshed as possible, or you can fight me and draw this entire scenario out unnecessarily. I will fight for you. I will kill to protect you and keep your pursuers from taking you, but in return I need you to be honest with me.” His eyes met and held hers meaningfully. “I need you to be totally honest with me.”

Eliza nodded reluctantly. He was right she knew but she was still reluctant to involve him in her problems. She could understand his need for the truth, especially given the adversary he had yet to face but didn’t know how much to confide in him.

“I need to ask you a few questions first.” She murmured, picking up an apple and a knife.

Edward simply stared at her in return, and waited.

“Who are you?” Although her attention was seemingly on slowly peeling the apple, it was in fact locked firmly upon the man opposite. Even with the solidity of the table between them, he positively throbbed masculine intent.

“My name is Edward Michael Cavendish, Lord Entwhistle.” His voice was calm and steady as her world rocked. She stared at him, knowing from the steady reassurance in his gaze that it was the absolute truth.

“So why are you here?” She waved her hand to stop his answer and paused for several moments. “I mean, why are you involving yourself in this? I know you said you had dropped in to the tavern to help search for Jemima, but you know that I am not her. Peter doesn’t know anything about me and probably won’t want to be burdened by my arrival, so why are you insisting on remaining with me?”

Edward fought the urge to squirm under her penetrating gaze. He suddenly felt uncomfortable in his own skin as he considered whether he should tell her the truth. The thought was enough to make him pause. If he expected her to tell him the truth, wasn’t it better to confide in her in return?

“I have recently purchased my own estate from my brother. He inherited a house from my late uncle but unfortunately it was raised to the ground. I have commissioned a new house to be built and had gone to Yorkshire to purchase a flock of sheep and make a few business contacts. Before I left for Yorkshire, I was asked by Peter to follow a lead he had been given about Jemima’s whereabouts.” Sensing her question his eyes met and held hers. “His aunt Elspeth had died and he had to attend the funeral and sort out her will, and so on and so forth. Needless to say he couldn’t be checking out the lead and dealing with urgent family matters as well, so I agreed to drop by on my way home. The lead took me to you.” He stated plainly, his tone so matter of fact Eliza knew it to be the truth.

“But you could now go home and report back to Peter that you cannot find Jemima, but her sister is safe and well. The battle isn’t yours Edward.” Her voice was soft but challenging. She tried desperately to ignore the shiver that swept through her. Although she longed for him to stick by her, she couldn’t ignore the risks involved especially given who he really was.

Suddenly the distance between them loomed greater than ever. A small part of Eliza’s heart broke away and crumbled with grief as the possibility of this man leaving her life and going his own way stood in stark contrast to her own uncertain future.

“I don’t – won’t - back down from a fight Eliza.” Edward replied, his long tapered fingers running absently over the smooth sides of the goblet. “I cannot and will not leave you to deal with this on your own.”

Swamped with relief, she slowly began to peel and core an apple. It helped to alleviate some of the discomfort she felt from his unrelenting stare. She had to fight the urge to squirm on her seat like a recalcitrant child and gave in to the inevitable.

“I can never repay you.” She murmured huskily, staring absently at his fingers.

“I don’t expect repayment. My reward will be seeing you safe from harm.” He didn’t add that he really wanted her safe from harm in his arms. The thought of marriage sat uncomfortably on his broad shoulders as it meant that he had a level of commitment towards her he had considered beyond him – until now.

His attention was drawn by her absent destruction of the apple she peeled and he waited patiently for her to take that final step towards trusting him implicitly.

Chapter Five

“My father was a magistrate in Cornwall covering Padstow, Moushole, Looe, St Ives and the small fishing villages in between.” She began on a sigh, thinking of her tall, proud father with a wave of grief. “He was a firm but fair man. He knew all about the smuggling gangs who worked the area.” She offered him a small smile, aware of his startled look.

“Although in most cases he often chose to look the other way and probably didn’t do as much as he should to stop them. The majority of the small smuggling gangs that ran the area were fishermen who were just trying to earn a little extra to feed their families. There was no malice intended; no intimidation or threat. Most of the fishermen’s families were involved in some way or other, often hiding the goods in the strangest places to avoid detection by the Revenue. Redcoats were in the area when the smuggling became rife, but they struggled to catch the families involved purely because the locals became adept at hiding the goods. My father didn’t help them as much as he could have and that earned him – us – the respect of the villagers.”

She

didn’t add that her father was ‘treated’ occasionally for his unofficial assistance with an occasional barrel of finest French brandy.

“He wasn’t a bad man.” She hastened to reassure him, slightly annoyed at the look of scepticism on his face. “He certainly didn’t help the fishermen; just didn’t stop them.” Unable to sit still under the penetrating gaze of his sharp blue eyes, Eliza stood and moved slowly to the fireplace, dragging her chair with her. She needed the warmth of the flames to heat the chill deep within. “Until Scraggan arrived.”

Waiting until Edward drew his chair to sit opposite her, she let silence settle between them for several moments as she chopped the apple into thin slivers. “At first, all seemed to be well. The fishermen continued going out for their daily catch - and night-time collections - and eventually accepted him into their fold. He went out on their boats as fishing crew to begin with. I don’t know too much about the smugglers’ activities, but I do know that he became involved.”

Silence stretched between them for several long moments until Edward began to wonder if she would continue her story. He was about to prompt her when she jolted, and stared blankly down at the mangled apple now sitting in her lap.

“Then the bodies started turning up. At first nobody thought too much of the two men who were found. One was a renowned drunk. My father thought that while in a drunken stupor he had fallen on his way home and died of head injuries before anyone could find him in the morning. Then old man Macleary was found with a broken neck.” She watched as Edward leant forwards in his chair, his attention locked firmly on her.

“What was so strange about that?” Edward murmured softly, studying the paleness of her face. She was systematically turning the fresh apple into pulp, but it seemed to help her and at least she was confiding in him.

“He was on the doorstep of his cottage. Nothing was around him that he could have fallen over that would cause a sufficiently heavy fall to break his neck, nor had anything fallen on him. He wasn’t found for two days. When a couple of days had passed and his boat hadn’t left harbour, some of the villagers became concerned and went to check on him. Someone, I don’t know who, hinted to my father that he had been murdered but refused to say more.”

Eliza stared blankly down at the pile of mulch on her skirt. “Then Mr Travers went out to sea and didn’t come back.”

Edward couldn’t really see anything unusual about a fisherman being lost at sea, but hated to cast doubt on her story sensing there was much more to come.