He laughed. “You are refining too much upon the event, Mrs. Cheviot. I am sure it gave you a fright but there is not much harm done and it is unlikely that you will suffer any further annoyance.”
“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, how abominable you are! Not much harm done, indeed! Further annoyance! Pray, in what terms would you have described my murder?”
He did not answer for a moment, and then he said curtly, “We are not discussing murder, ma’am.”
“You will be, if you mean to keep me tied to this dreadful house!”
“Nonsense! If it was Francis Cheviot who struck you, as I believe it was, I dare say it was the last thing he wished to be obliged to do.”
“I may take what comfort I can from that! But why should he have been obliged to do anything of the sort?”
He hesitated and then said, “You were holding in your hand some folded papers that might have been the very papers he wishes to obtain.”
She gazed up at him, one hand pressed to her temple. “What must I now take care never to have a paper in my hand for fear I may be struck down from behind? My lord, it is monstrous! I dare say he must have seen me with papers in my hand half a dozen times already!”
“Yes, possibly, but—”
“But what?” she demanded, as he broke off and turned away from her to mend the fire.