by Alyssa Drake
“Of course,” Mr. Shirely replied. “Miss Hastings, it was wonderful to meet you.” He lifted her hand again for a second kiss. Sam grimaced, grateful for Wilhelmina’s insistence on gloves.
“Charlotte, please convey my sympathies to Horace. Gout is extremely painful.” He smiled winningly at Miss Randall and lifted her arm, drooling on her glove alike. His wife extracted Miss Randall’s hand from his grip, aiming to steer him and his silly grin into the crowd of guests.
“Miss Hastings, may I request one more moment of your evening?” Mr. Shirely, a mountain of stubborn blubber, ignored his wife’s fruitless attempts to propel him forward. “You and your extremely fortunate fiancé must join us for dinner within the next few weeks. I am told he is an astute business man. I would like his insight on a proposition I am mulling over.”
“I doubt someone as successful as you would need my judgment regarding any financial situation; however, we would be honored to accept your invitation, Mr. Shirely.” Lord Westwood’s deep voice rumbled from behind, causing a slew of shivers to dance over Sam’s skin. Without turning, she leaned backward, his strong arms entwining about her waist, a happy sigh escaping from her lips.
“We,” Mr. Reid emphasized the word, “decided your tardiness might be grounds for concern.” His easy grin floated over Lord Westwood’s shoulder. Subtly, he moved between Sam and Miss Randall, creating a small space for himself.
Mr. Shirely gulped quickly, his flabby face paled. “I believe I may have ingested too much drink this evening, Lord Westwood, as now I am seeing two of you.”
“They are twins, my dear. That is Lord Westwood’s brother, Mr. Reid.” Mrs. Shirely patted his arm reassuringly. Sam caught her fleeting eye roll.
“Ah, I see now.” Mr. Shirely extended his hand to shake both Lord Westwood’s and Mr. Reid’s hands. “Gentlemen, I apologize for my blunder. I am rarely current on today’s social connections. I leave all those details to my fine wife.” He simpered at Mrs. Shirely. She swallowed a spiteful remark, her countenance resembling a person who bit into sour fruit.
Sam wondered how the unfortunate couple agreed upon their union. Which splendid quality of Mrs. Shirely ensnared Mr. Shirely—perhaps it was her overwhelming beauty? Mr. Shirely’s loutish social skills would run off any well-bred lady. Sam concluded either he possessed an enormous fortune—which by the size of the estate seemed viable—or Mrs. Shirely had no other options. Possibly both theories worked in conjunction with each other to form this tragic display of matrimony.
“Mr. Reid,” Mr. Shirely said, “it would be a privilege if you would join us as well. We would be honored if you accompanied Charlotte. She spends far too much time alone in her cottage.”
Mrs. Shirely’s restrictive grip tightened on her husband’s arm. “Alexander, we do not discuss Charlotte’s current living arrangements at parties,” she seethed, forcing a syrupy pitch into her hiss.
“Nonsense. Hattie’s dislike of Charlotte is common knowledge,” Mr. Shirely replied blithely as his wife fought to curb her exasperation. He gazed at her with surprise, realizing his error.
“Gentlemen, ladies, please excuse my forthright comment. Lillian finds it a great task to keep me proper.” He flushed with embarrassment, the pink hue a complimentary shade to his wife’s mauve face.
Sam offered him a kind smile. “I suffer from the same affliction Mr. Shirely.”
“You do?” Relief passed through his eyes. “When?”
“Just this very evening,” replied Sam.
“What inappropriate thing did you do today?” Lord Westwood murmured in her ear, sending a second round of tremors cascading down her spine. Unconsciously, she arched her neck toward his wicked mouth. He smiled against her skin.
“I made a wager with Mr. Reid,” Sam said, fighting the telling flush creeping through her skin.
“Did you win?” asked Mr. Shirely curiously, ignoring his wife’s renewed efforts to drag him away.
“She did,” Mr. Reid said, nodding at Sam.
“How delightful.” Mr. Shirely grinned, lifting Sam’s hand for a third kiss. Turning to his wife, he finally noticed her attempts to steer him out of the conversation.
“Of course,” he said. “We are keeping Charlotte from Horace. Lord Westwood, Mr. Reid, it was a pleasure to speak with you this evening.” Mr. Shirely bobbed his head politely as his wife dragged him roughly through the guests.
