Beguiled (3 page)

As she ran, the sound of pursuit diminished. Or perhaps it was the thundering of her heart that made all else silent in comparison.

Eventually, she had to stop. Her lungs were burning, her heart pounding in revolt, and her calves cramping. Her delicate boots were far from the perfect footwear for running through the forest.

She gripped a tree, inhaling, exhaling, trying to ease the pain in her chest and limbs. Her hair had come loose, and a wayward strand now teased her nose. She puffed at it, then drew it back, thinking she must look an incredible mess, and yet, at the same time, realizing with pride that she had done it.

She had eluded the highwayman.

Just as that pleasure began to sink in, she heard a soft chuckle.

She spun around.

He was leaning against a tree, arms crossed, as relaxed as if he had not a care in the world. Not a strand of hair had escaped his queue. He wasn't breathing hard. He didn't appear as if he had exerted himself at all.

She straightened, staring at him defiantly.

“You can't escape, you know.”

“Actually, I did.”

“No, you didn't.”

She considered her position. Yes, she could run again. But how had he done it? Caught her in this place so easily?

Her heart sank as she realized her mistake. She had been so determined not to follow a clear trail that she had run in circles. He had realized her error and simply waited until she had come around through the trees.

She wouldn't make that mistake again.

“Don't do it. Such a waste of time and energy,” he told her.

“I'm so sorry. Am I being inconvenient?” she asked sarcastically.

He shrugged. “Actually, I had no other pressing engagements for the day.”

“You do realize that when the Earl of Carlyle realizes his carriage hasn't arrived, he'll begin searching?”

“Certainly…but not for a while yet, I don't believe.”

“And why is that?”

“I suspect he's in the city. There's a celebration at Buckingham Palace today. Someone's birthday. I don't think he'll be home until the evening.”

“You know so much about the Earl of Carlyle?” she asked, playing for time. She needed to catch her breath. She was certainly not going to tell him that he was mistaken as to the earl's whereabouts.

“I read the newspapers, Miss…ah, yes, that's right. You've not yet furnished me with your name.”

“I don't remember you furnishing me with yours.”

“You don't really want to know my name. That would make you dangerous to me, wouldn't it?”

“Then I shan't give you mine.”

He smiled. “Caught your breath yet?”

“I'm quite fine, thank you.”

“Don't do it.”

“Do what?”

“Run again.”

“What else would you have me do?”

“I've told you that I don't intend to hurt you.”

“And I should trust you?”

“If you run, I'll merely have to catch you again.”

“But perhaps you cannot.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I can. And you won't like it when I do.”

“I don't like being told what to do, I don't like being held up, and I most certainly don't like conversing with a bandit.”

He lifted his hands in a fatalistic gesture. “You must do what you must. And I must do the same.”

She lifted her chin again, trying to bring some semblance of order to the streams of tangled blond hair now falling down her back and into her face, impairing her vision. “You could abandon your life of crime. Walk away now. Become a legend. Find gainful employment. Turn over a new leaf.”

“I could….”

“Then you must do so,” she insisted urgently.

“I'm sorry. I think not.”

“Oh…” She let out a sigh of irritation. She saw his muscles beginning to tense, realized that in seconds he would be coming for her.

And so, with little other recourse, she ran again.

This time he caught her quickly.

She felt him behind her before he touched her. Felt the wind, the heat and the power of him.

Then his arms were around her.

The momentum of her desperate flight carried them both forward and down, onto the ground, into the dirt and pine-needle carpet of the forest floor. Her mouth seemed to fill with pine needles and the rich earth. Coughing, sputtering, she tried to turn, but he was on top of her. She managed to get faceup, but no further. He straddled her, still breathing easily and, the greatest insult, still merely amused.

She coughed, staring at him furiously. A greater fear seeped into her, for now she was truly caught.

She didn't try to argue with him; didn't urge him to get up. She simply slammed her fists against his chest with the greatest strength she could summon, twisting frantically at the same time. That managed only to bring forth his own temper at last. He caught her wrists and pinned them high above her head, leaning close as he did so.

His amused smile was gone at last, she was pleased to note.

Yet in that small victory, she realized, she herself was even more the loser.

“Would you stop?” he demanded.

She didn't answer him, only lay perfectly still, looking to one side.

He eased up, still straddling her but no longer pinning her so tightly to the ground.

“I told you that you wouldn't like it if I had to catch you,” he said softly.

“You truly are a cad,” she whispered.

“I'm a highwayman,” he said impatiently. “Hardly a proper escort.”

She became aware of his touch, the pressure of his thighs, the way he sat atop her without causing her pain.

Then he touched her.

He reached down, sweeping a wild strand of her hair from her face. His fingers seemed to linger ever so slightly on her cheek.

The touch was gentle, yet he had seized her with real power and did not intend to let up.

