Secrets to Seducing a Scot

by Michelle Marcos

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He straightened, and put a large hand on the mattress on either side of her. “Are ye in the habit of receiving gentlemen in yer rooms?” Black eyebrows flew up. “It’s best that ye tell me now.”

  “Certainly not!” she responded. “What sort of a lady would I be?”

  “Not the Scottish kind, to be sure.”

  Her chin jutted in affronted pride. “Mr. Slayter, since you’ve entered my rooms, you’ve insinuated that I was a virago, a busybody, and now a lightskirt. Do you have any more calumnies to launch at me?

  His eyes sparkled in amusement. “No. That should do for now.” Suddenly he leaned forward, his face only inches from her own, imprisoning her upon the bed. “But I’m still waiting for m’answer. Do ye have a secret lover, then?”

  Serena looked away, an embarrassed blush pinking her cheeks. Lover? Yes, there had been a lover. Or more accurately, a Mistake. Even though it had happened a long time ago, the memory of that one night had never grown faint. A gentleman buck, confident and charming, had wooed her with thrilling exploits and honeyed words. Beautiful and charismatic he was, and it cost him very little effort to win her over. She let him get too close to her heart … and he took not only that, but her innocence as well. For as soon as she had given herself to him, he changed. No longer did he court and pursue; he criticized and disparaged. The man who had imprinted himself upon her and made her his own soon evaporated from her life. It was not a Mistake she would make twice.

  Now here was a man who was getting too close already. His hips were barely an inch from her silk-draped knees, rousing a strange quickening that she found instantly appealing. To make matters worse, he was not as severe-looking as she’d first surmised. In point of fact, he was quite handsome—albeit in a gruff, Scottish sort of way. Deliciously masculine—even if somewhat barbaric—and her eyes traveled wistfully across the wide shoulders and dense torso.

  “No lover,” she replied.

  “Good. ’Twould be a pity to break up a romance. For no man is going to get to ye while I’m around.”

  Serena inhaled sharply, considering the idea of being alone with this man. One thing she would have to admit—he was a dangerous-looking adversary. As large and strong a man as she’d ever seen. And yet there was that soft wave of his rook-black hair … and the thick lashes surrounding his emerald-colored eyes … and the small dent in the middle of his chin … and his lips, which had a beautiful, soft sheen to them. His height was an instantly fascinating feature, and a question mark hung in the air as to how much of him was proportionate to his size. Serena’s thoughts began to traipse down a forbidden path. If he took it into his head to take advantage of her, Serena was not entirely certain she would object.

  He stood up, depriving her of his presence. She swallowed hard, instantly missing the fortress of muscle that had surrounded her. He walked around her room, pounding his gloved fists upon the papered walls.

  “Inspecting the structure for rot?” she asked, lacing the question with sarcasm.

  He cast a sidewise glance at her. “I’m listening for hollowness. These old houses are full of false walls and trapdoors.”

  She shook her head. “I keep telling you. There is nothing to fear.”

  “I’m sorry ye think so.”

  He crouched down to inspect the lock on her door.

  “Satisfied?” she said, a smug tone to her voice.

  A crease deepened between his brows. “Something’s not right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a brass plaque on the outside of this door lock. The key fits into the lock only from the inside.”

  She harrumphed. “Why should it worry you that this door can only be locked from the inside? I have the only key; therefore, I am the only one who can unlock it.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps it is nothing.”

  “Seems your abilities have been subject to hyperbole.”

  He shot her an irritated look. Slowly, illumination dawned on his masculine features. “Or perhaps …”

  He stood up and looked around the room. The emerald eyes scoured each wall, pausing over every inch of them, until finally they narrowed suspiciously on the wardrobe on the far side of her bed.

  The massive cherrywood armoire stood in the middle of the long wall at the foot of her bed. It was weighted with all her garments and accessories. Nevertheless, he stood to one side of it, and began to push on it with all his might.

