Free The Match of the Century by Cathy Maxwell Page A

knocking him from his seat on the end of the bench, and burst into tears.
    For a second, Ben couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Had he conjured her? Or was he going mad and imagining her? Except she felt solid and real, and she smelled of flowers and the night air and a sweetness he had always identified with her.
    His arms closed protectively. She filled them well. She wore a heavy wool cloak, but he noticed she felt light as if she hadn’t been eating, as if she’d lost at least a stone.
    Elin had always had a healthy appetite for all things in life—food, adventure, whatever. Her weight loss, her crying, this was not characteristic of her. Elin was made of sterner stuff.
    And where was her retinue? She couldn’t be alone. Neither Gavin nor her father would allow her to be traipsing around this lonely stretch of countryside alone. She was the Morris heiress, her father’s sole heir. One carefully guarded any daughter, but when she was an heiress, a wise father was doubly careful.
    Standing at the opposite end of the table, Big Roger roared his disapproval. “Here now, I saw her first. Caught her peeping in the window.”
    Peeping? Elin?
    Her response was to tighten her hold around Ben’s neck. “I’m sorry, mate, she chose me, ” he answered. “And have you no manners, shut the door.”
    Big Roger kicked the door shut. “The only reason she is holding on to you is because she hasn’t seen me in the light.”
    That response set everyone laughing, including the lads at the bar. The impossibility of any woman’s choosing the luggish Big Roger over Ben was a good joke between them, one that had good-naturedly whiled away many an hour. Besides, Big Roger had a wife and six children he kept in Sussex.
    At the sound of their laughter, Elin seemed to return to herself. She looked around, her nose adorably red from weeping. Her hold on Ben didn’t loosen, but she asked, “Who are these men?”
    “Friends,” he answered almost defiantly. He knew what his brother would think of his companions.
    How would the future duchess of Baynton react?
    The future duchess? Hell, she might even already be the duchess. It had been weeks since Ben had heard any word from London. He had no idea what was happening in his family, and he liked it that way.
    But Elin gave no opinion whatsoever on his friends. She didn’t join the banter or dismiss them with a sniff.
    Instead, her large eyes dark with fear, she said, “Someone wants me dead, Ben. Someone is trying to murder me.”

 
    Chapter Six
    B en set Elin on her feet, not believing he’d heard her correctly. “Someone is trying to kill you?”
    For a second, she was in danger of blubbering again. Instead, she pulled herself together. She pushed away from him and he let her go.
    Pressing the back of her hand against her mouth, she regained her composure. “It was terrible. They shot Craig and Jensen and the outriders—”
    “Jensen, your coachman?” Ben had grown up with Old Jensen teasing him.
    Her answer was a short nod. “They even shot Madame Odette, and she was talking to them as if she was one of them.” Elin drew a shaky breath as if she was afraid she would come undone once more.
    “Have her sit here,” Hooknose said, giving up his spot next to Ben at the table.
    “Yes, yes, Miss Morris, sit,” Ben said, a bit annoyed with himself that he hadn’t had her take a seat already. However, her story was incredible, and he hadn’t minded having her in his lap.
    Gratefully, she practically fell onto the bench.
    “Have you eaten?” Ben asked.
    “I’m starved. At the same time, I don’t know if I could eat a bite.”
    “Let’s try.” Ben looked to Osprey. “Do you have brandy or even something stronger? And a plate of that stew you have been dishing out?”
    “Aye, I do.” The innkeeper walked over with a jug that could have had anything in it. Or anyone drinking from it. The Oak did not serve a picky clientele.
    “A glass?” Ben prompted.
    “A