“It doesn’t matter. Just someone who intrigued me.”
“Really? I would be greatly distressed, had I not shared your kiss,” he told her.
Again, she waved a hand in the air. “A kiss?” she said dismissively.
He led the horse back to her, standing very close. She felt her knees tremble and her will weaken. No. She would not falter.
“You’re so experienced?” he inquired.
“Would that stop the wedding?”
“No.”
“You are…quite the modern thinker.”
“What matters is after the wedding,” he said. There was an edge to his voice, no matter how pleasantly he spoke.
“Then, we are fine.”
“I wouldn’t want to bore you with my past.”
She was stunned by the surge of jealousy his casual words created in her heart.
“Thank God,” she managed to murmur. “I’m afraid that day could go to night, and night to day again,” she murmured.
“So…who is this rival?” he inquired, standing nearly against her.
“Someone totally inappropriate,” she assured him.
“Sad,” he commiserated. “But you will do the honorable thing and obey your godparents.”
“Just as you are doing, obeying your father.”
“You’re quite mistaken,” he told her.
“I am?”
If he came any closer, she thought, he would be standing on her feet. “I’m looking forward to this marriage. It may have been just a kiss, but a kiss can promise so much.”
“Really?” she murmured. “Forgive me, but I was not quite so impressed.”
“Then I must try again.”
“I—I—”
There was no opportunity to say more. He dropped the horse’s reins, and suddenly his arms were around her. And this kiss was not a simple thing. It was all consuming, filled with fire and passion. She was pressed hard against the length of him, feeling the promise of which he had spoken.
She felt the pressure of his mouth, the heat of his tongue in her mouth, sending liquid fire rushing through her, her lungs, her abdomen…lower. She could feel herself melting into his very being, felt his fingers on her face, her neck, sifting through her hair, on her breast, her waist, her hips….
She wanted to feel more of him, not just his touch. She wanted to reach out, feel the power in his muscles, brush her fingers against his naked flesh….
He released her suddenly. She swayed and nearly fell. He had already turned away, seeking the horse’s reins. “I don’t think it will be so bad,” he said casually.
She fought the soaring rise of her temper. “May we return?”
“Your every wish is my command, Alexandra.”
He set her atop the horse and leapt up behind her. They returned to the stables at the same fierce pace at which they had left. He rode past the stables and set her down before the lodge. “Thank you for the lovely ride,” she said curtly.
“No,” he said huskily from behind her. “I thank you for the lovely ride.”
He was laughing at her, she was certain. And yet, she was going to marry the man. And her decision had nothing to do with honor.
Rather…all she could think of was his touch. Was this feeling, this thing like desperation, falling in love? Was love a simple hunger, a need…?
She lifted her chin. She was going to marry him. She might well be falling in love.
But she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
“WHOA!”
The coachman reined the elegant carriage bearing Lord Lionel Wittburg to a halt. Patrick rode up alongside the man, taking care to see he was disarmed even as he tried to draw out his pistol. Thomas stood by to assist Patrick; Geoff reined in by Mark.
Mark dismounted, throwing open the door to the carriage. Lord Wittburg was also in the process of reaching for his sidearm.
The last thing Mark wanted to do was hurt the elderly gentleman, but neither did he wish to be shot himself.
“Stop, my Lord. I wish no injury to you,” he ordered.
He realized, watching Wittburg’s expressions change, that he didn’t wish for a gun battle, either, but his pride was at stake.
“My lord, if you will just be so good as to step down from the carriage?” he suggested.
Stiffly, with the utmost dignity, Wittburg did so. The minute he was clear of the carriage, Mark nodded to Geoff and stepped inside himself.
It was a fine though aging coach, and it did not take Mark long to search. He found a cloak, but the black garment showed no signs of blood. There were boots in the compartment, as well, but they appeared to have no trace upon them of anything but dirt.
“Does he carry that much treasure?” Geoff called from outside. Mark knew the men were less comfortable holding a gun on Lord Wittburg than on any other person they had stopped.
“He carries nothing of value,” he called out in reply, as if disgusted. But he went over the compartment again, searched the cloak inch by inch, studied the boots once more.
At last he emerged.
“He carries nothing,” he complained, jumping atop his horse.
“His watch and bob are fine enough,” Thomas pointed out.
“’Tis not worth it,” Mark said with a shake of his head.
Wittburg never lost his dignity. “You will hang,” he assured Mark.
He’d heard the words often enough. Still, from Wittburg’s lips…
“Perhaps,” he said. “You may resume your journey, your Lordship.”
Wittburg frowned, staring at him. “You are stealing nothing?”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
At last Lionel Wittburg returned to his coach. He almost slipped on the step. Mark leapt down in time to keep him from a nasty fall.
Wittburg jerked his arm free. “I cannot thank you. I will not thank a criminal,” he said. Then he was back in the coach, slamming the door.
“Go!” Patrick thundered to the driver.
