A Scoundrel in the Making (The Marriage Maker Book 9) Page 4

  “Was that gentleman you were dancing with last night really Lord Reade?” Fanny demanded.

  Abigail pushed the pillow off her head. “What did you say?”

  “Everyone is all agog. You minx. You didn’t tell me that you’d snagged the attention of Inverness’ newest—and most handsome—bachelor. Perhaps he is also the most sought-after bachelor now, as well. Mr. Douglas is very handsome, but your Lord Reade is certainly a contender.”

  “He isn’t my Lord Reade,” she shot back.

  But he really was, wasn’t he? At least until she located the Scottish crown jewels. Why had The Raven partnered her with Lord Reade? Although he’d done quite well when the young couple happened upon them in the parlor, he wasn’t a trained spy. Warmth rippled through her at the memory or his muscular thighs beneath her bottom. The man felt as if he were made of steel.

  “Wait a moment.” Abigail sat upright. “You were at Lady Tate’s party last night? Why did I not see you?”

  Fanny’s eyes twinkled. “Because you disappeared with Lord Reade into a private hallway.”

  Abigail groaned. No doubt, everyone already assumed she and Lord Reade were lovers. Just as Elana had wanted. In truth, however, Abigail had believed she could locate the Honors without Lord Reade’s help—and without all of Inverness thinking she had fallen prey to his charms. Why the devil did the idea bother her so much?

  “I should have known you wouldn’t waste any time finding the most handsome man in Inverness. Perhaps all of Scotland—except for my Charles, of course.” She giggled. “But Lord Reade is certainly a close second. So, tell me, is he a good kisser?”

  “Fanny,” Abigail remonstrated. “Really, you act like a fifteen-year-old girl.”

  Her friend shrugged. “I’m allowed. In another six months I’ll be an old married woman with children. I’ll have no excuse to act like a school girl once I have my own child.”

  “What did you say?” Abigail demanded.

  Fanny grinned.

  “Nae? Really?” Abigail cried. “You’re going to be a mother?”

  Fanny nodded vigorously and Abigail pulled her into a hug. “I had no idea.” Abigail pulled back. ‘When—how—” then added, “never mind, I know how,” when Fanny opened her mouth to, no doubt, explain just how she became pregnant. “What I mean is, I had no idea you—” She broke off.

  “I was trying to become a mother?” Fanny finished for her. “It’s rather a natural consequence when a woman is married to the handsomest man in all of Inverness. Yes, I am sorry, but upon consideration, I must say that Charles is just a little bit more handsome than your Lord Reade. A woman is allowed to think her husband is the handsomest man in all of Scotland.”

  “Indeed, she is,” Abigail agreed. “And Lord Reade is not my Lord Reade.”

  Fanny’s brows rose. “Then why were you caught sitting on his lap?”

  “Those gossips,” she cried.

  Fanny clapped her hands in delight. “Then it is true.”

  Abigail started to deny it, then stopped. She’d never involved anyone in her missions and couldn’t begin now. “Sitting on a gentleman’s lap does not denote ownership of that gentleman,” she said.

  “But it can,” Fanny said. “And you must admit, he really is quite handsome.”

  She didn’t have to admit anything. “Did you say he is the most sought-after bachelor in Inverness?” Abigail said. “I had not heard of the man until last night.”

  Fanny laughed. “Yet you ended up sitting on his lap.”

  Abigail silently cursed. Word really did travel fast.

  “Aye, well, as you said, he is handsome.”

  “I knew it,” Fanny cried. “Now” –her eyes twinkled with merriment— “tell me everything.”

  * * *

  Reade looked up from the accounts book when his brother entered his small study.

  “You’re up bright and early this morning.” His brother crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite his desk.

  “There’s nothing unusual about that,” Reade replied.

  “A man who returns home at two in the morning after a party doesn’t usually rise at six in the morning,” Robert said.

  Reade shrugged. “I have a strong constitution.”

  Robert’s face clouded.