She didn't look at him. “What now?” she demanded. “Where do we go from here?”

“You tell me your name and purpose, all I have wanted from the beginning,” he said.

She stared at him suddenly, brows knitting in a frown, fear seeping deeply into her again. She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she could not.

“You're not…one of the anti-monarchists?” she breathed.

She was startled when he smiled, his knuckles brushing her chin with an almost tender assurance.

“No, I'm not. God save the queen. I'm a good, traditional English rogue,” he swore softly.

She believed him. Flat on her back, totally his prisoner, completely at his mercy, she believed him. She let out a soft breath.

“And you've no intention of killing me…or anyone?”

“Never, lass.”

“Please stop calling me ‘lass.'”

“You won't give me your name.”

She stared hard at him. Their position was intimate, and the thought brought a swift flush to her cheeks. He was a complete blackguard, and she loathed herself for thinking his voice was husky, alluring, his touch the most tender she had ever known.

“If you would be so kind as to get off me…?” she suggested.

He rose and reached a hand down to her, lifting her to her feet with no effort. His hand lingered, then dropped from hers.

“My name is Alexandra Grayson.”

“What?” he demanded sharply, frowning with such quick tension that she was momentarily taken aback, frightened once again.

Why?

There was nothing about her name, or herself, that should mean anything to anyone.

“I'm Alexandra Grayson, a nobody, I assure you. I have told you. I live in a cottage in the woods with several aunts. The Earl of Carlyle and his lady are like godparents to me. They, and others, have seen to my welfare for as long as I can remember.”

“You—you are Alexandra Grayson?” He still sounded as if he were choking.

“What does my name mean to you?” she demanded uneasily, afraid that he had lost his sanity. His hands had tightened into fists at his sides.

He shook his head, easing his hands open. A second later, he was smiling again, amused once more.

“Nothing…it means nothing to me.”

“Then—”

“I had thought you were someone else.”

He was lying, she thought.

But she had no time to ponder his reasons, for he reached out a hand to her. She stared at it, swallowing hard, uneasy. He was very tall and strong in the green darkness of the forest. She felt the vibrancy and fire of him, though he was still. She had the strangest feeling that if she moved, leaned against him…

It would be good…sweet. Exciting.

So alive.

She stiffened, lowering her head, clenching her teeth. He was nothing but a common criminal!

She looked up. He was still staring intently at her.

“Come,” he said at last. “I'll take you back to the carriage and send you on your way.”

T
HE CARRIAGE SENT ON ITS WAY
, Mark Farrow remained in the road, staring after it.

“Mark,” Patrick MacIver said, removing his black silk mask, “we must move, and move quickly. That was the Earl of Carlyle's carriage. The minute they reach the castle, the earl will be out like a bloodhound.”

The three friends who rode with him as the highwayman's band—Patrick MacIver, Geoff Brennan and Thomas Howell—were all staring at him. Mark nodded.

“We'll split up,” he agreed. “Geoff, Thomas, take to the western woods. Patrick and I will travel the eastern route. Make sure you stop at the checkpoint and change horses. We'll do the same. We'll meet up at O'Flannery's, as planned.”

They nodded but didn't move immediately. “Well,” Thomas said at last, “who was she?”

“Alexandra Grayson,” Mark replied.

Patrick let out a gasp. “That was
her?
”

“Quite attractive,” Thomas said.

“Stunning,” Geoff noted.

“Um…rather self-assured,” Patrick noted. Minus his mask—sewn to cover most of his head beneath a hat, Patrick was a blazing and all-too-noticeable redhead.

“Interesting,” Geoff said lightly. The son of Henry Brennan, an esteemed member of the House of Commons, Geoff was hailed among their foursome as a thinking man. Tall and lean, with a surprising amount of strength for his build, he was dark-eyed, dark-haired and often grave.

Thomas was the opposite. Sandy-haired, hazel-eyed and possessed of a mercurial sense of humor, he was serious only when necessary. At that moment, he burst into laughter. “You, Sir Farrow, are in trouble, I imagine.”

“Shall we get out of here, and laugh at whatever situation I might find myself in later?” Mark suggested dryly.

“O'Flannery's,” Geoff said, and by tacit agreement, they all turned their horses and started on their assigned routes for the City of London.

Mark and Patrick moved swiftly until they reached the clearing known as Ennisfarn, where the Farrow family had long maintained a hunting lodge. Though the only one guarding the stable there would be Old Walt, the men entered from the rear, quickly dismounted, stowed their cloaks, found their waistcoats and jackets, and unsaddled the horses. New tack was taken from the racks as they readied new mounts, all in haste and silence.

At last, remounted and on the trail again, their outlaw gear stowed in their saddlebags, Patrick spoke again. “I must say, having seen the girl, I believe I would jump at such a chance as yours, but…well, we are moving into a new world. It's quite archaic that your father insists upon arranging your marriage.”

