A Scoundrel in the Making (The Marriage Maker Book 9) Read online

  He smiled gratefully. “Quite right.”

  Lord Reade rose. “Are you ready for the stroll you promised me, Lady Buchman?”

  “Stroll?” Viscount Chaluim said. “It’s late and the ground will be wet after the rain.”

  Reade grasped her hand and assisted her to her feet. Lord Chaluim jumped up.

  “You’re quite right,” Lord Reade said. “Which is why Lady Buchman promised to explore Caithis Castle with me a bit.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Chaluim said. “You two—alone? That is improper.”

  “He is right, my lady,” the baron said.

  Abigail gave a gay laugh. “An old widow such as myself has no worries about her reputation.” She looked at Lord Reade. “I had begun to despair that you’d forgotten.”

  “Forgotten?”

  She shrugged. “You were otherwise engaged.”

  He covered her hand with his. “Nothing could induce me to forget you, my lady.”

  She smiled, then looked at Lord Chaluim and the baron. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen.”

  The baron stood.

  “I really must insist that someone else accompany you, Lady Buchman,” the viscount said.

  “Nonsense, I have nothing to fear while in Lord Reade’s company. Good evening.”

  They started toward the door. Abigail caught the glance Lady Julia sent their way. She hated the surge of satisfaction she experienced, but followed through with a cool regard of the lady. Mr. Russell gave Lord Reade a knowing glance before they passed into the hallway.

  “An ‘old widow’ such as you?” Lord Reade said when they turned the corner in the hallway.

  She laughed. “I had to say something to keep him from accompanying us. You know full well that is exactly what he wanted.”

  Reade chuckled. “You can’t blame him for wanting to bask in your presence.”

  Abigail bumped him with her shoulder. “You are teasing me.”

  He looked down at her. “Only a little.”

  Her stomach did a somersault. “Aye, well, I’d say everyone now believes we are lovers.” Including Lord Chaluim, if she were fortunate.

  “That is the idea,” he said.

  She arched a brow. “It took you long enough to save me from Lord Chaluim.”

  “I didn’t think you were the sort of woman who needed rescuing.”

  Damn him for noticing. “You’re right, of course.”

  Reade covered her hand with his. “I have some information that might take your mind off foolish men.”

  “What might that be?” she asked, and tried to ignore the warmth of his fingers.

  “When we were having our brandy, Mr. Russell mentioned the Scottish separatists who accuse England of concealing the Honors.”

  “Really?” That was very interesting. “Did he say anything else?”

  “A discussion ensued. Of course, most believe the Honors were lost to us long ago. But Russell encouraged the idea that the separatists might have a point.”

  Abigail frowned. “What reason could he have for wanting people to believe that England conceals the Honors?”

  “Cromwell served as Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland. If Russell sees himself in that same position, then if he were to produce the Honors, that would cast him in the same light as Cromwell.”

  “That’s ridiculous. If he stole the Honors, that makes him a thief, not Lord Protector.”

  “Perhaps, but those who sympathize with the separatists will call him a hero and that could be close enough.”

  “Our government will try him for theft of the crown jewels. Perhaps even treason,” she said.

  “Are you certain?” How willing will Scotland be to admit that they’ve held the Honors all this time and remained silent?”

  He had a point. The separatists would likely scream for the heads of those who kept quiet.

  “That might mean Mr. Russell really does have them here at Caithis Castle,” she said.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Tomorrow evening during the party is a perfect time to search his private wing,” she said.

  “Aye. He will be busy with his guests. We can give the rooms a thorough search.”

  “Actually, I hoped you might keep him busy. Perhaps playing cards? That way, I can be assured he won’t interrupt my search.”

  He hesitated, then said, “As you wish.”

  He sounded disappointed. Surely, he didn’t really want to assist in the search?

  “Did you plan on doing any exploring tonight?” he asked.

