A Scoundrel in the Making (The Marriage Maker Book 9) Page 7

  The bedchamber door creaked open. She laid a hand on Reade’s arm to pull him away so she could peer into the room but froze when a woman giggled. Mr. Russell had brought a woman to his room. His wife? She had a feeling the answer was no.

  “I have prepared something special for you, my sweet,” Mr. Russell said in a voice laced with lust.

  “I should hope so,” she purred.

  Lady Julia.

  What would Lord Reade think about that?

  “Otherwise, I will be very disappointed,” Lady Julia said.

  Mr. Russell laughed. “I wouldn’t think of disappointing you, my lady.”

  She gave a low, throaty laugh. “You haven’t yet.”

  “Come,” he said, “let me help you with your dress.”

  They grew quiet and a too-vivid image flashed in Abigail’s mental vision of Mr. Russell dragging the sleeves of Julia’s dress down her arms. Devil take the man. He would choose now to engage in a tryst. She had no intention of waiting in this room while he bedded the woman. Lord Reade, however, seemed to have other ideas, for he still stared through the slitted opening.

  Abigail reached to grasp his arm, then stopped when he eased the door closed. To her relief, he closed the door so quietly that no audible click of the mechanism followed. He turned and she caught sight of his thinned lips. The thought struck that he didn’t approve of Mr. Russell’s assignation with a lady who wasn’t his wife. She shook off the thought. More likely, he was peeved that Mr. Russell had beat him to bedding the woman.

  Reade turned from the door and she scanned the room for the door leading to the lady’s chambers. Abigail froze when she discovered no door. The window to the right was too small, she realized with rising horror, for her to fit through, much less Lord Reade. How could there be no door to the lady’s chambers? She started toward the window at the same time he did, and her attention riveted onto the bathtub as she passed.

  Abigail halted at sight of the filled tub. She looked sharply at Reade. His brow furrowed in question and she pointed to the tub. His gaze shifted to the tub and understanding dawned in his eyes. They weren’t just stuck in the washroom adjoining the lovers’ room. Mr. Russell’s surprise for the lady was clearly a shared bath. There was simply nowhere to hide in the room. Perhaps Mr. Russell would forego the bath. Abigail took two steps to the tub and stuck a finger in the water. A perfect temperature for a bath.

  “You rogue,” Lady Julia cried. “What is it?”

  “A muffled answer followed, then “...for a naughty minx like you.”

  They were closer to the door.

  Abigail’s mind raced. If she were alone, she would strip down to her chemise and pretend like she’d been waiting for Mr. Russell.

  In an instant, Reade reached her side. He grabbed her sleeves and yanked them down her arms.

  “What the—” She broke off at the warning look he gave her.

  “This is what you brought me here for,” he whispered.

  Then she understood. He intended for them to be caught in a tryst. He pulled the dress past her hands. To her surprise, his gaze didn’t so much as flick to her breasts, which pressed tight against the thin fabric of her chemise. He let the fabric drop to the floor. She leaned into him with the intent to throw her arms around him as if they stood in embrace.

  He swung her into his arms and, in the next instant, plunged her into the warm water. She cried out before catching herself. He dropped to one knee beside the tub and yanked her into a kiss. The door banged against the wall. Lord Reade broke the kiss and sprang to his feet. Mr. Russell stood in the doorway with Lady Julia behind him.

  “What the devil are you doing in my private washroom?” Mr. Russell demanded. His gaze dropped to Abigail’s breasts.

  She glanced down. The sheer chemise might as well have been invisible. Her rose areolas were clearly visible as hard peaks.

  “I suppose we are doing the same thing you and Lady Julia had planned,” Lord Reade drawled.

  Mr. Russell’s expression darkened. “Aye, but these are my private chambers. How did you get in here? I locked the door.”

  “Locked?” Abigail frowned. “Not when we entered.”

  Mr. Russell’s eyes narrowed. “I had to use my key to get in.”

