Beguiled Read Free Page A

End had suddenly been offered large sums to feed and clothe their flocks.
    The highwayman had been stopping carriages for the past several months, and had stolen several things here and there, items of sentimental value, that had mysteriously made their way back to their owners. A thief, but not a murderer….
    In fact, he had begun his depredations just after the first murder had taken place. As if the country had not had enough to worry about.
    The wheels ground to a halt; she heard the whinnying protest of the horses, drawn up so short. And then she heard the coachman’s words.
    â€œMy man, you’ll not be harming the lass. You’ll be shooting me first.”
    Dear Shelby. Her bulky champion and guardian for as long as she could remember. He would protect her to his dying breath.
    And because of Shelby, she found courage.
    She threw open the carriage door and called out to him. “Shelby, we’ll risk no lives for the likes of this thief and his brigands. Whatever the fellow wants, we will give it to him and be on our way.”
    The highwayman reined in his great black steed and dismounted in an agile leap. His accomplices remained seated upon their horses.
    â€œWho else is in that carriage?” he demanded.
    â€œNo one,” she said.
    He clearly didn’t believe her. Striding to the open door, he reached in, seeking no permission. His hands landed upon her waist, and she was lifted unceremoniously from the elegant carriage and set upon the ground. The man apparently believed there must be some hidden compartment within, for he disappeared into the carriage, then jumped out to stand beside her.
    â€œWho are you, and what are you doing, traveling alone on the road?” he demanded. His face was hidden by a black satin eye mask, but he had dark hair, pulled back in a queue at his nape. He wore a wool cape, and his riding boots reached his knees.
    At first she was shaking, but she was not going to be cowed. If he meant to change his methods and kill her, he would do so one way or the other. Therefore, she would go down fighting. She would not grovel. He was a thief, a brigand, a wretched excuse for a human being.
    â€œYou are nothing but riffraff,” she informed him, “and I don’t see why my travel arrangements should be any of your business.”
    â€œMiss!” Shelby protested, afraid for her.
    The highwayman nodded toward one of his men—also masked and dressed in black, a color that meant camouflage in the night—who approached Shelby as the coachman tried to ease a hand toward his pistol.
    â€œDon’t do it,” the first man warned softly. “No harm will come to you—or the lass.”
    Ally wondered if it was the word “lass,” coming from a man who had no idea of her accomplishments, that both irritated her and gave her such great courage. She was always dismissed as “the lass.” Everyone was always doing what they considered best for her. Her accomplishments were applauded, yet her future seemed to belong to everyone but her. Thanks to her privileged upbringing, she knew Latin, French and Italian, geography, history and literature. She could play the piano much more than competently, sing due to the tutelage of Madame D’Arpe, dance because of Monsieur Lonville, and ride as well as any woman living, she was certain, despite an effort to remain humble. She was also very aware that women were beginning to take their places in many previously forbidden arenas; helping to form society and, indeed, the world. She was going to make her mark on the world. Somehow.
    She was also the most guarded orphan in the empire, she was quite sure.
    â€œYou’ll not touch that girl—” Shelby began angrily. But he did not finish. The highwayman had cracked the whip he carried, a long and lethal-looking thing that snapped through the air with the sharpness of a shot. The pistol Shelby had reached for went flying through the