  He did want to search. She had planned on retiring early tonight, but the information about Mr. Russell had invigorated her.

  “It is too risky to search their private quarters tonight. There’s no telling when he or Mrs. Russell might retire. In any case, I’m not certain he would hide the Honors there.”

  “A treasure room,” Reade said.

  She smiled. “That would be apropos, don’t you think?”

  “And quite convenient. The treasure room is either in a tower or below the kitchen. The servants will be busy cleaning in the kitchen. Shall we take a look in the upper floors? There are stairs not too far ahead,” he said.

  “Perfect.”

  They reached the stairs and climbed two floors to the small southeast turret, but found no treasure room. They had no better luck with the other three turrets.

  “I imagine by now the servants have finished in the kitchen,” Reade said.

  “No better time than the present to see if there is a treasure room below ground,” Abigail agreed. They descended to the ground floor and neared the great hall when voices sounded ahead.

  “You are certain,” a man’s voice said.

  “Saw them with my own eyes,” another man replied.

  Abigail exchanged a glance with Lord Reade and read in his eyes the same recognition she’d felt. The second speaker was Lord Chaluim.

  “Damn, but I didn’t believe he would do it,” the first man said.

  She mouthed the words, It couldn’t be.

  He shrugged.

  “Now we see what he does with them,” Chaluim replied in a no-nonsense voice that contrasted the foppish tone he’d used earlier. “Could change the tide,” he said.

  Their voices were coming closer. Abigail pulled her hand free of Reade’s arm and scanned the dimly lit hallway. No nearby doors, and they’d left the stairs back behind the turn. He seized her hand and began a jog back the way they’d come. They would never reach the corner before the men entered the hallway. He halted. In the next instant, he crushed her against the wall and his mouth came down on hers.

  He grasped her wrists and shoved them up against the wall. Her heart thundered. His full mouth was as warm and moist as she’d imagined. He tasted faintly of the brandy he’d drunk. When he released a breath, Abigail melted into him. He gently slipped his tongue between her lips. She sucked him inside and he groaned. Their tongues sparred, causing the juncture between her legs to tighten. She tugged her arm in an effort to free her hand from his grasp—she needed to touch him—but his hold tightened. He slipped a knee between her legs and she became aware of the hard length pressing against her abdomen.

  He slid a warm kiss along her cheek, her jaw… Dear God, her neck.

  Her head swam.

  Reade abruptly broke the embrace and released her hands. She seized his lapel and allowed her head to fall forward onto his chest. Her heart pounded in her ears. Reade pulled her close and turned a fraction. She tilted her head enough to see between him and the wall. Two men approached. Lord Chaluim and another gentleman she didn’t recognize. Even in the dim hallway, she discerned Lord Chaluim’s thunderous expression.

  Lord Reade eased her away from the wall and placed her hand in the crook of his arm as the men reached them.

  “Reade,” Chaluim said. “I see your walk has been fruitful.”

  Lord Chaluim was pointedly ignoring her. Good. She wouldn’t have to wor
ry about that dance she’d promised him tomorrow evening.

  “My lord.” Reade angled his head in acknowledgement.

  The men continued past and Reade started away at a slow walk in the opposite direction.

  When they reached the empty great hall, he whispered, “Lord Chaluim may not be the dolt he appears to be.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “You noticed that, as well?”

  Abigail glanced at the fire burning in the large hearth at the far end of the room. The fire in her room had likely been kept burning by the servants. She would love to curl up on the warm bed. Would Lord Reade go directly to his chambers, or had he plans with Lady Julia?

  “Does everyone in your world of espionage wear a mask?” he asked.

  “More than you might think.”

  “How do you know who your friends are?”

  His arm muscle flexed beneath her fingers. “As a spy, one has very few friends, sometimes none, especially if you’re far from home.”

  “Hmm,” he intoned. “Do you think they were talking about the Honors?”

  “It certainly is possible.” She glanced about the great hall. “Perhaps they just came from the treasure room below.”

