Page 20 of Peril in Piccadilly
It was a mostly rhetorical comment—it wasn’t even seven in the morning yet, so clearly he hadn’t done—but Christopher shook his head. “He sent the messenger as soon as it was light outside, I imagine.”
I flicked him a glance. “What do you suppose he wants?”
“Open it and see,” Christopher said, shrugging out of the jacket and draping it over the back of a chair before reaching up to dig around in the cabinet for cups and saucers. “Although five quid says it’s an invitation to supper so he can make another attempt to talk you into marrying him.”
I could always use five pounds, so I unstuck the envelope flap and pulled out the short note with the Savoy Hotel insignia in the corner. “You owe me five quid,” I said a few seconds later.
He stopped what he was doing, which was placing the saucers on the counter and the cups on top of them, to look at me. “Truly?”
“He invited me to tea, not supper.”
Christopher rolled his eyes and turned back to the task. “A technicality.”
“A technicality still counts. You said supper, not tea.”
He huffed and turned his attention to the cabinet. “Orange Pekoe all right?”
“I would rather have English Breakfast,” I said, “but I suppose Orange Pekoe will have to do, if that’s all we have.”
“We’ll pick up some English Breakfast the next time we do the marketing.” He put the tin on the counter and popped the lid off. And flicked me a look. “I notice you don’t deny that he will give talking you into marriage another go.”
I made a face. “Most likely, yes. Although I don’t know, Christopher. He’s never been pushy about it. When he proposed at Marsden Manor and I didn’t immediately say yes, he wasn’t difficult about it. He isn’t trying to force me into accepting him.”
“He’d better not,” Christopher said, in a tone that hinted of danger should anyone try. He’s approximately as dangerous as a kitten in a snit, so I paid it no attention beyond an eyeroll and a, “Yes, yes.”
“Shall you go?”
“Tonight, do you mean? I suppose so. We’re not doing anything else, so why wouldn’t I? It’s one more meal your father doesn’t have to pay for, isn’t it?”
“My father can afford to feed you,” Christopher said, with the magnificent disregard of someone who has never had to worry about where his next meal will be coming from. “Aren’t you afraid that he’ll make another attempt on your life?”
“Are you still on about that?” I shook my head. “He hasn’t made the first attempt on my life, Christopher.”
“You don’t find it suspicious that you tell him you don’t want to go to Germany with him, and five minutes later, you plunge headfirst down a staircase?”
“No,” I said firmly. “It sounds coincidental, I’ll give you that. But why on earth would he want me dead? If he wants a wife who’ll go to Germany with him, and I don’t want to do it, he can just find someone else.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t want anyone else.”
“That’s fine, then. But killing me won’t get him what he wants, either. I’ll be dead, but he’ll still need a wife. And if that’s the case, he might as well just find one without killing me first.”
“Perhaps he was trying to scare you,” Christopher said, “so you’ll accept the protection of his name.”
“The what, now?” I shook my head. “That doesn’t make any sense, Christopher. First of all, me falling down the stairs has got nothing to do with me needing the protection of anyone’s name, but if I did do, I’ve got the protection of yours. Being attached to the Astleys, and by extension to the Sutherlands, goes a lot further than being the fiancée of theGraf von und zuNatterdorff. At least for as long as I’m here in England.”
Christopher didn’t quibble with that, most likely because he recognized that I was right. “Perhaps he was trying to give the impression that you were in danger, then,” he said instead, “so he could swoop in and save you. And then you might go to Germany with him out of gratitude, or to get away from whoever is after you.”
It made more sense than the ‘protection of his name’ thing. But nonetheless?—
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “No one is after me. It was an accident. Nothing more.”
Christopher looked mutinous. “It won’t seem ridiculous when you’re rolling around on the floor of the Savoy with your heels touching the back of your head.”
I stared at him. “What on earth has gotten into you, Christopher? You like Wolfgang! Or at least I thought you did.”
“That was before he tried to take you away,” Christopher said mulishly.
I blinked at him for several seconds before I found my voice again. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