“East and west,” Mark said when the carriage had started off down the trail. They split, disappearing into the woods, just in time to avoid the shots Lord Wittburg fired from the window of the carriage.
BEING THE GUEST OF Lord Farrow was not difficult in the least. He was charming and private, and allowed Ally the same privacy.
When he announced that he needed to go into London on business, he seemed pleased to accept her company when she asked if she might come along.
In the carriage, however, he seemed disturbed. “I shouldn’t have brought you. I must attend to business while I am there, and I am worried about your safety.”
“You needn’t be. I intend to shop and stay on the main streets, where there will be an abundance of people,” she assured him.
Lord Wittburg hopped out near Big Ben, telling Bertram to attend to Miss Grayson. The big man nodded, patient and ready to do whatever was asked of him. Ally asked to be let off near the museum and suggested they meet at the same spot in two hours. She noticed the man kept a book on his seat, and she had to smile. No wonder he was patient. While he was waiting, he read.
She walked through one door of the museum.
And out another. Once again, she was determined on reaching the post office. Today, though, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had been followed before, so she was careful. She skirted in and out of several shops, buying a few pieces of lace for the aunties, a couple of sachets and a small reticule.
If she hadn’t lost her check, she might have bought the charming little muff she saw in one shop. But she had, and there was no safe way to retrieve it.
When she finally reached the post office, to mail her latest article, she discovered that her check had been mailed back to her. She decided that Mark must have returned it to the newspaper. She worried that he might be following her, and she looked around quickly. She saw no one suspicious. Outside, she started along the street and realized she was heading toward the newspaper offices. She had often gone just to stare at the buil
ding, dreaming that she might one day write for the paper, though what she really aspired to was becoming a novelist, spinning tales like Arthur Conan Doyle or the Brontë sisters—or even Poe. She had been surprised to recognize her own passion and ability when she had set her hand to essays.
She was standing on the sidewalk when she heard her name called.
“Miss Grayson!”
Turning around, she saw Thane Grier. He looked handsome and cheerful in a striped jacket, black trousers and tan waistcoat. He seemed happier than when she had seen him last.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Well, thank you. And you?”
“Couldn’t be better.” He lowered his voice and laughed softly. “A. Anonymous has not been writing every day.”
“Ah, so the front page is yours again.”
“Yes. Would you like to come up? It’s not at all glamorous, but perhaps…?”
“I would love to!”
“Then you shall.”
He showed her where the papers were stacked for the vendors, where the presses were, and then dozens and dozens of offices. Phones were in constant use, salesmen worked to make their living by selling advertising space, and scores of people sat at desks arranged in rows, typing, or leafing through huge tomes, verifying facts. She was flushed but pleased at the opportunity to meet the managing editor, and especially gratified when he said they were always eager to get outside pieces, such as those that had been written by A. Anonymous.
Ally did not want to overstay her welcome and tried to hurry out, but as she reached the door, he called her back. “Your wedding will be featured on page one, you know.”
She smiled, unwilling to tell him that it was scheduled to take place on Saturday. She didn’t know what plans were in effect or whether secrecy was involved.
After all, she was only the bride.
Thane walked her back down to the street. “May I buy you tea?” he asked.
She was flushed and excited, and ready to accept, but she realized she had used up all the time she had asked Bertram to allow her. “I’m sorry. I would honestly love to have tea with you, but I’m here with Lord Farrow, and I must return.”
He smiled at her, a strange smile. “We should really talk,” he told her.
She inclined her head. “We have been talking, have we not?”
“I shall talk, you must listen. You must be careful, you know.”
“Why do you say so?”
“Did you know your proposed groom was in these offices just yesterday?”
“Was he?” She tried to sound casual. “What was he doing?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t hear. But he was speaking with the managing editor. And he gave him an envelope.”
“Maybe he’s started writing,” she said.
His eyes studied her gravely.
“Thank you. Sincerely. I’ve dreamed forever of being where I was today,” she said when he made no reply to her speculation.
“I see. So you write.”
“Good heavens, what an imagination you have.”
“Mark Farrow was not delivering an envelope on your behalf?”
“Absolutely not,” she assured him. “But thank you again. I have had a wonderful time.”
“Strange, but delightful.”
“What’s that?”
“That you should find the offices of the newspaper so fascinating—that you have dreamed of entering them.”
“I love to read.”
“I see.”
He didn’t see. He was suspicious. And she didn’t know what to say.
“Thank you again, but now I must hurry.”
She shook his hand, turned and fled.
She hurried along several streets, rounded a corner, and then went into the museum through the rear entrance, then out the other side. As she had known he would be, Bertram was waiting.
Lord Farrow had apparently finished his business quickly, and he had somehow known how to find Bertram. He was already in the carriage. “I was beginning to fear I had really cast you into danger,” he told her.
“Am I late? I’m so sorry.”
“You are late by no more than a few minutes. I am just becoming…well, recent events lead one to unwarranted concern. Your timing was fine, my dear. So, was your shopping successful?”
