Free A Poisoned Season by TASHA ALEXANDER

looking at me with a rather lecherous intensity.
    “Where is your carriage, Lady Ashton?”
    “I walked.”
    “Walked! How industrious you are. At Versailles, you know—”
    “No Versailles today, Mr. Berry.” I ignored the arm he offered, and we headed across the Mall into St. James’s Park. “I would like to talk to you about Mr. David Francis. I believe you have corresponded with him?”
    “The name is vaguely familiar.”
    “I imagine it would be,” I said, giving him the note. “Why did he want you to come to Richmond?”
    “Impossible to say. I’ve never actually met him, you know. I believe he had asked if I would dine with him.”
    “Strange to be invited to dine by a man you’ve never met, don’t you think?”
    “I find that my position generates many such invitations. People are likely to overlook formality in an attempt to meet me.”
    “You do know that he is dead, don’t you?”
    “Francis? How dreadful. I recall reading something about it in the papers.”
    “He was murdered, Mr. Berry.”
    “I’m sorry to hear it, but I don’t see how it’s any concern of mine.” We came to a bench that stood between two groves of trees and provided a fine view of the canal. Mr. Berry sat down, not bothering to first offer me a seat.

    “What was the situation about which you thanked him for alerting you?”
    “The best I can remember is that Mr. Francis wanted me to buy something from him. He had a number of objects that belonged to my twice arrière-grand-mère. Said I shouldn’t allow my family heirlooms to slip away and would offer me a good price for anything I wanted. He invited me to dine with him and look over his collection.”
    “Do you still have the letter he sent you?”
    “Heavens, no. If I kept all the inconsequential notes I receive, I’d be overwhelmed with paper.”
    “Do you own anything that belonged to Marie Antoinette?”
    “No.” He scowled. “But I expect that to change soon enough.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me down next to him on the bench. “Why have you really come to me, Lady Ashton? Were you distressed by the news of my engagement?”
    I am certain that I bristled visibly at this comment and immediately removed my hand from his. “Not in the least.”
    “It’s all right. Isabelle’s most understanding.”
    I was not about to let this nonsense go any further. “Mr. Berry, I am here only because I hoped that you might be able to tell me something of use regarding Mr. Francis. As it appears that you cannot, I must beg your leave.” I started to stand, but he yanked me back down and leaned close to me.
    “Please don’t think you’ve embarrassed yourself by coming to me like this. I find it surprisingly alluring. I’ve heard all about your illicit assignations and probably should have suspected that you would approach me so directly. My official position is going to change very soon, and when it does”—he began to massage my hand—“I expect I shall see much more of you.”
    I pulled my hand away. “You cannot think that I would—”
    “I will, of course, need you to be more discreet once I am king, but until then, you may amuse yourself as you see fit. Do you plan tomarry Bainbridge, or are the two of you just playing? I imagine he’d be as understanding a spouse as Isabelle.”
    “You have no right to ask me such a question,” I said, furious, and stormed out of the park without uttering another word.
     
    W hen I arrived at Berkeley Square, Cécile had not yet returned from Richmond. Eager though I was to tell her what had transpired since I left her, I was happy for the opportunity to take a bath, a very long, very soapy bath, and wash any trace of Mr. Berry from my person. After I had dried off and put on a lace-covered dressing gown, I sat in my bedroom and was just starting to comb through my wet hair when my friend knocked on the door.
    “It is intolerable that Isabelle should be forced to accept such a husband,” she said after I