Secrets to Seducing a Scot

by Michelle Marcos

  Nothing.

  She tried the doorknob, and it turned. But the door wouldn’t open.

  “Father?” Her voice grew alarmed as she shoved against it with all her might. Something on the floor inside the room kept the door from opening.

  One more push opened the door enough for her to get through. She sidled through the jammed doorway, and nearly tripped over the body on the floor.

  “Oh, no!” she cried as she knelt down beside the form. “Dear God, please don’t take him yet!”

  But it was not her father’s body after all. It was his mattress.

  “Father!” she cried while looking around the room, trying her best to see in the utter darkness. She groped her way to the night table, upon which stood a candle. With trembling fingers, she searched for the tinderbox and lit the candle.

  A soft glow radiated from the single wick, but it was enough to see by. There had been a scuffle. The doors to his wardrobe were open, his writing desk was overturned, and the ewer and basin lay in pieces on the floor. The window was wide open, and rain fell inward onto the carpet. But her father was gone.

  Serena screamed.

  Within seconds Malcolm came to the door. He rammed his shoulder against the obstructed door, overturning the mattress.

  He took her in his arms and looked her up and down. “Are ye hurt?”

  Tears were streaming from her eyes. “My father … he’s gone!”

  Malcolm’s eyes tore around the room. He flew to the open window and shoved his head through the pelting rain. “There’s a ladder wedged up below the window.”

  Serena crumbled in a heap to the floor, sobs racking her body.

  Malcolm raced to her side. He righted the desk chair and placed Serena upon it. “Look at me, Serena. Look at me!” He gazed intently into her watery eyes. “We will find him. I swear it.”

  Serena met his gaze, and she seized the tenuous hope he offered her. She couldn’t speak, so she nodded instead.

  Within minutes, the entire household was roused. Malcolm assembled the male servants and organized a search party. Mrs. Walker sat Serena down in the hall and wrapped a shawl and an encouraging arm around her.

  Lord Askey scratched out a note to the local magistrate. He then penned a letter to the Prince Regent. Rachel shepherded Zoe and the infant Annabella into the nursery, and reinforced the windows and doors.

  Armed with guns and lanterns, the search party headed out the door. Although the heavy rain would have obliterated any tracks and the darkness of night hindered their sight, they set out to cover the surrounding acreage as best they could. Malcolm ordered his horse saddled, strapped on his holster, and headed for the door.

  Archer stopped him at the doorway, outside the curtain of rain. “Mr. Slayter! Shouldn’t I go with you?”

  Malcolm turned his horse around. “Here,” he said, tossing him a second pistol from the waistband of his trews. “Use it to protect Miss Marsh. That’s yer job now. If anything happens to her …” Roiling thunder echoed behind him. “Turn the weapon on yerself.”

  He dug his heels into Old Man’s flanks, and was off.

  “It’s gone two in the morning, miss.” Gabby picked up Serena’s untouched glass of whiskey from the dining room table. “Go back to bed. I’ll wake ye when the men return.”

  Archer put a reassuring hand on hers. “Mrs. Walker is right, Serena. Get some rest.”

  Serena put her elbows on the dining room table and buried her forehead in her hands. Her hands trembled. “I’ll sleep when my father is safe and sound back in his own bed.”

  “As ye wish.” Gabby went back to the window and looked out into the empty night.

  A few moments later, Serena heard a stifled sob from Gabby’s direction.

  “Mrs. Walker?” Serena went to stand beside her. “Are you weeping?”

  The copper-haired lady wiped her face with the end of her pinafore. “I canna help it. The thoughts that go through m’head frighten me.”

  Serena embraced the slender lady. “I fear for him, too. God only knows what those abductors have done to him. Just the shock alone … he has a weak heart.” Though she had already soaked two handkerchiefs, she felt tears welling up all over again.

  “But he has a good heart, miss. His work canna be for naught. I firmly believe that he that’s born to be hanged will never be drowned.”

