From Chapter Three

'And which particular case are you talking about?' he asked. There was an air of restraint about him that spoke of an inner battle and an iron will, but there was an ominous edge to his voice that made Eleanor shiver. 'My dressing case, perhaps?' he enquired.

The tension that had filled the room made Eleanor's head spin. But this was no time to lose her nerve. She lifted her chin and looked him directly in the eye. 'No. Not your dressing case.' She paused. Then, gathering her courage, she said, 'The case you took from Mr Kendrick.'

A wave of danger rolled through the room. Large and looming, Lord Silverton was a palpable presence, and she was suddenly filled with uncertainty. She should not have shown her hand. She should not have revealed to him that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the highwayman. It had been a huge mistake.

He was still reining himself in. Still holding himself in check. 'I, Miss Grantham?' he asked dangerously.

She swallowed. Then said, with as much courage as she could muster, 'Yes, Lord Silverton. You.'

They looked at each other for long moments.

Bit by bit, some of the unbearable tension began to ebb.

'You intrigue me, Miss Grantham,' he said at last. 'First of all you show no fear when I hold up the coach on which you are travelling, and then, even though you recognise me, you make no exclamation when you are unexpectedly confronted with me at the local magistrate's house.'

She breathed a sigh of relief. At least he had not exploded. Still, she knew she must not drop her guard. Not even for a minute.

'You don't deny it, then?' she asked boldly, though inside she was feeling anything but bold. 'That you are the highwayman?'

He smiled. It would have broken the tension, if it had not revealed his predatory white teeth.

'What would be the point?' he returned. 'You have obviously recognised me. Besides, reactions as violent as the one that took place between us do not happen every day.'

She felt a shiver wash over her as her body recalled that reaction; a force so powerful it had shaken her entire frame.

'I can't help wondering, though,' he went on thoughtfully, 'why you protected me. You had only to say the word and I would have been arrested.'

She shook her head. 'I doubt it. I had no proof. And you were obviously a man of some consequence. Besides -'

'Yes?' he prompted her.

She balled her hands into fists. 'I need you.' She hurried on, before he had a chance to misunderstand her again. 'If you had been arrested, I would never have known what was in the case.'

'Ah, yes. We are back to the case.' The tension was back in him, and the air of menace that had surrounded him earlier returned. 'So tell me, Miss Grantham, just why do you want to see inside Mr Kendrick's case?'

She might as well tell him. It was what she was here for, after all. She took a deep breath. 'Because I want to find the letters.'

'Letters?' Did she imagine it, or was he surprised? Either way, some of the wariness seemed to leave him. 'What kind of letters?' he asked.

She steeled herself. 'Love letters. I was . . . hoping . . . to retrieve them.'

'Are you telling me Kendrick has stolen some love letters from you?' asked Lord Silverton with a sudden smile, although why he should be smiling she did not know. For some reason she could not fathom he seemed to find it amusing, as though he had expected her to say something completely different.

'Not m - yes,' she finished. She had been going to say, not me, but changed her mind at the last minute. She did not want to mention Arabella - the fewer people who knew about her sister's indiscretion the better - and decided it would be as well to let him think the letters were hers. 'And I wanted to know if the letters were in the case. They're not there now,' she continued, 'but I need to know: were they there when you took it from Mr Kendrick?'

His eyes regarded hers searchingly, as if trying to ascertain the truth of what she was saying. She had no idea what he decided. 'I am sorry to disappoint you,' he replied at last. 'But no. There were no letters.'

Eleanor's face fell, but she quickly recovered herself.

'Then I have a proposition to put to you,' she said.

'Miss Grantham, you are full of surprises.'

* * * * * * *

From Chapter Seven

She turned round to see Thomas, the young poet who had exchanged such indiscreet letters with Arabella, hurrying towards her. Eleanor noticed with amusement that he was dressed in typically flamboyant style. His cravat was ostentatiously tied, and his waistcoat gleamed with gold embroidery. He had elaborate frills at his wrist, and beneath his knee breeches his stockings were canary yellow.

'Eleanor!' He flung his arms round her. 'This is a piece of good luck, seeing you here!'

Eleanor responded in kind. It would have been useless to expect Thomas to content himself with a simple, 'How do you do?' His artistic temperament demanded drama, and she knew from long experience that it had to be satisfied.

'My dear, you look wonderful. That pelisse - it must have come from the gods!'

'From Milsom Street, actually,' she teased him.

He looked at her reprovingly. 'You should not joke about such things. But I forgive you. Indeed, it would be churlish of me not to, after everything you have done for me. I am so glad I have bumped into you. I have wanted to speak to you ever since I heard! I've been meaning to thank you for all you have done.'

'Ah.' Eleanor paused. 'Arabella told you.'

'Of course she told me. And so she should have done. I cannot bear to think of what you went through for my sake, and that of your dear sister. Having to speak to a blackmailer . . . ' He pulled a silk handkerchief out of his coat pocket and wafted it in front of his nose. 'It must have been too dreadful for words.' He shook his handkerchief out and put it carefully away. 'If only I'd known, I'd have gone to see the villain myself.'

Eleanor suppressed a sigh at the thought of Thomas visiting Mr Kendrick. If he had found Mr Kendrick alive it would have been bad enough, but his delicate temperament would never have coped with finding Mr Kendrick dead. However, Thomas did not know the full facts of the case, and Eleanor had no intention of revealing them.

'I never imagined you would do so in my stead.'

'You were in Scotland at the time,' Eleanor reminded him practically, 'gathering fresh inspiration for your poetry.'

'Alas, yes. But to think of you in danger . . . I might be a poet, but I am still a man, and it was a man's mission.'

Eleanor's mouth quirked: Thomas was a dear boy, but he was really rather ridiculous! 'Calm yourself,' she said. 'I came to no harm.'

'It was very brave of you. But rest assured, you will never be plunged into such peril again. Arabella has destroyed the letters.'

Eleanor nodded. 'Yes, she told me. I think it was for the best.'

'Alas, those letters!' continued Thomas. 'So beautiful. But so indiscreet. We were both so young, I a mere stripling at university, and your beautiful sister still in the schoolroom. But when Cupid strikes, he does so without thought of age or reason. He simply fits his arrows and lets them fly!' He struck a dramatic pose. 'Still, all's well that ends well,' he said. He gave a sigh. 'It was a beautiful dream, but your sister has awoken and chosen her life long swain.'

Eleanor patted his hand. 'I'm sure you will find a life long love of your own,' she consoled him.

'Alas, I fear I am wedded to poetry and will never make any mortal woman my bride.'

This outrageous sentence was delivered with such a languorous look that Eleanor was tempted to laugh. However, to spare his feelings, she changed her laugh into a spluttering cough.

'But now, I must keep you no longer,' he said. 'I must away, for I have a poem to write which will not wait.'

And making her an extravagant bow he went on his way.

Eleanor laughed as she watched him go. Poor, dear Thomas! What ever could Arabella have seen in him? Still, at least Arabella had learnt the error of her ways. Charles would make her a far better husband.

She re-settled her bonnet, which had almost been tugged off in the breeze, and then set off for the circulating library.

Extracts from The Silverton Scandal by Amanda Grange, published by Robert Hale