  “Of course,” Reade said. “I locked the door when we entered. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I am certain I locked the door when I left.”

  Reade shrugged. “I hate to disagree with you, but it was unlocked. How else might we have gotten in?”

  Abigail thought of the sconce they’d left in the holder inside the secret passageway. Mr. Russell was sure to check the passageway after they left, and when he found the torch, he would know how they’d entered the room. They would have to return and dispose of the damn thing.

  “What are you doing in this part of the castle? This is my private wing,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Oh dear,” Abigail said. “You were right, Lord Reade. We shouldn’t have explored this part of the castle.” She looked at Mr. Russell from beneath her lashes. “I’m afraid this is my fault. Lord Reade warned against us coming here—and entering the room—

  but I prevailed upon him. I must admit, I couldn’t resist the warm bathwater.” She leaned forward so that her breasts pressed more heavily against her chemise. Lord Reade’s attention snapped onto her breasts and her cursed nipples puckered.

  “I have had enough of this.” Lady Julia whirled. Mr. Russell hesitated, his gaze lingering on Abigail’s breasts. Men really were quite predictable.

  He looked at Reade. “I will escort Lady Julia to her room. Once Lady Buchman is dressed, please leave.” He turned and hurried after Lady Julia.

  Through the open door, Abigail glimpsed the woman dragging her dress over her head. Mr. Russell reached her side as she pulled the fabric down over her breasts.

  “Julia,” he began, but she turned as the skirt fell down over her hips and legs. She headed for the door.

  When the bedchamber door closed behind them, Lord Reade said, “I will leave you to dress.”

  Before she could reply, he crossed the room and pulled the door closed behind him.

  * * *

  When Lady Buchman emerged from the washroom, Reade turned from the claymore hanging on the wall over the hearth. She looked almost as indecent as she had in the bathtub. Her dress clung to her breasts and Reade discerned the dark patch at the apex of her legs. The woman had no shame. Neither did he. He willed his hardened cock to cease throbbing.

  “Do not look at me as if I am a prostitute,” she said. “It’s your fault that this dress is so sheer.”

  He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “This is what happens when one wears a wet chemise beneath a dress.”

  That hadn’t occurred to him. Still, she didn’t appear the least bit embarrassed.

  Her eyes narrowed. “And don’t act as if I should be ashamed. You have no compunction about seducing a woman for your own pleasure, but a woman isn’t allowed to use her charms in the service of her country?”

  “I said nothing about you being embarrassed,” he said irritably. “In fact, I didn’t say a single word.”

  “No need,” she said. “Your thoughts are plain.”

  He wanted to reply—and say what, he knew not—but she interjected, “Mr. Russell won’t return right away. We can begin our search.”

  “You don’t think he’ll return right away?” Reade asked.

  She snorted. “He has his hands full placating Lady Julia. He won’t want her to stew overnight.”

  No, he wouldn’t. “Shall I take the wardrobe?”

  “I searched it earlier when I arrived. The secretary, if you will,” she said, and he realized he’d offended her.

  She gave him no time to reply, but added, “Be careful to replace things as you found them. If Mr. Russell finds anything out of place, he will know we searched his room.” She hurried to the nightstand, opened the drawer and began sear
ching.

  Fatigue tugged and he had a sudden longing to escape to his room. Description de l'Égypte awaited him—along with peace and quiet, away from contentious women who seemed to go out of their way to irritate him. The sooner he searched the desk, the sooner they could leave.

  The secretary had one drawer and several cubby holes. He found only writing paper, quills, two old bills for suits and…a partially composed letter to…

  My Dearest Sister,

  I am pleased to hear that you will visit next month. It is my greatest hope that by then our plans will have reached fruition. Alex assures me things are going well in London. Take heart. We shall soon take our rightful place in the world.

  I know how much you wanted

  “Bloody hell,” Reade muttered.

  “What is it?”

  He looked up. Abigail knelt beside the bed and peered at him over the edge of the mattress.

