a flat voice. “So tell me, do you think Etienne was behind the assassination attempt?”
“Probably not. He strikes me as someone more likely to use poison. I won’t say it’s impossible, but he wouldn’t be my first choice.” Rohan rose and poured himself another glass of wine. He held the decanter up in a silent question, and Reading responded by raising his glass to be filled as well.
“Who else?”
“There’s my dear English cousin, the one who currently thinks he holds my title.” Rohan’s lip curled. “The so-charming Joseph Hapgood.”
“If you were dead there’d be no claim on it. He’d have it free and clear,” Reading pointed out.
“He already has it free and clear, as long as I’m exiled from England upon pain of death,” Rohan said lightly. “And I don’t fancy ending up on Tower Hill, separated from my head.”
“Something could be done about that. You could apply to the king…”
“I doubt the so-called king has forgiven the rebellion. And my case might strike a little close to home. One man with a stolen title and the true heir wishing to claim it?” Francis shook his head. “I think his clemency is unlikely.”
“Francis,” Reading said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. “Culloden was over twenty years ago.”
“A blink of the eye, dear boy. Shall we make a bargain? I will refrain from discussing Miss Lydia if you keep away from the subject of my lamentable ancient past. It is of no importance to me. Lost causes are distressing. Let us return to whoever is trying to murder me. It’s not going to be Joseph Hapgood. Did I tell you he visited me a few years ago? I don’t remember where you were at the time. Delightful fellow. Hates Yorkshire. He’s a farmer, you know. Already had vast estates in Cornwall, a plump wife and eight children. Probably more at this point—he seemed exhaustively procreative, both in agriculture and offspring. He says he never really wanted the title or the responsibility.”
“And you believed him?”
“Most certainly I believed him. I believe he still had a whiff of cow dung clinging to his boots. He would give up the title most happily if he could.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“That I never considered him to have it in the first place,” Rohan said sweetly. “Not the most tactful thing to say in the circumstances, but he’s the annoying kind of man who refuses to take offense, no matter how hard I tried to give it. So no, he wouldn’t kill to ensure there was no other claim on the title. He’d much rather do without it.”
“So we eliminate one suspect. Who else?”
Rohan shrugged. “I have no idea. I did have an entirely contrary theory, one that has absolutely no substance in any kind of common sense, but the idea has stayed with me. Suppose I was not the intended target?”
“You think someone was trying to kill me?” Reading raised an eyebrow. “I have to say, Francis, that I do not boast the number of enemies to your credit.”
“Not you, my boy. My dear Miss Harriman. I’d just delivered her in that selfsame carriage less than an hour beforehand. What if the assassin thought she was the one in the carriage beside me and was aiming for her?”
“And why should anyone want to kill Miss Harriman?”
“I have no idea. But you know I was ever a fanciful creature, and the idea has stuck. I wonder about the fire as well. Lady Caroline could barely move or speak except in moments of extreme agitation, and her bed was well removed from the fire. How did she manage to escape and start the conflagration?”
“Is that what they think happened?”
“It is. It was quite clear the fire was started by artificial means. Which means your sweet Lydia was put at risk as well.”
He could see Reading stiffen for a moment, then deliberately relax. The man was pathetic, Rohan thought. In love, like a calfling, besotted by a pair of blue eyes and a pretty face. Lord save him from ever becoming so obsessed.
“Which still begs the question,” Reading said. “Why would anyone want to kill Miss Harriman?”
“What do you know of the new Baron Tolliver?” Rohan countered.
The contract lay on the table, elegant foolscap written in a fine hand. Miss Elinor Harriman agrees to remain in residence at Maison de Giverney until the end of Lent, while her sister resides at the château. And her signature on the bottom, written with a hostile flourish.
It was far from the