A Lady Never Lies by Juliana Gray Page A

mist, the two beasts blurred together like a kind of female centaur, only with rather more clothing.
    Wallingford shrugged. “It don’t matter, Burke. Not a whit. Don’t you see? We’re all at her mercy. Look at the three of them. Well rested, riding our horses, the damned baggage cart miles behind, no end in sight.” He stopped walking and placed his hands on his hips, scanning the rocky hillside and the befogged valley below. He flung out an arm. “Behold your land of endless sunshine, Burke.
Endless . . . bloody . . . sunshine.
So you see,” he continued, resuming the track, “it don’t matter whether the inn exists or whether it’s her own damned invention. We simply walk, Burke, until she tells us to stop.”
    Finn looked down at the damp speckled stones sliding past, at the pattern of his booted feet going
crunch crunch
into the track. “Reason, of course, tells us there must be an end to it. The castle itself can’t be more than a few miles farther. When we reach the access road . . .”
    “Ah, Burke. You and your rational brain. Don’t you see? Even if we should reach your castle before Lady Morley’s mythical inn, it won’t be the end of it. Oh no. We’ll be obliged to take them in, offer them shelter until the baggage cart catches up, and then, my good fellow”—his voice rose into a bark, almost frantic—“then we’ll
never see them leave
!”
    “Nonsense,” Finn said pragmatically. “They’ve leased their own lodgings, after all. And there’s the wager, which, practically speaking, requires a complete cessation of contact with the opposite sex . . .”
    A high peal of laughter wafted down to them from the mist ahead, followed by the rumble of Lord Roland’s genial chuckle.
    “The sister,” Wallingford said darkly. “Mark my words, Burke. She’ll be the most trouble of all.”
    Finn opened his mouth to question why, but Lady Morley’s voice carried down the road, clipped with excitement, and cut him off.
    “Why, here it is!”
    Finn turned to the duke. “You see?” he said triumphantly. “The inn.”
    Lady Morley had brought her horse to a halt a short distance away and overheard him. “No, not the inn, of course,” she said, waving the map in her gloved hand. “The inn is . . . well, never mind about the inn. Look there, near the bend up ahead. There are our lodgings! Or at least the access road, you see.”
    “The access road,” Finn repeated numbly.
    “It can’t be above two miles from here,” said Lady Morley cheerfully, “and then we can send you quite on your way, with our deepest appreciation. Although if you’d be so kind as to find the fellow with our baggage and direct him properly, we’d be most abjectly grateful.”
    “Now see here, Lady Morley,” Finn burst out. “This has gone on far enough.”
    “Really, Burke,” said Lord Roland, visible now, standing next to Miss Abigail Harewood’s horse. Or rather his own horse, which she was riding. “You can’t possibly be proposing that we leave the ladies here and trot off on our merry way. Anything might happen. Brigands, even.”
    Finn glowered. “Brigands have been unknown in these parts for at least a century, Penhallow. And I should think that ladies so sturdy and self-sufficient would be grateful for the exercise.”
    “Ah, Burke,” Wallingford said placidly. “It’s pointless to argue, merely a waste of valuable energy. Lady Morley wishes us to follow her to her lodgings, and as she’s got our horses, I don’t see we have any means of stopping her.”
    Finn crossed his arms and cast a speculative look at Lady Morley. The map dangled from her long fingers, coated with clear wax against the damp, and a rather disturbing idea insinuated its way into his brain. “Lady Morley,” he said, “would you perhaps be so good as to show me your map?”
    She eyed him, her elegant brow arched with suspicion. “Haven’t you a map of your own, Mr. Burke?” she inquired coolly.
    He