  “What?” Serena looked aghast.

  “It’s just a saying … yer father is a great man, and he will yet do great things. He is not fated to be done for in this way.”

  Serena wanted to believe the distraught housekeeper. But she was too afraid of the present circumstances to put on a false bravado. Serena handed her the glass of whiskey.

  Gabby downed it in one swallow. “’Tis good to dread the worst, as the old Scots saying goes, for the best will be all the more welcome.”

  Serena nodded. “Agreed. But let’s have no more talk of hanging or drowning, shall we? Let’s consider how we shall celebrate when he is returned.”

  A few moments later, they heard the front door open. Serena and Gabby flew to the hall with soaring expectations. But the look on the men’s faces told a sadder tale.

  One by one, the servants lumbered in, soaked to the skin and dragging their weapons behind them. Rain puddled on the floor from their clothes, and mud smeared their tracks. Malcolm was the last to come through the door, his woolen shirt plastered to his skin, and his hair dripping down his face.

  He walked up to Serena. “We can do nothing more tonight. The darkness deceives us, and the rain keeps extinguishing our lanterns. We’ll set out again at daylight.”

  Her heart turned into a gaping hole. She wanted to say thank you to Malcolm for all he had done, but all she could manage was a sob. Malcolm took her into his arms and embraced her tightly.

  The freezing rainwater from his clothes soaked into the front of her dress, but she didn’t care one bit. Nothing could erase the heartache she felt, but Malcolm’s soothing presence was like a sanctuary from the pain.

  Archer came up behind her.

  Malcolm exhaled deeply, Serena still clinging to him. “Thank ye, Mr. Weston. I’ll look after her tonight. You go and get some sleep. There will be much to do in the morning.”

  Numbly, Serena let Malcolm walk her to her room. He sat her on the bed, lit a candle, took off her slippers, and lay her down on the bed. Tenderly, he stroked her hair before slipping through his secret door.

  Serena lay awake on her bed for several minutes. Her whole world had been shattered, and she had no idea how to piece it back together again. But when Malcolm walked out of the room, he left a void she could not bear.

  “Malcolm?” she whispered.

  The secret door opened, and Malcolm was standing in her room. He had changed to dry trousers, and had shuffled off his wet shirt.

  She sat up in bed, wanting to say something but completely unable to. Silently, he padded over to her bed, lay down next to her, and enfolded her in his bare arms until they both fell into a restless sleep.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Serena awoke with a start.

  The room was awash in pink and lavender as the dawning sun penetrated the lace-edged curtains. All was quiet and still.

  She exhaled in relief. She’d had a horrible nightmare that her father had been abducted. Rolling over in her bed, she closed her heavy eyelids against the syrupy memory, and loosened the constricting ribbon on her dressing gown before she let herself doze off once more.

  Her dressing gown? She bolted upright, still clutching the silver-embroidered garment, and realized with growing terror that it had been no dream.

  She looked around the empty bed. Malcolm! He had been here. But now he, too, was gone.

  She flew to the secret door and flung it open. His bed was empty.

  In a sleepy stupor, Serena raced to her father’s room.

  There was Malcolm on his knees, studying the broken window.

  She didn’t know which to register—relief at seeing
Malcolm, or horror at witnessing the state of the room.

  “I think I can piece together what happened here last night,” he said, straightening to his feet. He was fully dressed in his black tailcoat and trews, and his white cravat was hastily tied. “Let me show ye.”

  He held out a broad hand, and she placed hers in it. It was warm and dry, and enfolded her trembling one completely. He pulled her to the window.

  “As near as I can surmise, there were probably four of them. Two of them came up the ladder, and two remained below. They waited for the ambassador to fall asleep.” He picked up a piece of glass from the floor. “They must have used a club wrapped in a plaid, or an elbow—something covered in cloth—to break the lower window pane.”

  He held the shard up for her inspection. A few threads of wool were snagged on the jagged edge.

  Malcolm pointed at the window hasp. “That’s how they were able to release the catch to let themselves in.”

