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Joe snorted. “Yet you know he is from the East End.”
“It is a guess,” Marguerite replied.
Joe made no attempt to hide his disbelief. “Oh, so it is a rough guess.”
“Yes, my father has a shop which borders the East End,” she replied. “Everyone around those parts has the same accent.”
“When did you hear it from Sayers?” Joe demanded.
“If you mean the Count, just earlier this evening,” Marguerite replied honestly. “He got angry with me when I refused to marry him and lost his Russian accent. I don’t even know if it is a Russian accent, but for a few moments, there was a definite East End twang to his voice. It made me wonder. He got terribly angry when I dropped a hint that I knew he was a fraudster. Since then, he has been determined to chase me.”
Joe closed his eyes and sighed. Was that why Sayers wanted to spirit her away? He knew she could tell all and sundry that he was neither Russian nor a Count? However, that didn’t explain what had happened between them in the study.
CHAPTER SIX
Joe leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees.
“You say he is not your lover,” he murmured softly, far too softly to be reassuring. His deep voice turned sinister. “So why were you kissing him in the study?”
“I-I wasn’t,” Marguerite protested but knew it was a lie. “He kissed me. I didn’t meet up with him if that is what you are thinking.”
“I think you are lying to me,” Joe replied.
“Well, you can think what you like,” Marguerite protested flatly. “I don’t consider you are being honest with me either.”
“What?” Joe’s blood began to boil. “How so?”
“Well, first I catch you hiding in a darkened room all by yourself watching people. Then you have a clear dislike to the Count who, as far as I can tell, you have never met before this evening. Then those men attack you and you fight like, like, that,” she finished weakly.
Joe held his hand up. “No. No. No. I rescued you when they tried to hunt you down across the lawn, remember?”
“They know you,” she argued. “They have to know you.”
“Why would they?” Joe fired back. “It is you they are determined to get their hands on. It is you they are trying to recapture at any cost, even if that means me and my friend up top die.”
Marguerite lapsed into silence. “So why don’t you go straight to the magistrate?”
Joe sighed. “I can’t do that.”
Marguerite felt a wave of disappointment unlike any other she had ever felt in her life. She had wanted, hoped, prayed, that he was a decent and respectable citizen. His words said it all, really. She could hope, but it wasn’t to be. He was a scoundrel, just like the Count. He was a fraudster of the worst kind.
“What do you want with me?” she whispered.
She eyed the door but suspected she wouldn’t get anywhere near it before she was thwarted by the blackguard now seated opposite. There was something in his gaze when his eyes met hers. Even through the gloom, she read the calculation there. She felt as though she had been weighed, measured, and assessed before she had even opened her mouth. She didn’t like it.
“I want the truth,” Joe replied.
“I have told you the truth. You, however, haven’t told me the truth.” She looked at him pointedly. “Have you?”
A heavy silence settled over the carriage. She took it as her answer.
“Stop the carriage,” Marguerite demanded wearily. “I don’t care who you think I am, I am not going anywhere with any of you. You are all mad. Out of your minds, the lot of you, if you think for one second I have any idea what silly game you are playing. Whatever it is I want none of it. I have done nothing wrong. You are kidnapping me!”
“He clearly cares a lot about you,” Joe murmured thoughtfully. “He must, to be so willing to go to such lengths to get you back.”
“I don’t know who the man is,” she argued forcibly. “Or you for that matter. Why, you could be just as insane as he is.”
Joe winced at the fervency in his words and shook his head while he tried to work out if she was telling the truth or not. He took a moment to assess the situation from her point of view. If she was an innocent by