  A sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead as he grimaced with the effort. He strained against it until the monstrous wardrobe shifted with a heavy screech, revealing the wall behind it.

  Serena jumped up and stood beside him. Hidden behind her wardrobe was a secret door that had been papered to blend in with the rest of her room. A small hole served as a doorknob, obscured by one of the larkspurs printed on the wallpaper. Malcolm pulled on it, and the panel creaked open.

  A cobweb streamed from inside the darkened space, and Serena backed away in fright. The mere possibility of the presence of spiders made it a certainty that she would not follow him in there. She waited for him to emerge.

  “What do you see in there?”

  He came back out of the mouth of the doorway. “Looks like a lover’s corridor.”

  “A what?”

  He slapped his hands together, shaking the dust from his gloves. “Some old houses like this one used to be built with a secret passageway leading to a bedroom. It permitted the man of the house to sneak into a lady’s room at night without being discovered. That brass plate on the outside of the door kept a curious wife or efficient housemaid from walking in on the couple while they were … together.”

  “Randy old sods!”

  He smiled, revealing another hidden surprise … a row of beautiful white teeth. “Mayhap his attentions were not always unwelcome.”

  “Hmm,” she grunted dubiously. “Well, where does this corridor lead?”

  “I don’t know. Probably a study or pantry. But I canna see the opposite door from here. There are crates and old furniture piled up in there. Looks as if the space hasn’t been used in decades.”

  “Thank goodness for that. Otherwise, Lord Askey would have a lot to answer for. Imagine what a horrible experience to be asleep and have a strange man creeping into your room.”

  “All while giving the lady in the room a false sense of security.” He looked down into her eyes. “Just as ye seem determined to feel.”

  “It isn’t a false sense of security at all,” she said defensively. She had already been proven wrong once. “There’s no reason for alarm. I’m in no real danger.”

  “How can ye be so sure?”

  She looked askance. “I just am.”

  Sarcasm dripped from his deep voice. “Well, as long as ye’ve thought it out carefully.”

  Her brows drew together. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. I’m making a point.”

  “Ye’re also missing one. All this time, ye’ve been sleeping in a room that a man might slip into to strangle ye as ye slept. I dinna call that ‘safe.’”

  “Well, he’d be welcome to try if he can push a fiveton armoire out of the way without waking me.”

  He shook his head. “Ye are bullheaded when ye want to be, aren’t ye? Still,” he said, glancing at the larkspur wallpaper, “I’m glad of the discovery. That room will make ideal sleeping quarters for me.”

  The thought of that made the blood drain from her face. “Do you mean to tell me you’re going to sleep in that room?”

  “Aye.”

  “With unfettered access into mine?”

  “Aye.”

  “Where you can just march in anytime you like?”

  “When necessary.”

  “What if I’m not dressed?”

  A wicked smile cut across his face. “So much the better.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh in his face or slap it. “I’ll not have it. This arrangement is not only an extreme affront to
propriety, it will assuredly ruin my reputation. Whatever will people think?”

  “They can think what they like. I’m no’ after protecting yer good name. I’m after protecting yer hide.”

  “Mr. Slayter, this is completely out of the question. You will sleep in the servants’ quarters, and you will come when I send for you.”

  He crossed his arms at his chest, forming an impenetrable wall. “Miss Marsh, perhaps yer predicament hasn’t yet sunk in. Someone has threatened to kill ye. And where I come from, such threats are never made lightly. These are troubled times, and those who mean ye harm may avail themselves upon ye at any moment. Yer father is taking no chances with yer safety, and he’s entrusted it to me. And will ye or nill ye, I will be master of my charge.”

  He wore the authority like his own skin. But she was not about to be bullied by a servant.

  “Mr. Slayter, I do not take kindly to being insulted, nor do I care for being dominated like a colonial slave. You may have a duty to protect me, but I will not allow you to be my keeper.” She sidled past him and through her bedroom door.

  “Where are ye going?”

  “To have Father flay some of your arrogant skin off.”

