Secrets to Seducing a Scot

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.”

Archer 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.”

“I will have Father’s town coach readied, and we can start out immediately. I’ll ask Mrs. Walker to prepare us something, and we can eat it on the way.”

She started for the door, but Archer held her back. “Darling, I’ve got a better idea. Come with me to London. You’ll be safe there.”

“No, Archer. We’ve got to find my father. There isn’t a moment to lose.”

“Serena, please. We must let the authorities handle this. Your father wouldn’t want you dashing off in search of him, not when war’s about to break in Scotland. No, I think it best if you come with me to London.”

She looked at him as if he were mad. “Archer, this is important to me. I must find him. He needs me.”

“There are other ways we can help. Look at this.” He handed Serena a few sheets of paper. “I wrote it last night. It’ll lead the next issue of the paper.”

Serena read the headline at the top of the page.

BRITISH AMBASSADOR ABDUCTED

FEARED KILLED by SCOTTISH rebels

“I need to run this as soon as possible. The public has to know what is going on. We’ll create a public outcry so loud that the rebels will have to surrender your father.”

“Do you really think he’s dead?”

“Of course not, darling! But we have to alarm the public in order to move the hand of government.”

Serena’s brows knit together as she skimmed over the hastily written article. “Archer, you make it sound like a foregone conclusion that he’ll never be rescued. I need your help to make sure that none of these things will happen. I need you to help me change the news, not fulfill it.”

An uneasy look came over his features. “Serena, I would do anything for you. You know that. But this is my job. I’m an editor of a newspaper, and this is news that has happened right before my eyes. I have a duty to inform the public.”

She shook her head. “But the trail to my father will grow cold, Archer.” As will my love for you.

“Perhaps it’s best if we let Mr. Slayter find him. He is a fugitive hunter, after all. That’s what he’s best at. I’ll pay him handsomely. Come back to London with me, Serena. I’ll take care of all the rest.” He held out his hand.

She gazed at his upturned hand. It was soft and smooth, a gentleman’s hand. Everything she had been taught to believe told her that her hand belonged in his. But everything she felt in her heart screamed that it didn’t. She knew that if she put herself in Archer’s hands, she would eventually slip right through those silky palms.

“No, Archer.” She placed the sheets of paper in his outstretched hand. “Go. Publish your headline. Speak to the world. And forgive me for forcing your proposal. I … am not myself.” It was a fact that she was accepting with growing certainty.

Silently, she made her way back to her room. She sat down on the edge of the bed, cradling the wrapped bottle in her lap.

Malcolm appeared in her doorway. “I’m sorry.” He saw her wipe a tear from her cheek. “He’s a fool. And a yawning bore. I never liked him.”

“That’s only because you’re an excellent judge of character.”

Malcolm cocked his head. “The fool is right, though. Ye would be safer in London.”

“If I hadn’t wanted to go to London so badly, my father wouldn’t be in the mess that he’s in.”

“Eh?”

She squeezed the wrapped bottle. “It’s my fault he’s gone, Malcolm. I caused it. That threatening letter? ‘Sing a song of sixpence,’ like the nursery rhyme?”

“Aye?”

A lump formed in her throat as she formed her next words. “I wrote it.”

Malcolm’s mouth fell open. “Ye? Why?”

“Because I wanted to go home. I wanted our familiar lives back. I thought that if Father believed my life was in danger, he would take us both back to London. But I hadn’t considered the possibility that he’d engage someone like you to protect me. I tried telling you, over and over again, that my life was in no danger. But his was! Don’t you see? All this time, my father was the target, and no one was protecting him.”

Malcolm sat down next to her on the bed. “’Twas a selfish thing to do, Serena.”

“I know.”

“But ’tis yer good fortune it was me who was engaged. If anybody can find yer father, I can.”

Her moist eyes snapped up to his. “Do you mean that? You’ll come with me?”

He sighed. “My place is with ye. And where ye go, there I’ll be.”

“Oh, Malcolm!” She threw her arms around his neck.

“No’ Malcolm,” he said, returning the embrace with a halfhearted smile. “The name is Ubiquitus.”