The Match of the Century by Cathy Maxwell

help.
    His suggestion gave Elin pause. She frowned, then shook her head. “They want to kill me. They were paid to see me dead. They said as much to Madame Odette.”
    Ben was certain Elin hadn’t understood correctly. What good was a dead heiress? But one held for a ransom could make some desperate men wealthy, and he wondered about the dressmaker.
    “Why would your father send Madame Odette instead of coming for you himself?”
    “He is busy,” she answered, looking away before seeming to decide it might be best to be honest with him. “He is busy,” she insisted, this time in a gentler tone. “And he’s been ill—his gout has been very bad. In the past, when they wanted me to return to London, Mother would come with the dresses. I thought it was a bit odd to send a seamstress to fetch me, but she said she was the daughter of a French count, and the letter didn’t seem out of the ordinary, so I just supposed it was the signal to me that I was expected to do as bid. You know how it was,” she reminded him.
    He did. Whenever Mr. and Mrs. Morris wanted Elin in Town, they always outfitted her first. That way they signaled to their independent-minded, wild, romping girl that she was to act the part of a lady.
    And Elin could play the lady well. She was doing so right now. She appeared fragile and yet resilient. It was apparent that Hooknose, Nate, and Big Roger were charmed by her need for their help.
    As was Ben. Damn it all.
    He’d always had a strong desire to protect her, and her story was playing to his every instinct.
    “Why did you argue with the dressmaker?” he asked.
    Her chin came up, and her mouth clamped shut. Obviously, he had touched a nerve, but before he could chide her, she said, “I asked if she was my father’s lover.”
    “And she said?”
    “She didn’t. She was very coy, as if she had a secret and was extremely proud of herself for it.” Elin leaned forward. “She was very much like my mother in coloring, so I thought perhaps he’d been tempted by her But my father worshipped my mother. He couldn’t have taken a mistress so soon after her death, could he, Ben?”
    “I don’t know. Men don’t mourn like women do,” he had to say honestly.
    Elin rocked back. “I never believed he would fall in love again so soon. My parents were devoted to each other. And I did not like Madame Odette. There was something about her that was distasteful. She was French, or said she was. Toward the end, she sounded as English as you and me. She could go on and on about her family in France but—have you ever sensed someone was trying too hard, so you wondered whether they were being honest? And she was always comparing herself to me. It became quite unsettling.”
    “I could see your not liking her just because she said she was French,” Hooknose observed.
    “I feel that way about French men, ” Nate countered. “But not the women.”
    The men laughed, but Elin’s brows came together. “If you want her, she is lying in the road where they shot her.”
    That statement brought the men to their senses.
    “So she wasn’t part of a plot?” Ben said.
    “That is what is so curious. I think she was. She didn’t act surprised when those men murdered the servants. Instead, she chastised them for not waiting. Apparently, they were supposed to meet the coach farther down the road. But the leader said he’d grown tired of waiting.”
    “Your father had outriders with you?” Ben said. She nodded. “Then why didn’t they see these men?”
    She reached for the brandy. “Because of me.” She took a sip, tears welling in her eyes. She forced them back. “When I stopped the coach to be let out, they circled back to check on me.”
    “They shouldn’t have done that,” Hooknosed observed.
    “They were probably stable lads,” Ben explained. “Not guards in the sense that you are thinking. They could shoot, and they would, but I can see them taking a moment to talk to the others.”
    “I took a