  “Do you know the name of the Scottish separatist in London who is leading the accusations concerning the Honors?” he asked.

  “The leader?” She frowned. “I didn’t know they had a leader.”

  He nodded. “His name is Alex Hayes.”

  “Why is that important?”

  “I have a letter here that Russell wrote to his sister. Come have a look.”

  She pushed to her feet and hurried around the bed. When she reached him, Reade handed her the letter.

  A moment later, she looked up at him. “Alex, as in Alex Hayes?”

  “We can’t be certain, but it is a coincidence. Russell hopes their plans will come to fruition next month. Someone named Alex is telling him things are going well in London, and that part about them taking their rightful place in the world fits quite well with the theft of the Honors. What do you make of it?”

  “I have come to conclusions based on much less evidence than this,” she said. “I just wish this letter gave some clue as to the whereabouts of the Honors. Caithis castle isn’t massive, but there are likely a hundred places the jewels could be hidden.”

  “Perhaps there are more passageways in the dungeon,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” she said. “I will search more down below another time.”

  “For now, we had better go,” he said.

  “Aye. Tomorrow evening, during the ball, I will search the private rooms in this wing more thoroughly while you keep him busy.”

  Reade didn’t like the idea of her searching the castle alone, but she had a point. Plus, she would be far safer if he kept Russell busy with cards. That probably meant letting Russell win. Not a bad idea, now that he thought about it. That meant Russell would feel confident betting more money down the road.

  Chapter Nine

  They were forced to leave Mr. Russell’s chambers through the secret passageway, in order to return the torch they’d used to the dungeon. They reached the great hall, then the second floor without encountering anyone. There, however, in the hallway, a man emerged from a room four doors down.

  “Mr. Wilson, if I’m not mistaken, and that is Lady Jane’s room he’s exiting,” Abigail whispered.

  Mr. Wilson glanced back at them, but his face remained in shadow in the dimly lit hallway. He turned around and hurried away from them.

  “House parties are typically nothing more than an opportunity for clandestine trysts,” Reade said.

  “A perfect setting for a scoundrel such as yourself, sir.”

  He looked down at her. “But of course.” The sensual note in his voice sent a shiver down her back.

  Who would he be visiting once he escorted her safely to her chambers? Certainly not Lady Julia, if he had any brains, and he had brains. She hadn’t observed him flirting with any other women. But then, they’d only just arrived today. Two weeks remained for him to make other conquests. Why did the idea bother her? Because, like most of his conquests, she was a fool.

  They hurried down the long hallway, around a turn, and reached her chambers. Would he concoct a ruse in order to get into her bed chambers? Was she on his list of future conquests? What would she do if he kissed her again? She hadn’t forgotten their kiss in the hallway. That had been a ruse to keep Mr. Chaluim and his companion from knowing that they’d overheard their conversation. What would it be like if he kissed her because he truly wanted to?

  “I will see you at breakfast, my lady,” he said. “Sleep well.” Without another word, he turned and began walking down the hallway.

  Disappointment bubbled up. What was wrong with her? She should be glad he had enough restraint not to try to bed a woman with whom he worked. This showed great character on his part. She respected a man who took as serious a mission to aid Scotland. But that only meant she’d be spending another night alone.

  Abigail entered her room and closed the door. She leaned back against the wood. When had she become lonely? In Paris ballrooms she’d had no time to think. Was that the answer? No time to think? Her gaze caught on the man’s coat and cravat that lay over the back of the wing backed chair to the left of the small table in front of the fire. Abigail straightened from the door. A man sat in the other wing backed chair to the right of the table. She could see only his head above the chair back and the shirt clad arm that rested on the armrest.

  “I thought perhaps you’d decided to spend the evening in another room.”

  She recognized that voice.

  Lord Chaluim.

  Under any other circumstances, this would be the perfect opportunity to try to get information from him. But Abigail felt certain he was not in an information sharing mood.

  “May I ask what you’re doing in my room, sir?”

