Secrets to Seducing a Scot

TEN

Serena closed the door to her bedroom and leaned her back against it. The nerve of that man! It was bad enough that she had to suffer more of this wretched country. But to do so in the intimate company of an impertinent and overbearing servant was more than she was willing to endure. She had to think of a way out of this predicament. Overwhelmed, she let her head fall back against the door.

The knock on the other side nearly tore a scream out of her.

“Who is it?”

“’Tis Caointiorn, miss.”

Quinny! She’d forgotten that she’d asked to have a horse saddled. She opened the door.

The thin girl darted into the room like a mouse fleeing daylight. She began to burble something in Gaelic.

“What are you chuntering about, Quinny?”

“There’s a grit ark o’ a mon ootside, wi’ the de’il’s oon face, on he’s heided straight fo’ here.”

Serena harrumphed, knowing immediately what put Quinny out of sorts. “That will be my new protector. I don’t want him snagged upon my skirts any more than you do. We have to get rid of him somehow. If he comes here, tell him I’m indisposed.”

“Please, miss.” She cringed, as if Serena had asked her to walk through a house on fire. “A dinna ken hoo—”

A forceful knock made Quinny gasp.

Serena motioned to her to answer the door. Quinny wrung her hands upon her pinafore, shaking her head.

Serena rolled her eyes. “Who is it?”

“I’d tell ye, but ye’d probably forget the name.”

Slayter! She turned to face the door, annoyance robbing her of the composure in her voice. “What do you want?”

“I’d like to come in.”

“I don’t want a protector. I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear.”

“Aye. That ye did.”

She puzzled over the uncertain victory. “Very well, then. Good day.”

“But what ye want and what ye’re going to get are two very different things, Miss Marsh.”

“I will not have you giving me orders. Leave the environs of my rooms immediately.”

The handle on the door shook as he tested it. “Ye’ll open the door.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Miss Marsh, I’m warning ye. I must inspect yer rooms. Let me in or I shall break down this door.”

Fury exploded inside her. She wasn’t about to yell at him from inside her room like a cowering ninny. She wanted to yell at him face-to-face.

She turned the key in the lock and flung open the door. “How dare you speak to me in so impudent a manner ! I will not—”

The words died in her mouth as he shouldered his way past her into the bedroom. Her mouth fell open, appalled at his insolence. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I hate to seem discourteous, but … actually, I don’t. Get out!”

“By God, yer mouth alone is enough to keep assassins at bay.”

She pursed her lips. “And you are becoming increasingly underfoot.”

He cast a hard look at Quinny, who quaked in a corner. “Who’s this?”

Serena stepped beside the maid. Next to Mr. Slayter, Quinny looked like a child. “Quinny serves as lady’s companion to me.”

“Ye’ll have no more need of a companion. Ye’ve got me now.”

She stuck her nose in the air. “It is highly improper for a lady to entertain gentlemen unchaperoned.”

“Miss Marsh, ye’re no’ entertaining me. If ye want to entertain me, ye’ll have to do a damn sight more than strut ’round like a persnickety dowager queen.” He turned to Quinny. “What’s yer name?”

“Caointiorn, sir,” she replied meekly.

“Ye can go now, Caointiorn,” he told her softly. “I’ll be mustering the servants below stairs in an hour’s time. Please be there when I do.”

“Quinny, don’t you dare move!” Serena told her.

“Mr. Slayter, no one dismisses my servants but me. I’ll thank you to remember your place.”

Quinny’s tremulous voice warbled behind her. “A’m sairy, miss. A feel no weel. A hae tae gang noo.” She darted from the room so fast, Serena only caught a glimpse of her shadow upon the floor.

Serena sighed in frustration. Some chaperone Quinny turned out to be. It was yet another thing she should have brought with her into this backward country.

“Oh, hurry up and do what you must,” she huffed. “There are important things that require my attention.”

He suppressed a smile and began an examination of her rooms. “Such as?”

“I’m planning my next column for the Town Crier.” She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know if you know this, but I am a writer of some note. Have you heard of the ‘Rage Page’?”

He cocked his head. “That’s yers, then?”

She was pleasantly astonished. “You’ve heard of it?”

His green eyes shone. “No.”

She rolled her eyes. “That hardly surprises me. Nothing of any importance happens here in the Highlands.”

He chuckled as he scrutinized the windows. “Nothing? Do ye even know why yer father is here?”

Her back stiffened imperiously. “I’m perfectly attuned to the necessity of my father’s mission, thank you. You don’t need to lecture me on world events. I meant that culturally, Scotland leaves much to be desired. I’ve been here long enough to know that there is no need of a Society column in this country.”

He opened the doors on her wardrobe, which equaled his height. “Mayhap it’s because we’ve gossips aplenty without the need for another. Even a ‘writer of note.’”

Serena walked over to her bed and sat down. His back was turned, and she stole a lingering glance at him. His black-clad figure dominated the room, filling its space. He had a most imposing physique, and briefly she wondered what such a man looked like without such second-rate clothes on. She stared at him for a few moments as he examined the corners of her room.

“Well?”

“Aye, quite well, thank ye.”

She ground her teeth. “No. I meant are you finished yet?”

“Not yet.” He strode over to her, his booted feet pounding upon the floor, and knelt right in front of her. She inched backward on the mattress, uncomfortable with his nearness. He got down on all fours and looked under the bed.

“Do ye entertain in here?” he asked.

“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.”