The Ideal Bride (Cynster 11)

“The latter isn’t

hard to imagine,” Edward said.

“Indeed not,” Caro agreed. “Camden was in touch with virtually everyone. However, Camden would have placed anything pertaining to any sensitive subject in the official files, and they’re with either the Foreign Office or the new ambassador.”

“But Ferdinand wouldn’t know that,” Michael said.

“Possibly not. So that, potentially, explains his searching.”

Edward frowned. “It doesn’t, however, throw any light on why he might be trying to harm you.”

She blinked. “You didn’t seriously think…?” Her gaze swept to Michael, then returned to Edward. “Even if these recent incidents are attempts to harm me, I can’t see how they could have any diplomatic connection. Especially not with Ferdinand’s family secret—that, whatever it is, most likely predates my time as Camden’s wife.”

Michael’s steady, rather stern regard didn’t waver. After a moment, he said, quietly but firmly, “That’s because you don’t know, never knew, or can’t remember—for whatever reason are not aware of knowing—whatever it is these people think you know.”

After an instant, Edward nodded decisively. “Yes—that could be it. In lieu of retrieving whatever it is from Camden’s papers, someone—presumably the duke if our theorizing is correct—has decided you might know his secret, and must therefore be silenced.” He paused as if turning his words over in his mind, then nodded again. “That makes sense.”

“Not to me,” she declared, equally decisively.

“Caro—” Michael said.

“No!” She held up a hand. “Just hear me out.” She paused, listening to the distant music. “And we’ll have to be quick because Elizabeth’s almost at the end of that study, and she’ll be along as soon as she’s finished.” She looked at Michael. “So don’t argue.”

He set his lips.

“You’ve decided these three incidents have been attempts to harm me—but have they? Couldn’t they just as easily have been accidents? Only the first and third actually involved me—it’s pure conjecture that the second was targeted at me. The men attacked Miss Trice, not me. If they’d been sent to kidnap me, why did they seize her?”

Michael bit his tongue; furnished with a sketchy description, in the deceptive twilight making such a mistake would be easy. He exchanged a long glance with Edward.

“As for the third incident,” Caro rattled on, “an arrow shot from the forest too close to the edge of a crowd. Doing such a thing and successfully hitting a particular person—the archer would need to be a better marksman than Robin Hood. It was pure luck I happened to be there at that moment, that’s all. The arrow had nothing to do with me specifically.”

He and Edward kept silent. This was one argument Caro wasn’t going to let them win; there was no point pursuing it even though they were convinced they were right. They’d simply watch her anyway.

“And even you and Hardacre thought the first incident with the pellets was just boys being stupid.” Caro spread her hands. “So we have two likely accidents, and one attack. And while I grant the attack on Miss Trice wasn’t an accident, there’s no evidence it was me those men were after. Indeed, there’s no reason to think that anyone wishes me, specifically me, ill.”

She concluded on a definite note. She glanced at them, first one, then the other. They met her gaze and said nothing.

Caro frowned. She opened her lips—then had to swallow her “Well, what do you think?” as Elizabeth entered.

Michael rose; he and Elizabeth shook hands.

Bright-eyed, Elizabeth looked around. “Have you been discussing the fete—or business?”

“Both,” Caro replied, and rose, too. She didn’t want Michael and Edward worrying Elizabeth with speculations. “But we’ve exhausted both topics, and now Edward is free. I’m going for a stroll in the gardens.”

Michael reached across and appropriated her hand. “An excellent idea. After all those hours amid the crowds, you’re no doubt longing for silence and solitude.” He drew her hand through his arm. “Come, I’ll walk with you.”

He turned to the door. She narrowed her eyes at him; he’d taken the words out of her mouth and turned them to his own advantage.

“Very well,” she assented as he guided her through the doorway. “But”—she lowered her voice—“I’m not going anywhere near the summerhouse.”

The way he smiled in response, his expression shadowed in the dimmer corrider, did nothing for her equanimity.

But as they strolled across the lawns, then along the walks lushly bordered by beds burgeoning with the summer’s verdant growth, the peace of their surroundings closed in, cocooning them from the world, and her serenity returned, bringing with it a degree of ease, of acceptance.

She glanced at him; he was looking about them. “I really can’t believe anyone is seeking to harm me.”

He looked down at her. “I know.” He studied her eyes, then said, “However, Edward and I do.”