  Serena’s gaze crossed from the window to the bed. “Did my father not hear the window break?”

  “I don’t believe so. The crash might have coincided with a peal of thunder, or he was too heavy in sleep. At any rate, two men came in and …” He went to the bedstead, grabbed a pillow, and mimicked the gesture of covering a man’s face with it. “ … muffled his cries with the pillow. See here? The pillow is still damp on both sides—from the man’s rain-soaked hand, and from yer father’s open mouth.”

  Serena whimpered.

  “After waking him, I think they would have put a kerchief in his mouth to keep him from sounding an alarm, and flipped him over to tie his hands behind his back. Nothing was taken from the room, so it would seem they brought everything they needed. It was planned meticulously.”

  “Oh, my poor papa.”

  “And brave. He didna go with them meekly.” Malcolm walked over to the upturned mattress on the floor. “The ambassador put up a fierce struggle. I think he grabbed the mattress behind him when they tried to lift him. I also think he pushed one of them onto the writing desk, for it was overturned. They seized him and dragged him to the window, where he continued to fend them off. But as ye can see”—Malcolm closed the wardrobe door, and Serena saw a crack in the wood webbing up from its center—“they slammed him up against the wardrobe. Once, maybe twice. This must have been how they were finally able to subdue him.”

  Serena covered her mouth with her hand. In addition to the shock to his heart, her father was also probably injured.

  “His shoes are here, his suits are here. They took him away dressed only in his sleeping gown.”

  Hauled away from his bed in the middle of a rainstorm—frightened, injured, and undressed. Anger replaced dread. “Who took him?”

  He crossed his arms at his chest. “Hired toughs. I’m certain of it. I found his diplomatic case on the floor beside the overturned desk. If they had been any smarter as to what they were about, they would have taken this case, which contained all his papers. What I canna understand is why they dinna leave a note.”

  “A note?”

  “A ransom note. A man like yer father would ha’ commanded a king’s ransom. Or they might have left a note like the one they taunted yer father with when they threatened to kill ye. It stands to reason that they would brag about stealing the ambassador right from under our noses. But I searched everywhere for a note and didna find one.”

  Serena buried her face in her hand, and swallowed hard before she asked the question that had beleaguered her all night. “Do you think they are going to kill him?”

  Malcolm put his hands on his hips and let his gaze fall to the carpet. “I don’t know. But one thing I do know. The people who ordered the kidnapping would be foolish to do so. He’s worth more to the cause alive than dead.”

  “The cause.” Serena’s nose went skinny. “So you think it’s the rebels who’ve done this terrible thing?”

  Malcolm nodded his head. “It’s been tickling my wrinkles all morning. But I’ll wager my last pound that Brandubh McCullough either is behind this or knows about it.”

  Slowly, resolve solidified inside Serena. Anger and fear dissolved, and courage took its place. “Then that is where I shall start.” She walked out.

  “Where are ye going?” he called out to her, but she did not answer. Malcolm followed her back to her room.

  Serena pulled a valise from the floor of her wardrobe, and opened it upon the bed.

  “What do ye think ye’re doing?” he asked.

  “I’m going to get my father back.”

  Malcolm had the gall to chuckle. “Ye?”

  Serena ignored him, and continued to layer clothes in the small case.

  He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “And which army do ye have at yer disposal? In the first place, wherever they’ve taken him, I can assure ye ’twill be heavily guarded. In the second place, the McCulloughs have holdings throughout the Highlands. Ye’ve no idea where to start. And in the third—”

  “You don’t have to give me reasons not to go. I can think of dozens on my own. What I need is for you to draw me a map to all the places you think they might have taken him. I shall take it from there.” She marched back to her father’s room.

