Page 76 of Along Came a Rogue

He laughed as the baby kicked again. “My life would end.”

* * *

Reynard Crenshaw strolled into the sitting room of his modest Holborn residence and greeted the unexpected visitor. “Major Grey, a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you.” Grey shook his hand, immediately struck by how affable he was. And nothing at all as he’d expect from a man willing to commit murder.

“I am rather surprised, however.” A perplexed expression furrowed his brows as he gestured toward the chairs in front of the fireplace. “To what do I owe your visit this afternoon?”

Grey waved off his offer to sit. He didn’t plan on staying long, nor did he have the patience to engage in pleasantries. Not when he was still too agitated over Emily, still too worried about her and damnably frustrated not to have been able to see her. “There was an accident today involving Lady Emily.”

“An accident?” Crenshaw repeated, his bushy eyebrows shooting upward. “Was she injured?”

“She’s unharmed.” Grey’s eyes narrowed as he watched the man’s reaction closely, noting that he seemed truly surprised to hear the news and genuinely concerned about Emily. Not a trace of guilt showed on his face.

“And the baby?” he asked quickly.

“Also unharmed.” Again, no guilty expression on the man’s face, no nervous flicker of his eyes or tic of his facial muscles.

“Please.” Crenshaw motioned again toward a chair and then took his own seat, looking aggrieved. “What happened?”

Reluctantly, Grey obliged and sat down, his forearms resting on his knees as he leaned forward, much too on edge to relax. “Someone tried to run her down on Bond Street. She stepped aside at the last moment but was knocked to the ground. Nothing more than bruises, thank God.” Yet his heart pounded with fear and worry for her even now. Just as he was certain it always would. Grey leveled his gaze hard on Crenshaw. “But she could have been murdered.”

“Murdered?” he echoed incredulously.

“As was her husband.”

Crenshaw’s face blanched, his lips falling open in stunned surprise. “Andrew? You—you think he was murdered?” When Grey nodded curtly, Crenshaw’s mouth snapped shut. But the anger Grey expected didn’t darken the man’s face. Instead, he gazed at Grey with solemn indignation. “And that is why you are here, is it not? You believe I am responsible.”

Grey accused, “You had motive. With Andrew Crenshaw dead, you were next in line to inherit Dunwich.”

“Of which I was unaware until a full month after Andrew died,” he informed him, bewildered annoyance lacing his voice. He shook his head. “I am a banker, Major, not a fortune teller. Neither am I a murderer. I did not want that young man dead.”

“Someone did,” Grey muttered. He clenched his hands to prevent them from shaking as he added, “And now they want Lady Emily dead.”

Crenshaw paled further and leaned back in his chair, overwhelmed by all that Grey had just told him.

Judging from his guileless reaction and the genuine horror in his eyes that someone wanted to hurt Emily, Grey knew this man wasn’t Andrew Crenshaw’s murderer, nor was he capable of striking down a pregnant woman. The tension in his chest eased, but not the frustration.

Which meant he’d come to another dead end. Damnation.

Crenshaw shook his head, stunned. “Who would do such a horrible thing?”

“I don’t know.” But when he found the bastard, he’d make him pay for every harm he’d committed against Emily, every trace of fear he’d put into her sapphire eyes. Grey laced his fingers together and leaned forward. “I’d hoped that you might be able to tell me.”

Crenshaw shook his head, bewildered.

“Did Andrew Crenshaw or your family have any enemies?” Grey pressed, unable to keep down his mounting frustration. “Anyone who would want to see him and his child dead from personal vengeance?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he answered earnestly, running a trembling hand through his graying hair. “I had not seen Andrew in years, not since he was at school in Winchester, then briefly and only once. I’ve always known about the other cousins in the family, those connected to the marquessate, but my father was a different line. We were”—he shrugged—“inconsequential to the title. I cannot imagine why anyone connected to our family would want to hurt either Andrew or Lady Emily.”

His gut tightened. Without Crenshaw to provide any insight, he had no more leads to follow. But he’d be damned if all he did was sit back and wait for another attempt on Emily’s life.

Grey rose to his feet and extended his hand. “Thank you for your time. If you think of anything—anything at all that might reveal more information—you can send for me at Chatham House. Chesney knows how to reach me.”

“Of course, Major.” He walked Grey to the front foyer, which was barely big enough for both men and the butler, who arrived with Grey’s coat and hat. “Please give Lady Emily my regards.”

“Certainly.” Grey paused, hesitant to insult Crenshaw by bringing up the inheritance, yet Emily was certain it was the motive for her husband’s murder and the attempts on her life. “She’s convinced she’s carrying a son.”