Beguiled. Shannon Drake

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