“Is your uncle ill?” asked Mr. Reid.
“Apparently,” replied Miss Randall. “Aunt Lillian informed us neither Uncle Horace nor Aunt Hattie attended the masque. It is unusual they did not notify me of their absence. I would like to check on them before returning to my cottage. May we stop by the main house first?”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Reid, offering his arm, escorting Miss Randall to the waiting carriage.
“I think Thomas is smitten.” Lord Westwood gloated, offering Sam his arm.
“That is a pity.” Tucking her hand into his arm, Sam shook her head.
“How so?”
“Just last night, Miss Clemens confessed her attraction for your brother.” Sam sighed. “I am doubtful he harbors the same affection.”
“Thomas is an unusual gentleman. His taste may surprise you.” Lord Westwood chuckled to himself, showing no remorse for his brother’s impending troubles. As they walked toward the carriage, his thumb discreetly rubbed tiny circles on the exposed skin of Sam’s upper arm. “I imagine Thomas is due for a long season.”
“I believe you are correct,” replied Sam, enjoying the delightful tingles rippling through her body.
“Have you been sleeping in my bed?” Lord Westwood’s voice rumbled.
Sam bit her lip and shook her head, staring into his blazing green eyes.
“Tonight, you will.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“How long have you lived in the cottage?” Miss Hastings’ question floated through the semi-darkness of the carriage. Miss Randall’s dazzling eyes glinted, hardening as she turned toward Miss Hastings. A strange reaction to Miss Hastings’ query.
Thomas twisted toward Miss Randall, curiosity burning in his eyes. Benjamin smirked. It was lucky their mother did not witness Thomas’ burgeoning interest; her meddling would increase tenfold. Thomas would be married before the season was through.
“Shortly after I received my inheritance, I relocated to the cottage,” Miss Randall replied, a sneer fleetingly graced her lips. “Once I possessed financial freedom, I no longer needed to adhere to Aunt Hattie’s restrictive condemnation,”
“Are you nervous being on your own?” asked Thomas, moving forward to the edge of the bench.
“Not in the slightest, Mr. Reid.” Miss Randall sparkled in his direction. “I am not entirely alone. Mrs. Larson’s daughter looks after the cottage, and it is just a short ten-minute stroll to the main house, should I desire company. However, I appreciate your concern regarding my well-being.”
“Miss Randall, I fear you are unaware of the peril in which you have placed yourself by merely conversing with Miss Hastings this evening,” Benjamin said, redirecting the conversation.
“I regret we involved you in this dangerous matter; an unforeseen consequence of our plan.” Miss Hastings extended her gloved arm across the aisle and clasped Miss Randall’s hand. “I am shocked Franklin’s depravity drove him to exact his revenge at the masque.”
“Apart from the confrontation in the labyrinth, I have never interacted with Mr. Morris.” Miss Randall glanced at Miss Hastings skeptically. “I assume he was merely intoxicated, not one bit serious about his threat. I see no reason why he should pursue his fanciful intimidation or even remember it. Your precautions are foolish, Miss Hastings. Moreover, Aunt Hattie always spoke highly of Mr. Morris, I have heard only praise regarding his character.”
“Her opinion of him is skewed,” replied Miss Hastings, earning a glower from Miss Randall for the contradiction.
“Aunt Hattie is an excellent judge of character,” Miss Ran
dall said, raising her chin. The air crackled.
“Is her estimation of Miss Hastings accurate?” asked Benjamin quietly, his eyes studied Miss Randall.
“No,” she said, drawing out the word. “Aunt Hattie was incorrect in her assessment of Miss Hastings.”
“Then is it possible she is also wrong concerning Mr. Morris?” Benjamin asked softly.
Miss Randall’s violet eyes twitched—a miniscule reaction—as she considered Benjamin’s argument. “What could he have done to fall so far in your esteem?”
“You mean aside from tonight’s chilling example?” Benjamin’s acidic voice reverberated in the cabin.
How could this silly woman blindly ignore her own encounter with death? Even Miss Clemens, in her innocence, understood the seriousness of Franklin’s threat.
Miss Randall tilted her head thoughtfully, her mouth twisted into a delicate frown. “Yes, with the exception of his lack in etiquette this evening.”
