H e knew.

Elsbeth kept her chin high and her composure steady as Lord Westcott guided her down the garden path. How could she talk her way out of this?

“Lord Westcott…” she began.

“Not here,” he interrupted curtly, his tone brooking no argument.

The silence between them stretched as they strolled further into the gardens. The crisp air carried the faint scent of roses, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in her thoughts. At last, Lord Westcott stopped and turned to face her.

“Do you want to explain yourself?” he half-asked, half-demanded.

Elsbeth weighed her options. Should she feign ignorance or confess everything? She didn’t trust him, especially after what happened last night. He had betrayed her, and she had no guarantee he wouldn’t do so again. Deciding to buy time, she tilted her chin with a faint smile.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about,” she settled on. It was a weak response, but it was the best she could come up with at that moment.

His brow arched, skepticism etched onto his features. “I know you are the highwaywoman.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t flinch. It would do no good to show any sign of emotions. “And why would you think that, my lord?”

“You were shot last night, and now you claim you were injured by falling off a horse. How very convenient,” he mocked.

“How do you know I didn’t fall off my horse?” she countered.

“Because that seems rather unlikely, don’t you think?”

Elsbeth shrugged. “Perhaps I am a poor rider. Have you considered that?”

Lord Westcott ran a hand through his dark hair. “Why don’t you trust me?”

She let out a scoff. “Trust you?” she repeated. “You were the reason why I was shot!”

“So you admit it.”

“I admit nothing,” Elsbeth snapped, silently chiding herself on the slip of her tongue. “But if I were to admit such a thing, you set me up. You feigned concern, pretended to care, all to keep me there so you could ambush me.”

Lord Westcott’s expression shifted, guilt flickering briefly across his face. “I had no idea the constable was there.”

“You didn’t go to him?” she asked, her voice sharp with accusation.

“I didn’t,” he insisted. “My aunt did. She thought she was protecting me. You must believe me. I would never knowingly put you in harm’s way.”

Elsbeth shook her head, her emotions a whirlwind of anger and confusion. “It doesn’t matter anymore. None of this does. Why did I ever think this scheme would work? ”

He took a step closer to her, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “Why are you doing this? This clearly isn’t about money.”

Her defenses faltered at the genuine concern in his voice, but she rallied quickly. “My reasons are my own.”

“They are, but I want to help.”

Elsbeth let out a humorless laugh. “Help, my lord? Surely you cannot be serious.”

“You said last night that you were searching for something specific,” Lord Westcott said. “What is it?”

She hesitated. Could she trust him? Every instinct screamed for her to run, to retreat into the safety of her guarded silence.

But then there was that small, insistent voice inside her.

The one that urged her to try, to take a chance.

And heaven help her, she did want to trust Lord Westcott.

There was something about him, something familiar, something safe.

“A key,” she said at last.

Lord Westcott furrowed his brow. “A key to what?”

Elsbeth took a steadying breath. This was it. She would tell him the truth, and hope that he believed her. “My stepfather isn’t who he claims to be. No one believes me, but I know he is hiding something. He keeps his desk locked, and the key is always in his jacket pocket.”

There was a moment of silence as her words hung in the air. She searched his face for any sign of disbelief or mockery but found none.

Finally, when he spoke, he asked, “And you thought pretending to be a highwaywoman would get you that key?”

She frowned, heat rising to her cheeks. “I did, but your coach was the only one that I robbed. I mistook yours for his.”

“And my pocket watch? Was that part of your grand plan?” His tone carried both amusement and reproach.

Elsbeth winced. “I had to take something to make it seem believable. I didn’t realize it was your father’s. I will return it, of course. I have no use for it. ”

A stern look came to Lord Westcott’s expression. “Did you even consider the risks of this charade? Riding alone at night, confronting strangers? You could have been killed.”

“I did consider that,” she admitted. “But what was I supposed to do? Stand by while my stepfather continues to deceive everyone? My mother adores him, but he’s a fraud. I need to prove it.”

“And you thought risking your life was the solution?”

“It was the only solution I could think of,” she said, her tone more defensive now. “But I realize now that it wasn’t enough. That’s why I need to find another way.”

“This is madness,” he said, his voice filled with exasperation.

“No,” Elsbeth countered. “Madness is doing nothing. Madness is letting him fool everyone while I stand idly by. I won’t let history repeat itself.”

Lord Westcott met her gaze. “What do you mean by that?”