“He made the agreement with Brian Stirling when I was just a lad and the girl a babe,” Mark said with a shrug. “I don't know why. She's not Lord Stirling's child, rather his ward. I've always assumed there must be a skeleton in the closet somewhere.”

“Ah, yes. Illegitimacy, no doubt,” Patrick murmured.

Mark scowled at him. “Don't think of starting such a rumor.”

Patrick laughed. “I promise to do nothing of the kind.” He grew serious. “Your impending marriage aside, I daresay we're not going to have much of a reputation left soon. We didn't even steal a piece of the girl's jewelry.”

“Don't worry. We're going to O'Flannery's.”

“And…?” Patrick inquired.

Mark grinned. “Why do you think I warned you against rumor? I intend to start one myself. Trust me—by nightfall, we shall be the most dangerous figures since the days of Jack the Ripper.”

 

T
HERE WAS NOTHING WRONG
with her, Alexandra thought, but from the moment the carriage arrived at the castle, Shelby created such a stir that she was treated like fragile glass. At the gates, before they set off along the long winding drive to the castle, Shelby started shouting for help. Several members of the earl's household rushed out, the countess among them, as they neared the front door.

“The police, my lady!” Shelby cried to the countess. “We must inform the police! We were held up by that despicable creature all the newspapers write of—the highwayman. I was knocked unconscious, and he kidnapped Miss Grayson. He is on the loose but cannot be far. The earl must be informed immediately. This is an outrage. And the poor girl! The gall. The utter gall. How dare he? Anyone in England should recognize the coat of arms on Lord Stirling's carriage.”

The countess, Lady Camille, was instantly concerned, but thankfully, she had always been wise and levelheaded and not one to give in to the vapors. Before her marriage to the earl, she had been a commoner and had worked for a living, and she still gave time to the Egyptian department of the museum. She frowned, looking at Ally as Shelby distractedly helped her from the carriage.

“Shelby, please, calm down so we can ascertain all the facts. Ally, were you injured? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, perfectly fine.”

The earl, tall and exceedingly handsome, came up beside his wife. “You're quite sure?” he asked, reaching out to touch her hair. “You're wearing leaves.”

“I swear to you, I'm absolutely fine,” Ally said.

“I shall call the police,” Camille said, turning to head back up the steps to the main entrance to the castle. “Ally, come along. Fine or not, it must have been quite an ordeal. Brian, please, make her come in quickly.”

“Yes, in just a moment. Shelby, see that my horse is saddled and ready. If this fellow is on the roads now, I am going after him.”

“Oh, but you must not!” Ally protested. “He is—he is armed and dangerous.”

Brian Stirling watched Ally with an arched brow and a look that caused her to flush. As if the concept of danger would so much as make him hesitate when a member of his circle had been threatened.

“Come in. While my horse is being saddled, you must give me what details you can.” He offered her his arm and called over his shoulder, “Shelby—call three of the men to ride with me.”

She accepted his arm, and followed him into the castle. In the foyer, he called for his housekeeper, then led Ally on into the massive kitchen. It was a place she loved dearly. When she had come here as a child, she had often played in the kitchen. There was a huge hearth, and something was always cooking in a pot over the fire. These days it was something dreamed up by Theodore, the “new” cook, as he was called, despite the fact that he had been at the castle for ten years. He was a big man, with cheery red cheeks, and he always had something special and delicious waiting for her when she arrived.

“Theodore, if you please, a brandy for our young miss,” the earl requested.

Theodore, who was standing at the great chopping block, his large hands mincing herbs into amazingly small pieces, frowned, wiped his hands off on his apron and hurried to the cabinet.

In a moment, Ally found herself seated by the fire, the earl before her, taking her hands, staring into her eyes. “Now, slowly and completely. What happened?”

“Well, as Shelby said, we were waylaid by the highwayman.”

“And what did he want?”

Ally shook her head. “Actually…he took nothing. All he wanted was to search the carriage—and then to know who I was and where I was going.”

The earl looked very anxious for a moment. “And he didn't hurt you in any way?”

“Not at all,” she murmured.

The earl stood, running his fingers through his hair. He was a tall man, well built, and though his title might well have brought him anything he desired without the least effort on his part, he was a scholar, a patron of antiquities and ready to delve into the day's social issues. He had done his duty in the army, as well. Ally adored him, as she did Camille, and wondered how she had come by such amazing luck as to have them choose to take her beneath their wings. She wasn't being as forthright as he deserved, and she knew it. Had the highwayman hurt her? Indeed, he had wounded both her pride and her ego. But…

She was loathe to say too much.

She realized that she did not want the man caught. She could not bear to imagine such a gallant thief hanging by the neck until dead.

“Honestly, my lord, there was not much to it. After the first few seconds, I knew I was in no danger.”

