Beguiled. Shannon Drake

Douglas said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t this fool zealot realize he is only making matters worse for the queen?”

      Mark was quiet for a minute. “I believe,” he said, “that the killer is an anti-monarchist.”

      “What?” Douglas demanded. “Then why kill…?” His voice trailed off as he realized Mark’s point.

      “Precisely,” Mark murmured. “The idea is to make the populace believe the monarchists are killing these men because they are speaking out. What better way to win a cause then to create an army of martyrs?”

      “Then…?” Douglas said, eyes narrowing.

      “I think we need to look at Giles Brandon’s friends and contemporaries. Because I’m certain of one thing,” Mark said.

      “And what is that?”

      “Giles Brandon knew his killer. I’d say he knew him very well.”

      WITH DINNER OVER, IT SEEMED that the long table disappeared in an instant. New tables were set against the walls, with elegant little demitasses of coffee, small dessert plates and aperitifs. As the dancing began, Ally began to recognize more and more guests she either knew or knew about.

      The first to whisk her out on the floor was Brian Stirling. She danced very well with him, since, as a child, she had learned her first dances by standing on his toes, laughing as he swept her around the room.

      As they moved across the floor, she whispered, “That journalist is here—Thane Grier.”

      “Yes.”

      Brian didn’t sound pleased.

      “You invited him?”

      “Of course. Had I not…Well, it’s best to befriend the enemy.”

      “He’s the enemy?”

      “Anyone who rules the press can be a dangerous enemy,” Brian said. “So of course I asked him here tonight. Especially tonight.”

      “Brian, I beg of you—”

      Brian halted. She realized he’d been tapped on the shoulder. “Lord Stirling, if I may?”

      It was Sir Andrew Harrington. She remembered seeing him only that morning, on the steps along with Sir Angus Cunningham and Lord Lionel Wittburg. They had crossed paths a few times through the years, once at a fund-raiser for the antiquities department, and once at one of Maggie’s parties to draw attention to the plight of the poor in the East End.

      Brian bowed courteously, though he seemed stiff as he graciously ceded her to Sir Harrington.

      The man smiled charmingly at her as he took her hand and slipped an arm around her, easily sliding back into the waltz. “You have certainly come of age most beautifully, Miss Grayson,” he said.

      “Thank you. And you, sir? How are you doing? I saw you this morning.”

      “You did?”

      “In the village.”

      “Ah, yes…. It seemed Angus could use all the help he could get.”

      “Military men stand together,” she murmured.

      He smiled, then looked grave. “I heard you were accosted by that monster, the highwayman.”

      “I’m quite all right.”

      “Would that I had been there,” he said, sounding angry. “Someone needs to skewer that fellow through.”

      “Thank you. I am fairly capable, however.”

      He shook his head and said softly, “You underestimate your beauty and your allure, my dear, and the wickedness in the minds of some men. I tell you now—and I say this passionately, and even knowing that you have strong guardians—if you are ever in need of assistance, I would be there willingly.”

      He was very good-looking, with rich brown hair and topaz eyes. Strong, tall, not heavily muscled, but still…she could feel the steely power in his hold.

      She smiled, inclining her head. “Thank you.”

      “So…what is the mysterious announcement to be made tonight?” he asked.

      She didn’t get a chance to tell him that she didn’t know herself, for, as if aware that he had just been discussed, Sir Angus Cunningham was the next to cut in.

      For such a large man, he danced very well. His voice was gruff when he said, “My dear sweet lass, I am ashamed by what befell you. As sheriff of the village and the surrounding forests, I failed you. Forgive me.”

      “Angus!” She had known him since she’d been quite young. “You had your hands full this morning. The highwayman is no real threat. An ugly mob is.”

      “You saw that,” he murmured.

      “And I was very proud of you—you and Lord Witt-burg and Sir Harrington. You quelled that crowd quite nicely.”

      Angus glanced across the room, his expression brooding. “Yes, well…Thane Grier was there, as well. We’ll see what rubbish he puts in the paper tomorrow. Of course tomorrow may well be worse…another murder, perhaps.” He seemed to catch himself. “Forgive me. We’ll not speak of it tonight.”

      “It is of dire importance,” she said softly. Then, her mind suddenly taking a new direction, she frowned.

      She had noticed several women there that night in black. Since Queen Victoria had mourned her dear Albert for so long, wearing black had become a trend. Even now, women wore black long after losing someone beloved. There was nothing odd about seeing a woman in black.

      And yet…

      Staring past Sir Angus’s massive shoulder, she caught sight of someone who gave her pause. She didn’t know why, but she was suddenly reminded of the woman in the village who had been crying out against the queen.

      “Sir Angus?” she said suddenly.

      “What, dear?”

      “Who was that woman this morning?”

      “What woman?”

      “In the crowd, shouting so angrily about the monarchy.”

      “Who wasn’t shouting angrily?” he asked rhetorically. “I swear, someone riled up that crowd. There were placards everywhere. Our citizens are normally peaceful and law-abiding, other than that wretched highwayman. Though I believe he hails from London and merely uses my roads for his despicable deeds.”

      “There was one woman in particular, don’t you remember? She was next to Sir Andrew’s cousin, who was trying to calm her, I believe.”

      He opened his mouth to reply, but again the dance was halted. This time it was Lord Joseph Farrow, Earl of Warren, cutting in. Angus relinquished his position.

      “You dance beautifully,” the earl informed her.

      “Thank you.”

      “I understand that you also have the voice of a lark and play the piano beautifully.”

      She smiled. “I play the piano—whether beautifully or not is in the ears of those who are listening.”

      “I am well pleased,” he murmured, his eyes bright, and he seemed amused.

      She smiled, wondering whether or not it mattered if he was or wasn’t pleased.

      The music came to an end and did not start up again. She turned around. Lord and Lady Stirling, Sir Hunter and Lady Kat, and Maggie and Lord James were gathered in front of the musicians. Brian, holding Camille’s hand, began to speak.

      “Friends, we thank you so much for coming. As you know, we have all been privileged to play a part in raising a beautiful young woman. Tonight, we are privileged to announce the engagement of our ward, Miss Alexandra Grayson.”

      She