Free Beguiled by Shannon Drake

verbally, even in public, upon occasion. But she adored him. She thought he was a genius.”
    â€œSomething he probably told her himself,” Mark said sardonically.
    Douglas nodded. “No doubt. But there is simply no way she could have done this, nor that she would have allowed it to happen.”
    â€œWho else had a key?” Mark asked.
    â€œOnly Brandon himself, and the housekeeper, Tilly. And when you meet Tilly, you’ll know she didn’t do this, either. She is a frail bag of bones, hardworking, but hardly capable of overpowering a man such as Brandon. In addition, she needed the income she received from him, and despite his temper, there was an element of prestige for Tilly in being the housekeeper of such a man.”
    â€œIf the wife is not guilty and the housekeeper is not guilty, then one or the other was used by the killer. I would say that one of them had her key stolen, then replaced. This was not a random act of violence, obviously, and the killer took his time planning it,” Mark said.
    â€œIt’s another attack on the anti-monarchists,” Douglas said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t this fool zealot realize he is only making matters worse for the queen?”
    Mark was quiet for a minute. “I believe,” he said, “that the killer is an anti-monarchist.”
    â€œWhat?” Douglas demanded. “Then why kill…?” His voice trailed off as he realized Mark’s point.
    â€œPrecisely,” Mark murmured. “The idea is to make the populace believe the monarchists are killing these men because they are speaking out. What better way to win a cause then to create an army of martyrs?”
    â€œThen…?” Douglas said, eyes narrowing.
    â€œI think we need to look at Giles Brandon’s friends and contemporaries. Because I’m certain of one thing,” Mark said.
    â€œAnd what is that?”
    â€œGiles Brandon knew his killer. I’d say he knew him very well.”
    Â 
    W ITH DINNER OVER , IT SEEMED that the long table disappeared in an instant. New tables were set against the walls, with elegant little demitasses of coffee, small dessert plates and aperitifs. As the dancing began, Ally began to recognize more and more guests she either knew or knew about.
    The first to whisk her out on the floor was Brian Stirling. She danced very well with him, since, as a child, she had learned her first dances by standing on his toes, laughing as he swept her around the room.
    As they moved across the floor, she whispered, “That journalist is here—Thane Grier.”
    â€œYes.”
    Brian didn’t sound pleased.
    â€œYou invited him?”
    â€œOf course. Had I not…Well, it’s best to befriend the enemy.”
    â€œHe’s the enemy?”
    â€œAnyone who rules the press can be a dangerous enemy,” Brian said. “So of course I asked him here tonight. Especially tonight.”
    â€œBrian, I beg of you—”
    Brian halted. She realized he’d been tapped on the shoulder. “Lord Stirling, if I may?”
    It was Sir Andrew Harrington. She remembered seeing him only that morning, on the steps along with Sir Angus Cunningham and Lord Lionel Wittburg. They had crossed paths a few times through the years, once at a fund-raiser for the antiquities department, and once at one of Maggie’s parties to draw attention to the plight of the poor in the East End.
    Brian bowed courteously, though he seemed stiff as he graciously ceded her to Sir Harrington.
    The man smiled charmingly at her as he took her hand and slipped an arm around her, easily sliding back into the waltz. “You have certainly come of age most beautifully, Miss Grayson,” he said.
    â€œThank you. And you, sir? How are you doing? I saw you this morning.”
    â€œYou did?”
    â€œIn the village.”
    â€œAh, yes…. It seemed Angus could use all the help he could get.”
    â€œMilitary