  Reade quickly added, “You know what I mean, Robert. I have always been an early riser. Even when we were young and caroused into the wee hours of the morning, I never slept past seven.” He gave his brother a fond smile. “Despite the fact I had many a headache from drinking too much, I was too stubborn to stay in bed when it would have served me better to do so.”

  Robert’s expression remained gloomy. “You were wiser than I in many things, Reade. Perhaps if I had practiced that sort of discipline as a lad we wouldn’t have creditors snapping at our heels.”

  Reade opened the top desk drawer and retrieved the envelope with last night’s winnings. He set it on the desk in front of his brother. “We are a little less in debt.”

  Robert stared at the envelope for a long moment, then shook his head. “I cannot keep taking your money.”

  “You can and will,” Reade said, “if you want Ella and Corey to have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Besides,” he added when Robert opened his mouth to reply, “we agreed, Talsworth Castle and Ashington Hall must not fall into the hands of creditors. The homes are your children’s inheritance and our family history.”

  “Aye, but ‘tis not right that you have to pay for my mistakes.”

  “I would say ye have paid your share.”

  Reade had seen the personal hell his brother had gone through as a result of his gambling. Ella had threatened to take their son to her father’s and never return. Through sheer force of will, Robert purged the house of all liquor—liquor invariably led to gambling—and had thrown himself into working alongside his tenants, farming and ranching.

  Robert’s eyes locked with his. “I haven’t come close to paying as much for my wrongs as you have.”

  “You have a great deal more to lose than I, Robert. I have no family to consider.”

  “But you could have.”

  “I doubt that,” he replied. “Fenella isn’t interested in a permanent connection with me.”

  “That is only because of me.”

  Reade grunted. “Nae. It is because she is not a woman of substance.”

  “She is a fool,” Robert murmured.

  Reade lifted a brow. “You don’t usually wax so sentimental, Brother.”

  His brother picked up the envelope, opened it and peered inside. He looked back at Reade. “How much is here?”

  Reade shrugged. “I didn’t count it.”

  Robert waited.

  Reade sighed. “A little over two thousand pounds.”

  His brother blinked. “By God, that’s a king’s ransom.”

  “It will help, then?”

  Robert nodded at the accounts book that lay open on his desk. “You know better than anyone that it will.” He stared at the money.

  “If it makes you feel any better, most of that money belonged to other people,” Reade said.

  Robert frowned, then some of the old humor lit his eyes. “How much did you win?”

  “Eighteen hundred pounds.”

  “By God, how do you do it?”

  Reade shrugged. “To be quite honest, most of the men I play with are very bad players with more money to lose than sense.”

  “You cannae win that much money without making enemies.”

  Reade thought of Mr. Taggart accusing him of cheating. “As I said, they have more money than sense. The winnings were modest shares from different men. I didn’t win enough from any one person to put any of them out.”

  “It’s by far the largest sum, yet.”

  That, Reade thought, had more to do with Sir Stirling than anything else.

  Chapter Six

  Through the coach window, Abigail watched their approach to Caithis Castle. The castle,
built by Mr. Russell’s family in the late seventeenth century—thirty years after Cromwell’s death, according to Mr. Russell—was a square stone tower house that rose high above the trees.

  Bittersweet memories rippled through her of traveling this road with her father to visit his brother. On sunny days, they stared out the coach windows and each tried to be the first to spot a goldfinch or, in spring, a robin. On rainy days—which were her favorite—her father hugged her close to his large body to keep her warm and told her stories of the mother she never knew, or tales of a princess in a faraway land.

  Her father always allowed her to ride on the right side of the carriage so that she had a clear view of Caithis Castle as they passed. She’d often dreamed of exploring the castle and finding every hidden passageway. But her father’s brother died, and his home was inherited by a distant cousin who coveted her father’s title as marquess. Her father severed the connection, and the cousin was forgotten, along with her fantasy of discovering Caithis Castle’s hidden secrets.

  They turned up the drive and passed through the arched gate. Caithis Castle would be a welcome diversion from prowling Lochland Manor, where Victor awaited her in her dreams, and her father, in the manor’s halls.