  “I cannot tell you how long I have dreamed of meeting you like this.” He remained seated in his chair.

  “And here you are,” she said.

  He released an audible sigh. “I thought you were a woman of sense and propriety.”

  The calmness in his voice unnerved her.

  “I assume you no longer feel that way.”

  “A woman who makes love to a man in a public hallway isn’t a woman of sense or propriety.” He rose and faced her.

  The first three buttons on his shirt were undone. He had certainly made himself at home. When a man took such liberties in a lady’s bedchambers it seldom boded well for the lady.

  “Not to mention, being caught in a man’s private washroom with another man,” he said.

  “I am sorry to have disappointed you,” she said. “Surely you understand I am not a maiden, but a widow.”

  “Who has spent much time in France, I hear.”

  She understood perfectly his line of thinking.

  “Perhaps it would be better if we spoke tomorrow, sir.”

  “Speaking is not your best suit, my lady.”

  Just as she feared. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. If she made a fuss, Mr. Russell might very well ask her to leave the party or might cancel it altogether. She might be the Marchioness of Buchman, but he was suspicious of her and Reade being in his room.

  He started toward her.

  It galled her to run, but discretion was the better part of valor.

  Abigail whirled and yanked the door open. She lunged from the room, dashed left and slammed into a wall of muscle.

  Strong fingers seized her shoulders and she snapped her head up to meet Lord Reade’s stormy gaze. Approaching bootfalls pounded across her bedroom, and she broke free of Lord Reade as Lord Chaluim burst into the hallway.

  Chaluim stopped short, eyes wide, as he met Lord Reade’s gaze. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Chaluim demanded.

  Gone was Lord Reade’s dark expression, and in its place was a lazily smile. “From what I gather, the same thing you had planned, Lord Chaluim.”

  “You are correct, Reade,” Chaluim said with the typical condescension one of the peer used with those not of the peerage. “Lady Buchman and I are in the middle of a private meeting.”

  Reade lifted a brow. “From what I saw, Lady Buchman was leaving.” br />
  “This is none of your concern, Murdoch. It would be wise to leave well enough alone.” Chaluim started toward Abigail.

  Lord Reade grasped her arm and gently pulled her to his side, then turned slightly so that half of her body was behind his. “As I said, Lady Buchman was fleeing your company.”

  That wasn’t exactly what he’d said.

  Abigail stepped around Lord Reade. “You will forgive me, Lord Chaluim, but I am not in the mood for company this evening.”

  The viscount kept his gaze on Lord Reade. “I believe you need a lesson in how to speak to your betters.’

  Cool amusement shone in Reade’s eyes. “I assume you refer to yourself.”

  “I do.”

  “Dawn, this morning, before anyone awakens,” Lord Reade said.

  Lord Chaluim’s mouth fell open in surprise. “A duel?”

  “I assumed that is what you meant,” Lord Reade said. “Perhaps you prefer swords over pistols. I am a tolerable swordsman.”

  Chaluim’s mouth thinned. “I do not duel with commoners.”

  Reade laughed. “Is that because, on the dueling field, all men are equals?”

  Lord Chaluim looked at Abigail. “My dear, explain to this man that he has no business interfering in our affairs.”

  Abigail opened her mouth to reply, but Lord Reade said, “Hiding behind a woman’s skirts? You need not fear that I will kill you. As I said, I am only tolerable with the foil. Perhaps you will best me… Maybe even kill me.”

  “There will be no duels and no killing,” Abigail said. “Good evening, Lord Chaluim.”

  The viscount hesitated, then yanked his gaze from her to Reade and strode past them. Abigail grasped Reade’s arm and pulled him into her room.

  When she closed the door, she said, “What the devil are you doing here?”

  “That’s a fine thank you for my saving you,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes. “I was in no real danger. The man is twenty pounds overweight. He could never have caught me.”

  “A canopied bed. I haven’t seen one of these since—” He broke off.

  “Since when?” she pressed.