“The man is a criminal,” he said sternly.

“Yes, of course. But I wasn't harmed in any way, and nothing was taken.” She hesitated. “I'm afraid that poor Shelby prides himself on his courage and ability, and he is truly a wonderful man and an expert guardian. He was ready to die for me. But the highwayman carries a long whip, and he used it to disarm Shelby. I imagine that he is as much embarrassed as anything else,” Ally said.

The countess came into the kitchen. “I have reached the police, and Inspector Turner is on his way. Sadly, he spoke quite honestly to me. There's little he can do now. The ruffian and his fellows have surely long fled the scene. But, Ally, the inspector will be anxious to learn what he can from you about the man's look and manner. So, now, please, tell me what happened.”

Ally looked at the earl. He gave her a slight smile. “I'm afraid that you'll be repeating your adventure over and over, my dear.”

“Adventure?” Camille protested.

“Well, indeed, it seems that she is none the worse for it,” Brian said.

“That does not in the least alleviate what she must have endured,” Camille protested. A stray lock of hair fell across her forehead, and she looked at her husband indignantly, hands on her hips. “Well, the police will do what they can. It's quite frightening, though.”

“Ally!”

“Ally!”

Two little voices called out to her. Brent and William, six and five, respectively, came running into the kitchen, skirting around their mother to throw themselves at Ally.

“Boys!” Camille protested.

“They're fine,” Ally assured her, hugging the children, delighted with their cheerful smiles. They weren't worried or asking her to repeat herself; they were just happy to see her, and she adored them. Brent, the future earl, was continually full of mischief, and William was delighted to follow along, a worthy companion for all his brother's exploits. At the tender age of five, William had already announced that when the time was right, he would be heading off to the Americas to make his own fortune.

“Brian,” Camille implored. “Please tell our young gentlemen that they must not crawl all over Ally right now.”

“They're fine,” Ally insisted. She wanted the boys there to distract her questioners.

“Boys, Ally will be along to play with you after you are bathed and settled for the evening,” Brian said, picking up the children, one beneath each arm. They giggled as he walked them to the hallway. “Up to the playroom, my loves,” he commanded. “And no dismantling the new telephone today, eh?”

“No, Father,” William swore. He was still laughing.

“Really, this is not insignificant,” Camille said softly. “What if the children had been in the carriage? What if…if they had tried to run? Or fight?” she asked worriedly.

“The children weren't in the carriage, Ally was, and she apparently handled herself quite well,” Brian said, releasing the children and turning back. “My dear, we'll see that two men ride with the carriage at all times now,” he told Camille. “Will that make you feel better?”

Camille nodded. “Yes, it will. Until the rogue is stopped. Anyway, Lucy has run a bath for you, Ally, and taken out your clothing for the party tonight. I do wish your aunts would have agreed to come…well, I can't make those darlings do a thing they don't want to do. But it's disturbing that this should happen on such a day, when we've guests arriving so soon.” She smiled at her husband. “But then, I suppose people would be quite disappointed to come here without some excitement going on.”

“Ally must go up right now and refresh herself,” Brian said. “I'll ride out, and, Camille, you must speak with the inspector first when he comes, and by then, perhaps Ally will have remembered more about what happened.”

“What exactly is going on tonight?” Ally asked, glad that they seemed to be putting her “adventure” into some sort of perspective. “Your summons was quite mysterious.”

“Something terribly exciting,” Camille assured her. “So, as Brian suggests, perhaps we should start preparing while we await our policeman.”

“Yes, a bath would be lovely,” Ally agreed. She didn't add that she would also dearly love a few minutes of privacy. The earl's eyes had seemed to look into her soul, and she was very afraid that she was giving away the fact that she felt as if she'd had an adventure. She was stunned by the way she had felt, talking to the man. The
thief.

Was her life so truly sheltered and dull that she could be so easily swept away by such an encounter?

Sadly, that answer was yes.

“Come, Ally. Brian, perhaps she should have another brandy in the bath, a bit more to steady her nerves?”

“I rather think her nerves are quite steady already,” Brian said. “But she's more than welcome to another.”

He turned, shaking his head over the fact that highwaymen could be terrorizing the countryside in this modern age. Theodore was already pouring out a new measure of brandy.

Ally murmured “Thank you” as she hurried after Camille, lowering her eyes to keep the earl from seeing so much.

“I'm off in search of this brigard. I've read that he rides with three companions, Ally. Is this true?”

She nodded. Shelby would tell him anything she didn't, anyway. He would no doubt be riding out with the earl, as well. “Yes, there are four in all,” she said.

“And you can tell me nothing else?” he pressed.

She shrugged. “They wore cloaks, hats and masks. I'm afraid there's very little I could say that would help.”

“Could say? Or
would
say?” Brian murmured very softly.