  She had no real hope of locating the Honors. That Mr. Russell happened to have had a two-week house party planned at the time The Raven wanted him watched posed too great a coincidence for Abigail. She suspected that The Raven had simply given her something to do—for which she would be eternally grateful, as it got her out of Lochland Manor. Still, the hunt would be interesting.

  Three carriages stood in the drive near the castle’s main entrance. Other guests for the house party, no doubt. Had Lord Reade already arrived? Butterflies skittered across the insides of her stomach. Why did the mere thought of the man make her as nervous as a schoolgirl? She found him attractive. What woman wouldn’t? Even Fanny claimed him to be almost as handsome as her husband. But Abigail was too old to be taken in by a handsome man with piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders and a deep voice as smooth as velvet.

  Abigail grimaced. Of course, she would notice that, because he was the perfect combination of those things. Not to mention, he had a brain. But she would never let him know she’d noticed.

  Her carriage slowed, then stopped behind the other three. The footman leapt from his perch beside the driver, opened her door, and took her hand as she descended the steps. Abigail tracked her gaze up the tall building. What would her father think of the fact that her childhood fantasy to learn every nook and cranny of Caithis Castle had come true?

  To Abigail’s relief, she managed the welcome from Mr. Russell and his wife and reached her room without encountering Lord Reade. Her bedchambers were decorated in the medieval fashion with a curtained canopy enclosing the four-poster bed. Thankfully, instead of a medieval bench, two modern wing backed chairs sat before the low-burning fire. The perfect place to sip brandy and watch the flames. She grimaced. Such an activity would leave too much silence for thinking. She would borrow a book from Mr. Russell’s library. A perfect excuse to begin snooping about before dinner.

  She began to unpack the belongings in her valise, undergarments, which she lay folded in the chest of drawers to the right of the bed. The footman would bring her trunk, which contained the dresses she would hang in the modest wardrobe in the corner to the left of the window. Guests would continue to arrive well into the evening, which meant people would be milling about the castle. How many guests had Mr. Russell invited? The castle likely could sleep twenty easily, and there would be those to stayed elsewhere. That meant it wouldn’t appear strange for her to be found ‘exploring’ the castle.

  Abigail glimpsed the small leather pouch tucked into the inside pocket of the valise. They contained two locks picks. On the ride from Lochland to Caithis Castle, she’d given much thought as to where Mr. Russell might hide the crown jewels of Scotland. Chances were, she would have to pick a lock or two.

  At four and a half feet long, the Sword of State couldn’t easily be hidden. Mr. Russell considered himself a direct descendant of Cromwell. If he really did have the Honors, he would want to be able to see them, to gloat that he had accomplished what Cromwell hadn’t. A thought struck and she paused in pulling the valise closed. Dear God, surely he wouldn’t destroy them as Cromwell had intended to do. Might he have already destroyed them?

  Nae. She closed the valise and put it into the wardrobe. According to the Raven, there had been no sign of the metal or jewels being sold. Search Caithis Castle. If the Honors were here, she would find them. The most obvious places they might be concealed were in a hidden passageway or room off Russell’s study or bedchambers. She would have to search his bedchambers when she could be assured he was occupied elsewhere. A card game with Lord Reade. Perfect. That would keep both men out of her way. For now, she would find the library.

  Her room was on the second floor, which housed other guests. Abigail opened her door and stepped into the hallway. Empty. She needed to find the nearest staircase leading to the third floor. She left the room and began walking down the hallway the opposite way she’d come. Two guests emerged from a room four doors down. A stairway came into view on the left. She maintained her stroll and nodded casually as they passed. She reached the stairs, servant’s stairs, given the narrow width and uneven steps, and headed up. She reached the third floor. The first door she opened had to be the lord’s room. A massive four poster bed dominated the wall to the right. Opposite the bed, a low fire burned in the hearth. To the right of the hearth, sat a small desk.

