To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(28)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

She shivered and ran to catch up with Jamie.

“THEY SAY WHEATON will propose another soldiers’ pension bill this next parliament,” the Earl of Blanchard said, leaning back in his chair until Lister feared he’d break it.

“The man never gives up,” Lord Hasselthorpe said with contempt. “I predict we’ll dismiss it with hardly any debate. What do you say, Your Grace?”

Lister contemplated the glass of brandy he held in his hand. They were in Hasselthorpe’s study, a pleasant enough room, even if it was done in purple and pink. Hasselthorpe was a sober man with a cool head on his shoulders and the ambition of obtaining the prime minister’s seat—perhaps very soon—but he had a nitwit for a wife. She’d probably done the decorating.

Lister looked at his host. “Wheaton’s bill is pure nonsense, of course. Think what a pension for every idiot who’s ever served in His Majesty’s army would cost this government. But there may be some popular support for the thing.”

“Come, sir, you don’t truly believe it might pass?” Blanchard looked aghast.

“Pass, no,” Lister said. “But there may be a fight. Have you read the pamphlets circulating on the street?”

“The rhetoric of pamphleteers is hardly sophisticated,” Hasselthorpe scoffed.

“No, but they do sway the coffeehouse regulars.” Lister frowned. “And recent events in the Colonies during the war with the French have brought the fate of the common soldier to the forefront of people’s minds. Atrocities such as the massacre at Spinner’s Falls make some wonder if our soldiers are paid enough.”

Hasselthorpe leaned slightly forward. “My brother was killed at Spinner’s Falls. The idea of the massacre being used as some bully point in a pamphleteer’s spouting makes me sick, sir.”

Lister shrugged. “I agree. I merely point out the opposition we will face to defeating this bill.”

Blanchard made his chair creak again as he went into a long ramble about drunken soldiers and thieves, but Lister was distracted. Henderson had cracked the door to the room and poked his head in.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Lister said, interrupting whatever Blanchard was babbling about.

He barely waited for the other gentlemen’s nods before rising and going to the door. “What?”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, for disturbing you,” Henderson whispered nervously, “but I have news about a certain lady’s flight.”

Lister glanced over his shoulder. Hasselthorpe’s and Blanchard’s heads were together, and in any case, it was doubtful they could hear him. He turned back to his secretary. “Yes?”

“She and the children were sighted in Edinburgh, Your Grace, not much more than a week ago.”

Edinburgh? Interesting. He wasn’t aware that Helen knew anyone in Scotland. Had she found someplace in Edinburgh to stay, or was she traveling on from there?

He focused once more on Henderson. “Good. Send a dozen more men. I want them to scour Edinburgh, find out if she’s still there, and if she isn’t, where the hell she went.”

Henderson bowed. “Very well, Your Grace.”

And Lister allowed himself a very small smile. The distance between the hunter and the prey had narrowed. Soon, very soon, he’d hold Helen’s sweet neck between his hands.

Chapter Seven

One evening as Truth Teller guarded the monster, the young man did not come at the expected hour. The sun lowered and set, the shadows lengthened in the yew knot garden, and the swallows stopped fluttering and found perches in their cage. When Truth Teller peered at the monster, he saw something pale behind the bars. Curious, he walked closer, and to his astonishment saw that the monster had disappeared. In its place lay a nude woman, her long black hair spread around her like a cloak.

At that moment, the beautiful young man ran panting into the castle courtyard, crying, “Go! Go now!”

Truth Teller obediently turned to leave, but his master called behind him, “Have you seen aught to frighten you today?”

Truth Teller paused but did not turn around. “No.…”

—from TRUTH TELLER

She was avoiding him. By midmorning, when a tray of tea and biscuits were delivered to his study by one of the new maids instead of his maddening housekeeper, Alistair was sure of it. Had he repulsed her with that kiss? Frightened her with his clear intent? Well, to hell with it. This was his castle, dammit; she was the one who’d insisted on disturbing his peace. She couldn’t hide from him now. Besides, he reasoned as he ran down the tower stairs, it was past time to inquire about the morning mail.

When he entered the kitchen, he saw Mrs. Halifax huddled with the cook over a steaming pot on the hearth, and she didn’t see him at first. Near the hall door he’d just entered, the boy and girl played with the puppy. No other servants were in sight.

“Are you come for luncheon?” Jamie asked, clutching the wiggling puppy to his chest. “We’re to feed Puddles a bowl of milk soon.”

“Mind you take him out afterward,” Alistair muttered. He started for the hearth. “And do think of another name for the pup.”

“Yes, sir,” Abigail called behind him.

Mrs. Halifax looked up as he neared, and her eyes widened as if startled by the sight of him. “Can I get you something, Sir Alistair?”

There was wariness in her gaze. Or maybe she was simply appalled that she’d let such a disgusting beast near her, a mocking voice taunted.

The thought made him frown as he said, “I came for my mail.”

The cook muttered something and bent over her pot. Mrs. Halifax glided to a nearby table, where a small bundle of letters lay. “I’m sorry. I should’ve had them sent up.” She held out the bundle.

He took it, his fingers brushing briefly against hers and then frowned down as he shuffled the letters. A reply from Etienne wasn’t there, of course—it was much too soon—but he’d hoped it would be nonetheless. Alistair had been brooding over the Spinner’s Falls traitor since Vale’s letter. Or perhaps it was Mrs. Halifax’s advent and the knowledge of all he’d lost along with his face in that terrible massacre.

“Were you expecting a letter?” Mrs. Halifax interrupted his dark thoughts.

He shrugged and tucked the letters in a pocket. “A missive from a colleague in another country. Nothing terribly important.”

“You correspond with gentlemen abroad?” She tilted her head as if intrigued.