  ELEVEN

  It felt as if the weight of the world were crushing him slowly.

  Earlington sank into a chair by the open window, allowing the chill morning breeze to cool his fevered head. The world seemed so peaceful from the prospect of this window. The high wind blew a cloud across the sky, and the emerging sun made the rich green grass glow resplendently. Far off in the meadow, a scattering of sheep lazed, their gentle bleating the only sound for miles. This was a beautiful country, simple and natural.

  And some people would never be happy unless soldiers’ bodies bled the ground red.

  He took a long draft from the glass of brandy in his hand. Drink was never a consolation for him, so he did it sparingly. But today, with the entire world set against him—and now his daughter, too—perhaps a drink would dispel the anxiety and help him think clearly.

  “It’s not doon there.”

  Earlington turned toward the voice and blinked. It came from the housekeeper, a thin woman with a thick shock of copper-colored hair.

  “Pardon?”

  “Whatever ’tis ye’re looking for. Ye won’t find it at the bottom of that glass.”

  Earlington ground his teeth. He knew that. But to be upbraided by a servant was beyond intolerable. In England, no domestic would ever speak unless spoken to first. Nevertheless, in all the time he’d been here, it was probably the first time he had ever heard this woman speak at all.

  The housekeeper was now oblivious to him, busying herself with clearing away the teacups upon a tray. What was her name?

  “I don’t usually drink—” Mrs. Walker? Mrs. Talker?

  “Aye, that ye don’t. All the more reason not to start noo.”

  Earlington suppressed his irritation at the woman’s familiar manner, because despite the breach of propriety, what she had said was true.

  He set down his glass upon the table beside his chair. “You’re right, of course. Thank you.”

  She came over to pick it up. “Anyone can see ye’re as tense as the skin on an Irish bodhrán. Another glass o’ that and ye’d probably be making as much noise as that awful instrument.”

  He smiled. “I won’t be having any more. Thank you for protecting my good name.” He sank back into the chair and covered his eyes with one hand. Another breeze wafted in, gently cooling the skin on his face.

  A few moments passed. Sensing no movement, he opened his eyes. The housekeeper was still standing beside his chair, the tray resting on her hip, watching him.

  “So what’s licked all the butter aff yer bread?”

  He blinked in disbelief. It seemed something out of a dream to be having a conversation with this woman. For the first time, he took a long look at her. She was a handsome woman, and though she was well past forty, he could just glimpse the beauty she had been in her twenties. She had shocking blue eyes, as so many of her countrymen did, but hers were bold and much more perspicacious. Fine lines vined at the corners of her eyes and her cheeks had lost the plumpness of their youth, but her mouth was wide and sensual, a lovely feature for a woman of her advanced years.

  “I’m just a bit preoccupied, that’s all.”

  “Seems more like ye’re a bit afeard.”

  It jarred him that she could read him so well. After dozens of years spent in politics, he was fairly certain he didn’t exhibit his feelings to any perceivable measure. Yet her remark didn’t seem meant to belittle. She appeared genuinely concerned. And he was genuinely overwrought.

  “Yes. That, too.” Having admitted his failing, he could no longer look her in the eye. His gaze fell to her hands, which were gnarled with work.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He sighed deeply. “Because I fear for your people. And for mine. I want an end to the rebellion. And the Council won’t have it.”

  “Och. Ye mustn’t froth yerself over those ruffians. Any twelve Highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion. They’ll come ’round soon enough.”

  “No doubt, no doubt,” he said with false cheer. “It’s only the time from now to then that keeps my head in a knot. Things will improve soon. Thank you.”

  Despite his polite dismissal, the housekeeper didn’t leave. Earlington marveled at her boldness.

  “Ye’re fashed for a great deal more than that, are ye not?”

  Her voice was barely loud enough for him to hear. But his innermost being heard her loud and clear. Another human soul recognized the pain in him and wanted to soothe it.

  “Yes, I am.” His throat began to constrict as he realized how much he wanted to unburden himself of the awful, choking truth.