  Malcolm followed her there. “Serena, I ken that ye’re frightened, and that ye want your father back safely. But the worst thing ye can do is to go off half-cocked. Stay here at Copperleaf. As soon as General Wallingford arrives, he’ll send troops out to cover the ground—”

  “It could be days, weeks even, before the army is dispatched. My father doesn’t have that kind of time.” Serena rifled through her father’s drawers until she found it. She cradled the brown bottle with the cork topper in her hands, and drew her thumb across the printed word on the label—Digitalis. “I may not be able to rescue him. But I might be able to bring him this.”

  “His medicine?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not just his medicine. It’s his lifeblood.” She wrapped the bottle carefully in one of her father’s cravats. “I know the rebels took my father to force the Regent’s hand to do their bidding. Equally, I know that once the rebels have gotten what they want, they will have no need of him, and they may kill him. But if he doesn’t take his medicine, he will be dead anyway. The king’s army may be sent to rescue him, but they may not get to him in time. I cannot let my father’s heart give out. Not while I have breath in my own body.”

  “Ye can’t go after him. There are too many dangers. The Highlands are no place for an Englishwoman.”

  “I don’t care about myself.”

  “Ye don’t have to. It’s my job to look after ye.”

  She whirled upon him. “It was your job. With my father gone, you work for no one. You may go.”

  “I’m no’ going anywhere. And neither are ye.”

  Serena recognized the resoluteness in his voice. Malcolm had considerable authority and will, and the physical strength and weaponry to enforce it. Moreover, he had the respect of the staff, and no one would dare countermand him, even for her. Lord Askey himself would support him in assuring her safety. She hadn’t a single shred of power to stand up to him. If Malcolm ordered her to stay at the manor, then that was what would happen. Whether she liked it or not.

  But there was one way—and only one way—she could wriggle out from under his protection. She marched downstairs in search of Archer.

  She found him in the dining room, about to sit down to a rudimentary and hastily prepared breakfast with Lord Askey.

  “Archer,” she said, halting him from sitting in his chair.

  “Serena,” he responded, half surprised. Although there were dark shadows underneath his eyes and his hairstyle was slightly rumpled, he looked almost regal in his immaculately pressed green tailcoat and fawn breeches. “Good morning. How are you feel—”

  “Propose to me.”

  Confusion marred his brow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Ask me to marry you.”

  Arch
er looked at Lord Askey in utter bewilderment. Serena was aware what a bizarre sight she must have presented—in a state of dishabille, her hair uncoiffed, and spouting strange propositions. But she could not let fear of eccentricity deter her.

  “Archer, I want us to become engaged. This moment.”

  Lord Askey’s expression had lost its customary jollity. “Serena, you’ve had a very trying night. I know you’re distraught, but this is hardly the time to—”

  “Lord Askey, I appreciate your sympathy, but I assure you that I have full control of both my faculties and my decisions. Archer?”

  Archer’s nervous glance bounced between Lord Askey and Malcolm, who remained in the doorway behind Serena. “Shouldn’t I consult your father first? That is, when he is found?”

  “I don’t need Father’s blessing. I’m already twenty-five. Ask me, Archer. I’ll say yes.”

  “Very well. Serena, will you marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave her a nervous smile and took her hands in his. “Darling, that’s wonderful. You’ve made me very happy. A bit surprised, of course, but quite pleased.”

  Serena squeezed Archer’s hands firmly. “Now. As my betrothed, and in the absence of my father, you are in your rights to discharge Malcolm Slayter.”

  She hazarded a glance at Malcolm. He was leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed at his chest. His gaze had fallen to the floor, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. But now he leveled such a look at her from beneath hooded brows that it forced her to look away.

  “But why? He is your protector, and in light of what’s just happened—”

  “You are my protector now, Archer.”

  “I see. Are you certain that’s what you want?”

  “I’ve just said it’s what I want.”

  “Very well. Mr. Slayter, it appears your services are no longer wanted.”

  Malcolm said nothing. He remained right where he was.

  Serena was relieved that Malcolm didn’t quarrel about it. “Good. Now that’s done, please pack your bags. I’d like us to set out to look for my father.”

  “Ah.”