A Curious Beginning by Deanna Raybourn Page B

then snapped abruptly shut. I said nothing more. My arrow had flown true.
    â€œI will entertain the notion of your possibly being an unwitting participant in this affair,” he said, his voice chill with anger, “but you must understand that I will nurture suspicions against you until I am persuaded otherwise.”
    â€œSo long as you give yourself the chance to be persuaded, I am content with that. And you must let me help you discover who did this terrible thing.”
    â€œOut of the question,” he said flatly.
    I strove for patience. “Mr. Stoker, I understand you must fear I will somehow turn the situation to my own advantage, but I promise you, I have every bit as powerful a motive as you for discovering the truth behind the baron’s murder. After all, sir, you are not suspected of complicity.”
    To my astonishment, his features relaxed a little. Not quite a smile, but almost. “You are rather put out just now. Oh, you’re doing a damned good job of hiding it, but it rankles that I will not accept your word for the matter.”
    â€œI am not accustomed to being doubted, Mr. Stoker. I have been accounted strange and unfeminine by many people, but my word is as good as any man’s. I find it galling that the only remedy is to try to reason with you.”
    â€œWhat would you prefer? Pistols at dawn?” he mocked.
    â€œIf it would persuade you,” I replied stoutly. “Although, if I am honest, I would prefer swords.” My pursuit of the intruder at the cottage might have been fruitless, but it had given me a taste for bladed weaponry.
    His gaze was piercing. “I think you actually mean that. You would be very happy to put a bullet in me just now.”
    â€œOr to take one if it cleared my name.”
    He shook his head. “The moonlight has addled your brain, Miss Speedwell. I have no intention of arming you, much less facing off in a duel.”
    I did not take the opportunity to instruct him on the lethal properties of a cunningly wielded hatpin. We resumed our walk then, but I fancied there was a trifle less coldness in his manner than there had been before.
    â€œWhat will you tell your friends?” I asked suddenly. “They will want to know why we have come to them.”
    â€œYou will be my newly wedded bride whose family do not approve. I will say we are in fear of being apprehended by your wicked guardian who was robbing you of your fortune and that we require a place of safety until we can secure the money for ourselves.”
    â€œThat is a plot straight from a penny dreadful. No one could possibly believe it. More to the point, you and I could hardly masquerade as a couple joined in the harmonious state of matrimony. We seem distinctly unsuited.”
    He did not speak. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and placed himself directly in front of me. It was like running straight into a mountain, I thought as I collided with him, dropping my bag and net to the road and putting out my hands to avoid a fall.
    He reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved something—the item he had taken from his trunk, I realized. Before I knew what he was doing, he had taken up my left hand and stripped off my glove. He pushed something cold onto my finger.
    â€œWhat is this?”
    â€œA prop,” he replied.
    I stared at the slim gold band that rested on my finger. It was bent slightly, and the gold was scratched, as if it had been hurled in a fit of temper. “How is it that you happen to have a spare wedding ring in your possession, Mr. Stoker? Are you in the habit of abducting ladies and forcing them to pose as your wife?”
    He snapped in response. “That is none of your concern. Now, you will answer to the name of Mrs. Stoker whilst we are among my friends. You may address me as Stoker or husband, I care not which.”
    â€œWhat about Lucifer?” I muttered under my breath.
    He ignored me. “What is your