Yes, successful. She now had her check in hand.
And another essay would soon be delivered.
In addition, she was almost certain she hadn’t been followed to the post office.
The day continued to be a pleasant one, despite the fact Mark Farrow unnerved her by managing to return home by dinnertime. He seemed somewhat distracted, however, though he was polite throughout the meal. When they had finished dining, she feigned exhaustion, which seemed to be fine with both men. She realized they were anxious to speak alone, a feat they intended to accomplish by “retiring” for brandy and cigars.
Seeing the two men headed into Lord Farrow’s private chambers, followed by Bertram with a tray, Ally eschewed her first idea of escaping to the bedroom. She slipped outside and headed for the stables instead.
But where to start?
She glanced at the tack room and, across from it, Bertram’s private quarters. That might well be the best place to look.
The door was open. She slipped in. Bertram seemed to be a man of few needs. There were shelves with books, a cabinet with liquor and a fireplace in the outer of the two rooms. One closet. Ally went through it quickly but discovered nothing other than clothing that clearly belonged to the large man. His bedroom was sparsely furnished, offering a bed, a chest of drawers and a bedside table. Quickly, she went through the drawers, feeling like the worst busybody in the world. There was a small water closet, offering nothing but soap and towels.
She quickly left the room, closing the door behind her. The wolfhounds were at her heels, wagging their giant tails, as she came out. “Good girl, good boy,” she murmured, patting their heads. She felt comfortable, knowing she was safe from intruders with the dogs at her side.
But what she was actually frightened of was someone from the house finding her prying, and the dogs would be no help on that score.
She glanced toward the lodge, saw no one and hurried over to the tack room. There she found rows of neatly hung bridles, sawhorses with saddles, and cans of polish and other accoutrements. She left the tack room and looked up to the hayloft. There was a ladder. She glanced back once, then scrambled up the ladder.
She found nothing but hay and more hay.
Frustrated, she sat on a bale. It was hard beneath her. Startled, she stood quickly. The hay was nothing but a facade. She groped about and found she could lift a portion of it. The hay masked a trunk. Inside the trunk were black cloaks and boots.
And black silk masks.
In a frenzy, she looked further.
Her sketchbook was not there.
She went dead still then, hearing voices. Her heart thundered. She crept toward the edge of the loft and looked down.
“There are many men working on the case, and it is a two-way street, Father. Ian takes whatever suggestions I offer and sends officers out on the street to investigate them. He is quite a clever man. You know as well as I do that Lord Wittburg would have been horrified at the arrival of a police officer. He would never have allowed Ian into his chambers.”
“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, that much I know very well,” Lord Farrow said. “What frightens me is that despite all that is being done—and I do not doubt Ian has men covering the streets, following every lead—it seems no one is any closer to the truth than before.”
What were they doing in the stables? she wondered. Why couldn’t they have stayed in the house with their brandies and cigars?
And how on earth was she going to get back inside?
“What are you doing, prowling about out here?” Mark said suddenly.
Ally nearly gasped, then realized he was talking to the dogs. She heard a woof of pleasure.
Mark must be patting one of them on the head.
A moment later she breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m to bed, then, son. I have to leave very early for the city tomorrow morning. I’ll ride in. Bertram will stay here. We’ll not leave Miss Grayson alone at any time.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Their voices continued, but she no longer heard what they said. She assumed they were heading back to the house. Carefully, though, she waited.
At last she decided enough time had gone by. Looking over the ledge, she saw no one. With all the speed she could summon, she hurried down the ladder.
The hounds were waiting. “Traitors!” she told the pair. They only, good-naturedly, woofed anew, nudging her for affection. “All right, all right,” she murmured, and stroked them both, looking about to see if the Farrow men or Bertram might still be about.
Seeing no one, she sprinted for the lodge and slipped inside.
The house was quiet. She started through the parlor.
“My dear Miss Grayson.”
She froze. Mark Farrow stepped from the shadows, where he had been seated on the divan.
She could see nothing of his face in the dim light.
“Mark…” she murmured.
“Ally. I thought you had gone to bed.”
“I needed a breath of fresh air.”
“I see.”
“It’s a lovely night.”
“Indeed.”
“Well…good night.”
“Good night. Oh!” he said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“My father and I will both be out on business most of the day tomorrow. But Bertram will be here, working the grounds. Please, don’t go walking or riding anywhere alone. You’ll be safe here.”
“Of course,” she said, then turned and hurried toward the hall.
“Ally?”
She froze, then turned back slowly. He still stood in the shadows.
“There’s something in your hair.”
“My hair?”
She touched it and winced.
Hay.
“A twig,” she murmured. “Thank you…I’ve got it. Good night,” she said again, firmly.
She turned. If he called her again, what would she do? Or say?
But he didn’t call her back, though she felt his presence…his eyes…as she walked away.
Beguiled Page 19
