Beguiled. Shannon Drake

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.”

      THERE 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