“Franklin murdered my father.” Miss Hastings’ hand curled into a fist. “That was not due to improper manners.”
“He also nearly succeeded in stealing you from me,” Benjamin growled. He snaked his arms around Miss Hastings, dragging her flush against his side. She trembled and laid her head against his shoulder, allowing him to lightly trail his lips across her forehead. The rumble in his throat was soothed by the light scent of honeysuckle as it danced through the carriage, intimately caressing his face.
“Perhaps you should show Miss Randall what atrocities Mr. Morris is capable of committing,” said Thomas, attempting to ease the tension building in the carriage.
Mutely, Miss Hastings scooted forward on her bench—Benjamin’s arm remaining loosely wrapped around her waist—and removed her gloves one finger at a time. She slid the silky material down her arms until the bruising on her pale skin glowed in the coach’s lantern light. Her hands gently slid behind her head and tugged at the string holding the mask over her eyes. The muted light skimmed across her battered face. She fixed her gaze directly on Miss Randall.
“Oh!” Miss Randall gasped, gawking at the contusions. She leaned across the aisle to inspect Miss Hastings’ injuries. “Mr. Morris is responsible?”
“He is,” replied Miss Hastings.
“How did you survive this vicious attack?” Miss Randall asked in awe, raising her hand to touch Miss Hastings’ cheek. Miss Hastings flinched.
Miss Randall paused, fingers outstretched, glancing up as if asking for permission. Miss Hastings nodded, watching Miss Randall warily as she gently pressed one finger on the largest bruise, which gleamed in various shades of purple.
Wincing, Miss Hastings drew away with a sharp intake of air, folding herself into Benjamin. Miss Randall followed, her fingers inched toward Miss Hastings’ battered face. Benjamin glared at her until she dropped her hand. Leaning forward in his seat, Benjamin adjusted his body until it blocked Miss Hastings from Miss Randall’s probing fingers.
“Those are the wounds you can see.” He snarled. The worst ones, the ones hidden beneath her costume… Benjamin shuddered, his hands clenching. He would kill Morris.
Thomas extended a restraining hand, placing it on Benjamin’s chest. After a deep breath, Benjamin relaxed against the cushion, wrapping his arms around Miss Hastings again, the red haze gathered in the corners of his vision ebbing.
“Morris is a viable threat,” Thomas said. “The attack at the masque is evidence of his desperation.”
“I am sure I will be perfectly safe,” Miss Randall scoffed and waved her hand. “Mr. Morris has no complaint with me.” She looked around the faces of the coach for reassurance—none came.
“Franklin slaughtered my father in a house filled with people. He tried to execute both of us tonight during a party and would have succeeded if not for the interference of Mr. Shirely. Franklin would have no qualms attacking a woman who resides alone with only a housemaid for protection,” Miss Hastings exploded, her body tensed with aggravation as she flew forward on the bench. Benjamin’s arm stiffened around her waist, restraining her to his side.
“Did Mr. Shirely really rescue you from Mr. Morris?” asked Thomas incredulously, his exaggerated expression causing Miss Hastings to laugh aloud.
“He did,” Miss Hastings replied as she melted into Benjamin again. “Mr. Shirely was quite the gentleman.”
“More so than I?” Benjamin murmured, his lips millimeters from her intoxicating skin.
“I thought we established you were not a gentleman,” she replied, her passion-filled gaze flicking to him.
Desire coursed through Benjamin’s veins, hunger unfurling in his stomach. He longed to nuzzle Miss Hastings’ soft skin and inhale the honeysuckle aroma which followed her every movement, to continue the moment began earlier this evening before Franklin—once again—attempted to separate him from his fiancée. The tingles running through his limbs served to remind him of the decadent seduction waiting once he found a moment of privacy. “As I have previously explained, Miss Hastings, gentlemen have their limits, and you continually try mine, especially in carriages.”
A delightful blush circulated through Miss Hastings’ face, racing toward her bodice. She glanced away, discreetly fanning her pink skin. Attempting to hide the grin gracing his mouth, Benjamin also looked away, swiveling his head toward Thomas.
“I suppose we must offer our gratitude for his magnanimous deed,” Thomas grumbled, unaware of the intimate tête-à-tête between Benjamin and Miss Hastings. He crossed his arms in irritation and pouted, his lower lip pushed out dramatically. Miss Hastings laughed.
