Beguiled

She was also the most guarded orphan in the empire, she was quite sure.

“You’ll not touch that girl—” Shelby began angrily. But he did not finish. The highwayman had cracked the whip he carried, a long and lethal-looking thing that snapped through the air with the sharpness of a shot. The pistol Shelby had reached for went flying through the air as he cried out, not so much in pain as in surprise.

“My dear fellow,” the highwayman said. “We’ve no wish to harm you or the girl. You’ll step down, please.”

Stiff, angry, wary, Shelby did so. Ally heard a soft expulsion of breath, and when she looked, he was no longer standing. He had sunk easily to the ground, as if he had simply been so tired he had gone to sleep standing.

She started to run toward him, crying out in alarm.

She did not reach him. The highwayman caught her by the shoulders. When she kicked and fought and tried to bite him, he swore softly.

“What is the matter with you, girl? You are playing with your life here.”

“What have you done to him?”

“He will awake soon enough, none the worse for wear,” he assured her.

“What did you do to him? You’ve killed him!”

“He isn’t dead, I assure you.”

She tried again to bite the hand that held her. “This is ridiculous,” he hissed, and before she knew it, she was thrown over his shoulder and he was striding quickly off the open road and along a forest trail.

What had she done?

A trickle of fear slipped along her spine, despite her resolve.

“If you think you’re going to slit my throat in the woods, you’ll be truly sorry,” she warned him. “They’ll come after you. You are already wanted for your crimes. They’ll revive public executions—indeed, they’ll bring back drawing and quartering. I’m warning you—”

“You should start begging me,” he warned.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “You don’t even know who I am!”

They had apparently reached his destination. She was quickly and unceremoniously set down on a tree stump next to a small stream through the woods. Oddly, the water bubbled melodiously. The sun was almost gone for the day, just disappearing into the horizon, so they were surrounded by pale glimmers through the canopy of the trees and the coming shadows of the night. He set a foot on the log and leaned close to her. “Seriously, lass, I don’t know who you are. Had you answered that question for me at the start, you might well be on your way again already.”

“Don’t call me ‘lass.’”

“I should be calling you an idiot.”

“I? An idiot? Because I protest a wretched criminal who will surely end his days at the end of a rope?”

“If I’m to hang, anyway, what would it matter if I were to add your body to the list of my trespasses?” he demanded.

“You will hang,” she said icily.

“Perhaps, but not today. Today, you will answer to me.”

She fell silent, staring at him, once again forcing down any sense of fear. She would not go easily.

She stared at him, eyes burning, head high. “You are young and able-bodied. You might have found legitimate work easily enough. Instead, you have chosen a life of crime.”

He laughed softly, truly amused now. “Indeed, lass, of all the young women I have encountered, you are definitely the most brazen. Or the most stupid. I haven’t decided yet.”

“I told you not to call me ‘lass.’”

“You are a lass.”

“Then you are nothing but a boy, playing at being a man.”

He seemed to take no offense; indeed, he smiled slightly.

“Have you a title, then?” he inquired.

She stared at him coldly. “You may call me Miss.”

“Miss. So who are you and where are—were—you going?”

“Are you an idiot, that you don’t recognize a carriage belonging to the Earl of Carlyle?”

She couldn’t tell whether he had recognized the carriage or not, for his next question was not an answer.

“What are you doing in his carriage?”

“I haven’t stolen it,” she retorted.

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

He leaned closer. “But it is not the answer I am seeking.”

“I’m ever so sorry.”

“Pray, don’t be sorry—yet. Simply provide me with the information I seek.”

“You are a bully and a thief. I owe you nothing.”

“I am a highwayman. And your life and safekeeping are in my hands.”

“Shoot me, then.”

He shook his head, irritated. She lifted her chin. She was afraid, true, but she was oddly excited, as well. The blood was rushing through her veins. Ridiculous as it might seem, she felt up to the challenge.

Strangely, she didn’t believe he would really harm her. There was something too…decent?…about his manner.

Perhaps this was simply what she had wanted: something had finally happened in her life. She felt as if she were really living, perhaps for the first time. How sad if it were all about to end.

He laughed aloud and the sound was easy and pleasant. “Let me start over. Dear mademoiselle, pray, please, tell me what you’re doing in the earl’s carriage?”

“Obviously I am going to see the earl.”

“Ah. You’re good friends, then?”

“He is something of a godfather to me,” she explained.

“Indeed?”

“Yes, so you had best take care, lest you truly offend me.”

“I’m afraid it matters not at all to me whom I offend.”

“The earl will see you skewered through.”

“The earl will have to catch me for that, don’t you think?”

“Don’t underestimate him.”

“I never would.”

“Pray, tell, exactly what do you want from me? I’m afraid I’m not carrying any riches.”

He was still smiling, and his foot continued to rest on the log as he leaned close. She found herself wondering how such a man, well spoken, well dressed, smelling clean but with a hint of musk and leather, could have come to such a pass in life.