  “Should we wait to take a look around?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “We did quite well there in the hallway when we encountered Lord Chaluim. They didn’t doubt they’d caught two lovers together.” The memory sent a tremor rippling through her stomach. “Did you know his companion?” she asked, thankful she managed an even voice.

  “Nae. I don’t even recall seeing him at dinner.”

  “Neither did I.”

  They reached the small hallway leading to the kitchen and slowed. Silence reigned up ahead. They entered the kitchen. The waning fire in the hearth cast a halo of light across the floor to the high table that dominated the middle of the room. Abigail caught sight of the arched doorway on the opposite side of the room. Lord Reade cupped her elbow. They crossed the room and passed through the doorway into the scullery.

  Lord Reade nodded at a door up ahead on the left. “Perhaps there?”

  She nodded, hurried to the door and pulled it open. Stairs descended into darkness

  Chapter Eight

  Reade held the torch out as he stepped from the final stair onto the stone floor. He tightened his grip on Abigail’s hand until she stepped down onto the floor. She pulled free and stepped up beside him.

  The torchlight illuminated the glint in her eyes. “How often does one get to see a thirteenth century castle dungeon?”

  He smiled. “Not often, my lady.”

  Her brows rose. “After what just passed between us in the hallway, I’d say you should probably call me Abigail.”

  “Abigail,” he murmured.

  She started forward. “Come on.”

  They walked single file down a narrow corridor that opened into a chamber with six cells, all of which had been converted into storage. Open sacks of potatoes, turnips and carrots sat on waist-high tables. Dried black hellebore and barley meal were scattered around the tables, clearly intended to keep mice out of the food. Jugs he would wager were filled with wine sat on platforms and tables. Barrels of ale filled one room.

  “At least, Mr. Russell hasn’t locked anyone in the cells,” Abigail said.

  “No treasure room, either,” Reade said.

  “There must be a secret room somewhere.”

  He frowned. “You have a penchant for secret passageways, I see.”

  She shrugged. “They are perfect for hiding things like the crown jewels of Scotland.”

  “Where do we begin?”

  “I doubt the room filled with barrels has a passageway. The barrels are pushed up against the walls. I would begin our search in the wine room. There are fewer tables and barrels against the walls.”

  They started their search there and Reade was impressed with her methodical search. She instructed him to hold the torch low to the floor as she examined the wall. In the right-hand corner, he glimpsed scratches on the stone floor as she said, ‘Ah ha!”

  Abigail felt along the stones, a tiny click sounded, and she pulled open a section of the wall large enough for even him to step through, if he ducked.

  She looked at him and grinned. “If a lord wanted to visit a particular prisoner without anyone knowing, he could put him in this cell and visit him through this passageway.”

  “I wager the lady of the castle could do the same,” he said.

  “Why, Lord Reade, it’s easy to see where your mind is,” she said in a dry voice.

  His mind was on knowing that a lord might imprison his lady’s lover, and that lady might take advantage of that passageway to cuckold her husband. He and Lady Fenella had known one another for ten years, and two years ago, after he’d returned from the navy, he’d begun to think they had an understanding they would one day marry.

  If anything good had come of Robert’s indebtedness, it was the revelation of Fenella’s character. Within a day of Reade selling his property outside Inverness, she’d been seen riding with Baron Hines. Any lingering doubts about her feelings had been dispelled when Reade encountered her at a party two nights later and she’d informed him that there had been no betrothal between them and could never be. She had an obligation to marry into a good family.

  At first, Reade had blamed himself for allowing their ‘understanding’ to remain unofficial. What woman would wait two years for a man to offer for her? Afterwards, however, he recognized his good fortune.

  “Shall we?” Abigail nodded toward the passageway.

  Would this woman care that his main source of income was the gaming table? She wouldn’t give it a thought, for she wouldn’t give him a thought. Lady Abigail Buchman liked being a spy. He saw it in her wide-eyed excitement.