Her words were heavy with emotion as she revealed, “My father fooled everyone. No one suspected what he truly was until it was too late. The truth only came out after his death, and it destroyed us. We were left to pick up the pieces of a shattered legacy. I won’t let that happen again.

Not to my mother. Not to me. We deserve better. ”

A long silence followed her words, and when Lord Westcott finally spoke, there was a quiet determination in his voice. “Then I will assist you. Let me help.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You will?” she asked. Frankly, it was the last thing she had expected.

“Yes,” he said firmly, “but on three conditions.”

“I’m listening,” she said, lifting her brow.

“First,” he began, “no more highwaywoman antics.”

“That’s fair,” she agreed.

“Second, you’ll be honest with me from now on. No more secrets. ”

Her pause was brief. “Very well. And the third?”

A smile curved his lips. “You’ll allow me to call you by your given name.”

“That is rather presumptuous of you, my lord.”

“No bolder than robbing me at gunpoint,” he retorted.

Despite herself, a laugh escaped her lips. “You were never in any true danger,” she informed him. “The pistol wasn’t even loaded.”

Lord Westcott chuckled. “You were a terrible highwaywoman.”

“And yet, I managed to steal your pocket watch,” she quipped.

“Correction,” he said with a grin. “I gave it to you.”

For the first time, Elsbeth felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps, with Lord Westcott’s help, she could uncover the truth. And perhaps, just perhaps, she wasn’t as alone as she had thought.

“Are we in agreement, Elsbeth?” His deep voice carried a warmth that sent an unexpected flutter through her chest.

She stiffened at the sensation. It was just a name, after all. “Am I to call you by your given name, as well?”

“I would prefer it.”

“Then… Niles, we are in agreement,” she replied, letting his name roll off her tongue.

He flashed her a flirtatious grin. “I like how you say my name.”

“Well, I find the way you say my name to be utterly bothersome,” she shot back, though her words lacked sincerity.

“I don’t think that is true,” Niles replied. “And did we not just agree to be honest with one another?”

Before she could reply, Eugenie’s voice rang out from farther up the path. “Aunt Margaret sent me out here to ensure you two didn’t kill one another,” she teased. “I should note she bet on Lady Elsbeth. ”

Niles turned towards his sister. “Lady Elsbeth and I have come to an understanding.”

Eugenie raised an eyebrow as she approached. “An understanding?”

He raised a hand to clarify. “Not that type of understanding. We have simply agreed to be cordial to one another.”

“How fascinating.” Eugenie shifted her gaze to Lady Elsbeth. “Are you sure he didn’t coerce you into this? If so, blink twice.”

Elsbeth laughed. “We came to this agreement together.”

Eugenie’s eyes flickered between them. “This seems rather… sudden.”

“You are reading far too much into this, Sister,” Niles said. “I suspect this is due to your reading mania.”

That clearly was the right thing to say because Eugenie placed her hands on her hips and retorted, “There is nothing wrong with reading a book or two a day. Books are the key to a fulfilled mind.”

“There is when you should be using your time and energy to find a husband,” Niles responded.

“A husband is useless to me,” Eugenie contended, glancing at the sky. “Perhaps we should go back inside and continue this conversation. It appears as if it is about to rain.”

Niles stepped forward and offered his arm. “This is England. It always looks like it is about to rain.”

Eugenie accepted his arm and turned her attention to Elsbeth. “Would you like to go pheasant shooting tomorrow?”

Elsbeth glanced at her arm. Though she knew how to shoot, her injury would make it impossible. “I have never gone pheasant shooting before,” she said, opting for a half-truth.

Niles extended his other arm to Elsbeth. “My father indulged Eugenie too much in her youth. He often took her shooting, and now she insists on going at every opportunity. ”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Eugenie asked. “Why should only men enjoy pheasant shooting?”

“I never said it was fair, but it is hardly conventional,” Niles replied.

Eugenie ignored him with a wave of her hand. “I am going tomorrow, and you are welcome to join us, Elsbeth.”

“I don’t think I will be much help with my left arm,” Elsbeth said.

“You should still come. We will need someone to balance the numbers. Perhaps bring your cousin,” Eugenie suggested. “I would like to meet him.”

Elsbeth’s back went rigid at the mention of Charles. “I am not sure if that is the best idea. I do not want to encourage him, given the circumstances.”

“What if I partner with Charles, and you partner with Niles?” Eugenie questioned. “We will turn it into a friendly competition.”