“We can do so when we dine with them,” Benjamin replied, his fingers drew absentminded patterns along the velvety skin of Miss Hastings’ wrist. She shivered under his caress.
“Am I to understand that you are not a supporter of Robert’s good character?” asked Miss Randall pensively, her face blank.
Thomas locked eyes with Benjamin, who shook his head subtly. Thomas ignored his brother’s signal. “I have yet to see any of Mr. Shirely’s positive attributes,” Thomas said. Benjamin sighed loudly and glanced at the roof of the carriage.
“What would you call his rescue of two ladies this evening?” asked Miss Randall in an oddly calm tone.
“A fortuitous accident,” replied Thomas. “I do not think his original intentions were to lead both of you to safety.”
“They were not,” Miss Hastings muttered, her low tone catching Benjamin’s attention.
“Should I arrange a private audience with Mr. Shirely?” He whispered in her ear.
“No, thank you.” She shook her head, her eyes flicking up to Miss Randall. “Miss Randall handled the predicament with grace.”
Miss Randall blushed. “Miss Hastings, your flattery is unfounded.”
“Not at all, Miss Randall, had I discovered Mr. Shirely on my own, the situation may have ended differently.”
“Indeed.” Benjamin’s fingers folded into a fist, his knuckles cracking loudly.
“Do you still wish to dine with the Shirely’s?” Thomas grinned and tilted his head as he smirked at Benjamin.
Benjamin glared at his brother with narrow eyes. “Regardless of Mr. Shirely’s true designs this evening, the result of his intervention protected both Miss Hastings and Miss Randall.”
“So, we are to overlook his attack on Miss Clemens?” asked Thomas, his anger rolled through the carriage.
“What attack?” asked Miss Randall in surprise.
“No,” replied Benjamin evenly, ignoring Miss Randall’s question. “However, at this moment, we need as many supporters as possible. An alliance with the Shirely family would prove most beneficial in capturing Mr. Morris. I am certain Edward and Mrs. Hastings would agree with me.”
“Begrudgingly,” muttered Thomas.
“What attack?” Miss Randall repeated loudly.
“He cornered Miss Clemens in an alley with the intent of taking liberties with her person.” Thomas’ fiery tone surprising Benjamin, his
eyes flicked to his brother’s face. Perhaps Miss Clemens’ broken heart could hope…
“That is dreadful.” Miss Randall shook of her head.
“When Miss Clemens protested by slapping him, the esteemed Mr. Shirely raised his hand in retribution,” said Thomas, his voice tight.
“How did she escape his rage?” asked Miss Randall, leaning toward him.
“I intervened.”
“You gave Robert that black eye?”
“I did.” Thomas smiled.
“Robert needs a good beating,” replied Miss Randall. “He was such a spoiled child, especially after Jeremiah died.”
“Personal grievances must be set aside until the matter with Morris is resolved,” Benjamin said.
Miss Hastings blew out an exasperated sigh. “Does that mean you expect me to be pleasant to Miss Shirely?”
Benjamin laughed at her petulant attitude. “Polite is all I ask of you… both of you.” He glared at Thomas who cursed under his breath.
Miss Randall patted Thomas’ arm. “It is not a difficult task Mr. Reid. I have been pretending to be civil for years, and I would much rather Alice were run over by a carriage.”
Thomas choked on his laughter. “You must give me some advice, Miss Randall.”
Hesitantly Miss Randall glanced around the carriage, debating divulging her secret. “As a child, whenever I acted inappropriately or embarrassed Aunt Hattie, she would beat me with a cane and lock me in an empty maid’s chamber for days. I used to practice in front of the mirror, fabricating expressions which concealed my true thoughts. Once I perfected my face, the punishments stopped.”
“Why did you stay?” asked Miss Hastings, her horrified tone conveying the sentiments of everyone in the coach.
“I had no other family,” Miss Randall said, offering a small smile. “I never knew my father, he abandoned me before birth. My mother passed during childbirth. No one returned to claim me. I never learned my father’s name.”
“Miss Randall, as much as you detest the family you are connected to, it would be prudent if you surrounded yourself with people you trust until Morris is arrested,” Benjamin said.