  He bowed. “After you, my lady.”

  She curtsied prettily, giving him an unexpected view of the rise of her breasts over her bodice. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. His cock pulsed. One way or another, Lady Abigail Buchman would get him into trouble.

  Reade grasped her arm and pulled her upright. “Enough of the coquettishness, my lady.”

  She arched a delicate brow. “I thought that’s what you liked.”

  “You have spent far too much time in ballrooms.”

  She laughed and said, “Perhaps you are correct,” then entered the passageway.

  Reade followed.

  The stone passageway wound upward at a gentle angle, then turned into a narrow staircase.

  Abigail broke the silence “What do you do?”

  “Do?” he repeated.

  “Do,” she said. “As in, for work.”

  “Ah. Well, not much, I suppose.”

  “I should have known.”

  “Really?”

  “I forgot. You are a rake.”

  “You are certain?” he asked.

  “Do you prefer being called a rogue? Or perhaps a scoundrel.”

  “What man isn’t a scoundrel?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, then faced forward and said, “I wouldn’t think of arguing with you.”

  “Oh, but you would, if so inclined.”

  “Don’t you get bored?”

  He couldn’t help a laugh. “I have no time to get bored, Abigail.”

  “Of course.”

  He didn’t like the sense of finality in the simple ‘of course.’

  She fell silent. They ascended what he felt certain had to be at least two floors. He would have expected Abigail to get cold, but despite a cool draft across his face, he was forced to remove his coat due to the exertion of the steep climb. At last, they reached a short corridor that ended abruptly.

  Abigail began tracing her fingers along the walls as she had done earlier. Reade donned his jacket and began inspecting the opposite wall. A tiny click sounded. He looked at Abigail. A large section of the stone wall stuck out a tiny bit. She pressed a finger to her lips, then dragged the door open an inch.
A sliver of light fell across the floor. Abigail opened the door a little more, leaned into the opening and looked, then straightened.

  “Just as I thought, Mr. Russell’s chambers.” She pulled the door open all the way.

  Reade took the two steps to the door, placed the torch in the righthand holder, then used the snuffer hanging beside it to extinguish the flame. Reade followed her through the open door and into the room. A fire blazed in the hearth.

  “We are fortunate he isn’t here,” Reade said. “The fire has been stoked. He intends to return soon.”

  “Aye.” She pulled the passageway door closed, then started toward the hall door.

  Reade followed close behind.

  Voices sounded in the hallway.

  Reade halted alongside Abigail.

  “I promise, you needn’t worry,” a male voice said in the hallway.

  Reade looked sharply at Abigail.

  “Mr. Russell,” she whispered.

  * * *

  Abigail’s heart jumped to a gallop. Reade pressed a finger to his lips and she wanted to box his ears. Did he think she didn’t know to be quiet?

  She scanned the room and caught sight of a door in the far left hand corner. Abigail hurried across the room. Reade reached the adjoining door first and she forced patience as he inched it open. She glimpsed a fire crackling in a small hearth on the opposite wall as he leaned forward and scanned the room.

  He stood aside, and whispered, “It’s a washroom.”

  Abigail looked at the wall where the secret passageway was located. The bedroom doorknob rattled.

  “No time,” Lord Reade whispered, and pushed her into the washroom.

  Firelight, and the moonlight that streamed in through the small right-hand window, illuminated a claw-footed porcelain bathtub sitting to the left of the hearth. A chaise lounge covered in emerald green brocade was located against the wall to the left of the tub, and a mirror hung over a table where sat a men’s shaving razor, soap dish and brush. Lady’s perfume, hairbrush and mirror sat on the far side of the table. Mr. Russell did quite well, indeed, to have a private washroom. Abigail whirled back toward the door as Reade closed it to a sliver. She wanted to scream when he blocked her view and peered through the slit.