“Riches may be attained in any number of ways. If you’re beloved of the earl, you’re worth a pretty penny.”

“I’m not that well loved,” she said sharply.

His smile deepened. She wished she could see more of his face.

“Tell me more about yourself,” he commanded.

She folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me more about yourself.”

“I asked first.”

“But you already know more about me than I know about you,” she reminded him primly.

“Ah, but I am the highwayman, and you are the victim,” he said.

“Precisely. Victims are not required by any social standard to be cooperative,” she informed him.

He leaned closer. “Victims are supposed to be frightened.”

“Do you know what I think?”

“Pray, tell me.”

“You are not at all dangerous.”

“Really?”

“It appears to me that you have at least a modicum of intelligence, and that someone raised you properly. And that, if you chose, you could certainly do well enough without resorting to highway robbery and accosting random victims.”

“I’m afraid,” he murmured, “that you weren’t a random victim.”

She was startled, and a trickle of fear began to ice her blood.

“I have nothing. Why would you choose me?”

“You were in the earl’s coach.”

“Again, I tell you, I have nothing worth stealing,” she assured him, more determined now than ever that he believe her.

“You might be quite valuable as a hostage,” he informed her.

“Oh!” she cried in frustration. “You are a fool. What is the matter with you? There are grave things going on in the world. We may well find ourselves in a state of anarchy. Men have been murdered. People are in an uproar. And you are worried about nothing but yourself.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm? That’s all you have to say?” she demanded.

“Are you going to challenge all the evil in the world?” he asked her softly.

“Are you willing to do nothing about all the evil in the world?” she countered.

He shrugged. “Let’s see…can I change the world at this moment? Probably not. Can I change my own situation? I think so. Because I have you, whoever you are, a passenger in the Earl of Carlyle’s carriage.”

“Please, I have already informed you, I am not worth anything.”

“Come, come. You cannot be that naïve. Not a woman of your obvious…worldliness.”

She flushed, looking away. She felt as if fire were rushing through her. How could she be so ridiculous as to feel such a tide of emotion because of a highwayman? Good God, how pathetic. She would not allow it.

“I’m telling you, whatever you may wish to think, there is no threat you can make that will change me into a rich swan. I live in the company of several widows, gentle and kind and sheltered. They have little. I seldom leave the woods.”

“But when you do, it seems, you leave in style.”

“I am lucky to have landed friends who took interest in me as a child.”

“Do you work for the earl?”

“No.”

“Do you…?” He looked her up and down meaningfully.

“What are you implying?” she demanded indignantly, so angry that she rose, pushing him aside. “The lord’s lady is one of the kindest and most beautiful women I have ever met, and I do assure you, he feels the same. How dare you…? Ah, you are but a highwayman, and anything of gentility I’ve sensed in you is nothing but a mask, far more concealing than the one upon your face. I believe I’ve quite finished with this ridiculous tête-à-tête, and I would sincerely appreciate it if you would return me to the carriage now.”

At first she was afraid he would respond with violence—she had shoved him hard enough to send him reeling backward. For a moment she stood still, very still, regretting her action and wondering, as well, if she dared to run. She was unfamiliar with her surroundings, but running anywhere would have to be preferable to being his prisoner.

But he didn’t respond with violence; he didn’t even touch her. Laughing, he took a seat upon the fallen log himself.

“Bravo!”

“Bravo?”

“The earl is a lucky man to have such a staunch defender.”

“The earl is known for his strength, ethics and honesty, something you would know and appreciate—if you weren’t a rogue.”

“Ah, that I were only such a man.”

“Any man might strive to initiate his attributes.”

“Might any man have such a castle?” he asked with amusement.

“A castle does not make a man,” she told him primly.

“Nor riches?” he inquired.

She wasn’t sure what it was in his tone—a certain bitterness perhaps—but it suddenly made her realize that she might well be in serious peril after all.

She had managed to put some distance between them when she had pushed by him, and now that he was seated, cocky, comfortable, quite certain he was the one in charge, it seemed like the right time to run.

There were many advantages to growing up in a cottage in the woods. She had spent endless days exploring the trails close to her house, playing with imaginary friends, running from place to place. She had often played with the children of the woodsman down the lane, and there had been a time when she was young when the son thought she was quite a hellion. So she was strong, fit and fleet. She thought that she could leave him in the dust.

At first, she did.

Heedless of the water, she bounded across the little rivulet and tore down one of the forest trails. There was a moment when she dared to take pleasure in the sound of his startled oath as she disappeared.

Then she realized not only that she was being followed but followed swiftly.

She tore under a canopy of trees, dexterously flying over roots, rocks and fallen branches in her way. She kept running and running, following what appeared to be a path, then turning to crash through thicker foliage, hoping to lose her pursuer.

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.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE 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.”