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Judith lifted her chin. “The morning-room door was open.”

“It was not.”

“Then Blackthorn’s walls remain old.”

Baines laughed despite himself. “You are a menace.”

“I learned from a master.”

He looked almost proud.

Judith returned to the plan. “Lady Beckenham has attended several gatherings where disclosures have occurred.”

“Yes.”

“She may not be guilty, but excluding her because you like her would be poor investigation.”

His amusement softened. “An argument which might equally be applied elsewhere.”

Judith knew immediately what he meant. She met his gaze. “Yes.”

Baines did not speak.

“If you are to test everyone, you must test me too.”

“No.” The answer came too quickly.

Judith frowned. “That is ridiculous.”

“It is efficient. I already know you possess a separate means of passing information, and I know what you pass through it.”

“You know what I have admitted passing,” she countered, and saw his jaw tighten. Despite the small pain that the words produced, Judith pressed on. “If I were the traitor, protecting me because you have decided to trust me would make you exceptionally poor at your occupation.”

“I am not protecting you because I find you attractive.”

Her breath caught and a silence opened between them.

Judith recovered with difficulty. “I did not suggest you were.”

“No.”

Her pulse refused to behave.

Baines looked at the ceiling as though assistance might descend from it.

Judith ought to have rescued him. Instead, a perverse little pleasure made her say, “For purposes of accuracy, I should point out that you still have not explained why you are excluding me.”

His eyes returned to hers. “You had the opportunity to send the warning about the arrests and did not; the phrasing in the circular was not yours; and your method requires Will Fletcher and a Newcastle printing connection, while these communications about troops have occurred from gatherings nowhere near Blackthorn. In addition, you care desperately about the consequences of what you write, while whoever is doing this appears either indifferent to bloodshed or actively interested in provoking it.”

It was Judith’s turn to stare at him.

Baines’ voice softened. “And because I trust you.”

He had said it once on the road, and she had scarcely known how to deal with it then. Now the knowledge seemed to settle somewhere much deeper. Baines trusted her judgement. It frightened her more than his charm ever had.

She looked down at the newspaper. “I trust you, too.”

After a moment, he said, “That seems reckless.”