“I will be extra careful as well,” he assured her.

“Dear God, this is terrible. Why would someone want to kill you?”

“I don't know, Ellie.”

She rubbed her temples again. “My head aches.”

He took her hand. “Why don't we go back to the house?”

“Not now. I'm thinking,” she said, shaking his hand off.

Charles gave up trying to follow the zigzags of her thought process.

She whipped her head around to face him. “I'll bet you were meant to be poisoned.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The custard. It wasn't bad milk. Monsieur Belmont has been in a rage for days because we even suggested it. Someone poisoned the custard, but it was meant for you, not me. Everyone knows it is your favorite dessert. You told me so yourself.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. “You're right.”

“Yes, and I wouldn't be surprised if the carriage accident when we were courting was also…Charles? Charles?” Ellie swallowed. “You look quite ill.”

Charles felt a rage sweep through him unlike anything he had ever known. That someone had tried to kill him was bad enough. That Ellie had gotten caught in the proverbial line of fire made him want to eviscerate someone.

He stared at her, as if somehow trying to imprint her features on his brain. “I won't let anything happen to you, Ellie,” he vowed.

“Will you forget about me for a moment! You're the one someone is trying to kill.”

Overcome with emotion, he stood and pulled her to him, completely forgetting about his injured ankle. “Ellie, I—Aaargh!”

“Charles?”

“Damned ankle,” he swore. “I can't even kiss you properly. I—Don't laugh.”

She shook her head. “Don't tell me not to laugh. Someone is trying to kill you. I need all the laughter I can get.”

“I suppose if you put it that way…”

She held out her hand. “Let's go back to the house. You'll need something cold on your ankle to bring the swelling down.”

“How the hell am I supposed to find the killer when I can't even walk?”

Ellie leaned up and kissed his cheek. She knew how awful it was to feel helpless, but all she could do was comfort him. “You can't,” she said simply. “You'll have to wait a few days. In the meantime we will concentrate on keeping everyone safe.”

“I am not going to stand idly by while—”

“You won't be idle,” she assured him. “We must see to our protection in any case. By the time our defenses are in place, your ankle will be well enough healed. And then you can”—she couldn't suppress a shudder—”seek out your enemy. Although I wish you would just wait for him to come to you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She prodded him until he started moving slowly back to the house. “We haven't the faintest idea who he is. Best to stay at Wycombe Abbey where you will be safe until he reveals himself.”

“You were at the Abbey when you were poisoned,” he reminded her.