  Abigail peered around the door. A large wardrobe dominated the left-hand wall. It could easily hold the sword. But nothing was ever that simple. Still, she itched to look in the closet. With a quick glance into the empty hallway, she hurried to the wardrobe and opened it. Clothes. She shoved the coats, pants and shirts aside and found only the sides and back of the wardrobe. Abigail sighed. Just as she thought. Not that easy. She faced the room. Might she have time to search this room? Maybe. Maybe not.

  She tried the next room. The lady’s chambers, as expected. Across the hall, she found the library. Mr. Russell clearly had wealth. The mahogany desk at the far end of the room was twice the size of her father’s cherrywood desk. Bookshelves lined the wall to the right. A divan, chairs and card table created a cozy seating arrangement in front of a hearth with a low burning fire.

  She pulled the door closed behind her and hurried to the desk. A quick search turned up the usual: bills—some a year old. Clearly, like so many of the ton, he disdained the working man. Next, she searched the shelves for traces of a hidden passageway. Any door that might open would have to consist of a panel the length of one of the shelves, which, at three feet, would allow easy access for Mr. Russell’s six foot height.

  Abigail began with the shelves nearest the desk. By the time she reached the end of the bookshelves, forty-five minutes had passed. She surveyed the room. Wood paneling covered the wall around the hearth. She began on the right side of the fireplace, running her fingers along the edges of the ornate paneling. Two panels down from the hearth, she detected a depression the size of a fingertip. Her heart picked up speed as she pressed the spot.

  A tiny click sounded and the panel sprang free an inch. Abigail eased the door open and stared at narrow steps that spiraled down into darkness. The opening would be tight for Mr. Russell, but he could manage it. She turned and scanned the room for a taper. Several sat on the mantle. She lit two from the fire in the hearth, then returned to the stairs.

  She ducked and stepped onto the first step. Carefully, she turned, searched the wall and found a small latch to the right of the door. Given how easily the door opened, she would wager the passageway was well used. Still, she would rather take precautions against getting locked inside. She withdrew the handkerchief she carried in her pocket, folded it in quarters, then placed it over the latch. Slowly, she pulled the door closed. The handkerchief kept the latch from catching.

  A
nticipation hummed in her belly as she turned and carefully descended the stairs.

  * * *

  Reade thanked the footman who showed him to his chambers, then closed the door and surveyed his room. A bed, nightstand, small wardrobe, secretary, and two chairs in front of the hearth provided adequate accommodations. He wondered if Mr. Russell might play cards. He certainly could afford to lose a few thousand pounds. Sir Stirling had promised that plenty of wealthy gentlemen who could afford to lose money would attend this house party. Lady Buchman clearly had no intention of him taking any great part in the search for the Honors, which meant he would be left with plenty of time to gamble.

  What were the chances of them actually being able to discover information on the whereabouts of the crown jewels? He hadn’t seen Lady Buchman amongst the guests who mingled in the parlor. He snorted. Knowing her, she had already begun the hunt. She had her prey. He had his.

  Reade set his valise on the bed and unpacked his clothes, then went downstairs. After an hour of mingling, concern niggled when Abigail didn’t make an appearance. It would be difficult to keep up appearances as lovers if they were seldom seen together.

  He meandered into the garden. Gray clouds muted the afternoon sun, but he walked until he reached the arboretum, then followed the tree line around the west side of the castle. Reade veered back toward the castle’s main door. The clouds had darkened and the air smelled of coming rain. Fewer days were more perfect for reading in the library than today. He’d brought his copy of Description de l'Égypte. Thank God, Napoleon had allowed the scientists and scholars he’d taken with him into Egypt to publish their findings.

  Tonight, after he retired, he would study more of the book. His heart expanded with the memory of the drawings of the pyramids. How small the men who’d stood before the massive structures must have felt. Once he’d gotten Robert out of debt—and was certain his brother wouldn’t fall prey again to his gambling compulsion—he would travel to Egypt and see every last one of the discoveries made by Napoleon’s scholars.