  She lay the tray down on the tea table, crossed her hands at her tummy, and waited in silence for him to speak.

  He sighed. “Throughout my entire life, my country has been embroiled in war. When I was a boy, we were at war with the American colonies. Then it was battle with the Irish. Then war with the French. I can scarcely remember a time when we were not fighting someone. I went into politics with the express purpose of bringing peace to England. Perhaps it was only a pipe dream. But I thought we could achieve that goal if only we wanted it enough.

  “So when I became minister plenipotentiary to the United States in ’11, I believed this was my opportunity to show the world that Britain was not this horrible, warmongering nation. I entered into negotiations with President Madison, and I believed we had reached an amicable solution between our governments. But I failed to comprehend England’s resolve. In the interest of achieving peace, I compromised my directives … conceded too many of our positions, perhaps. Within less than a year, the king had me recalled, and the United States declared war on Britain. I failed in my official mission—and in my personal one.” His voice trailed off.

  Her astute eyes scanned him. “And noo ye’re afeard ye’re about to fail again?”

  Earlington nodded slowly. “I don’t want to go down in history as the ambassador who begot wars instead of ending them. It was my sincerest hope that I could bring a peaceful solution to the unrest in Scotland. Then I’d be remembered as the peacemaker I always wanted to be.”

  It was her turn to sigh. “Seems to me that if the king truly wanted a peaceful solution, he’d have sent somebody else.”

  Earlington’s eyes flew open. It was a hurtful thing to say. He was offended by her remark, especially after his uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. “I’m sorry?”

  She shrugged. “Ye don’t send a lame collie to herd the sheep. Yet here ye are, a man with a sick heart who’s also sick at heart. Ye think ye’ve got something to prove, to the king and to yerself. I don’t know if ye failed in America … might be that the king failed ye. Perhaps ye’re the perfect man to send here if the king wanted to give the appearance of wanting peace.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Are you sayin
g that the Prince Regent wants me to fail in my commission?”

  “I’m saying that he doesna expect ye to succeed. And if ye fail, the fault will then be with us, not him. Or ye.”

  Earlington’s eyes danced around about the floor as he pondered the possibility. Could it be that this woman suspected a truth he didn’t dare to believe? He knew that even now, troops gathered in the north of England to prepare for battling the insurrection. In case the talks failed, the general had told him. Maybe military action was being planned not in case he failed, but after it.

  Earlington had wondered why he’d been chosen for this diplomatic mission. His failure in the colonies seven years ago distressed him greatly, and the heart seizure he suffered after his return had made him gravely ill. Parliament had been sympathetic, but he thought he might never be asked to return to foreign service. Until a few months ago, when trouble in Scotland started to brew.

  The government could have sent anyone. The ambassador to Russia was available. So was the ambassador to Austria. Why, then, had they asked him to return to the service?

  He hadn’t questioned it. In truth, he had been so overjoyed at the opportunity to redeem himself that he hadn’t bothered to ask why they would consider him. Yet even this woman, a household servant he didn’t know, could see that despite his lofty title he was merely a pawn in a chess game with a predetermined winner.

  His gaze flew back to the housekeeper’s eyes. “You amaze me, Mrs.—”

  A brief smile touched her eyes. “Ye can call me Gabby.”

  He grinned. The name hardly suited her, quiet as she had always been. She had been in his presence a number of times, and this was the first time she’d opened her mouth. Though when she did, a torrent of wisdom came pouring forth.

  “Gabby. I had never considered it from that standpoint. Please do me the honor of sitting with me awhile, so that we may talk some more.” He rose from his chair and motioned for her to sit.

  She looked aghast. “I canna sit doon! With all the work there is to do? I’m behind as a cow’s tail.”

  “Just for a moment. I would hear more of your perspectives.”

  She grabbed the tray from the table. “Nonsense. Idle words won’t make the pot boil.” Without another look back, she flitted out of the door.