Secrets to Seducing a Scot

THIRTY-ONE

Earlington Marsh gazed out of the window onto English soil. British soil.

The morning sun peeked through the clouds, warming the gentlefolk below as they went to church. Newcastle ladies underneath ornate parasols strolled through the park, accompanied by well-dressed gentlemen clicking their walking sticks on the pavement. And though he was far from the nightmarish experience of being confined to a Scottish dungeon, the scene of bustling tranquility on the streets below did nothing to gladden his heart.

Earlington was staying as a guest of Lord Torrence Patterson, a Member of Parliament and friend, who insisted that Earlington recuperate from his ordeal under Lord Patterson’s personal care. Earlington was only too happy to accept, especially since he did not feel well enough to journey all the way to London just yet.

He heard a knock on the door. A footman entered.

“A General Frobisher here to see you, sir.”

“Thank you. Please send him in.”

Moments later a uniformed army officer was escorted into the study.

General Frobisher was a man of singularly hard looks, with a slather of brown hair and determined brown eyes. A man of imposing breadth, even without the epaulets and gold braiding, he had a soldier’s bearing. He carried his plumed bicorn in the crook of his arm, and he moved with great purpose, as if he were always walking against the wind.

“Ambassador Marsh,” he said in a thick voice as he shook Earlington’s hand. “I came at your summons. What may I do for you?”

“Please sit down, General. I would hear your report on the Highland insurrection.”

The general shifted his sword and folded himself into the proffered chair after Earlington took a seat. “Forgive my familiarity, Ambassador, but ought you to be so concerned with the battle at this point in time? It has been less than a week since your rescue. And even though your escape to England aboard ship was swift, I am given to understand that the journey was especially arduous. Perhaps you should be resting.”

“I find it difficult to sleep of late, General. I’m sure you can understand.”

“Sir, I have my best men—experienced soldiers—posted both inside and outside this residence around the clock. Please take your ease. There will not be a recurrence of the abduction you suffered.”

“I thank you for your concern, General, but I assure you that I am well on the way toward making a full recovery. However, I cannot in good conscience rest while our Scottish brethren are under attack. Please tell me all you know, and withhold nothing.”

General Frobisher cocked his head. “Very well. Our troops engaged the insurrectionists on three fronts—two in Ross-shire, and one at Inverness, the last being the decisive victory. To their credit, the insurrectionists were well armed and well trained; however, they were greatly outnumbered. It helped also that the infantry’s resolution weakened with each passing hour of the battle. Desertion was rife among them. By the time the battle was over, more than half their troops had fled into the hills.”

Earlington nodded. “How many dead?”

“Our army lost nine hundred fifty-three enlisted men, twenty-three officers, fourteen—”

Earlington stopped him. “Not us. Them. How many Scottish souls were lost?”

“Oh.” The general’s eyebrows came together in puzzlement. “Scottish losses numbered in the thousands, sir. At last count, approximately thirty-two hundred dead or wounded.”

Earlington’s expression collapsed in a beleaguered frown. In the thousands. He stood back up and went to gaze out the window at nothing. His mind skipped back to the day at Ramh Droighionn Castle, when he pleaded with the assembled soldiers to lay down their arms. His memory could still recall the faces belonging to those too old and too young to fight. They were the expressions of men opposed to war, but even more afraid of reprisals for speaking out against it.

The general shifted in his chair. “Ambassador, I must admit to a little surprise at your reaction. I would have thought you would exhibit much more satisfaction at hearing about the loss of your enemies.”

Earlington shook his head, his eyes closed to the prejudice. “The men who fought at Inverness are not my enemies, General. Nor are they yours. Had this escalated, it would have been nothing less than civil war. A war between brothers. Don’t ever forget who it was you really fought.”

The general was quiet for a few moments. “Nevertheless, I hope you at least applaud the suppression of the rebellion against the king’s majesty.”

Earlington sighed, and changed the subject. “What of the instigators? Skene, Kinross … McCullough?”

The general’s voice acquired a more triumphant note. “Skene and Kinross were killed on the battlefield. McCullough is not yet accounted for. If he is found alive, he will be arrested and sent to London to answer for his treason. Surely you are contented to be bringing your abductor to justice?”

“Yes. But not because he attacked me. It is because he and the others attacked the peace-loving Scottish people, using acts of violence and cruelty as political weapons.”

The general sucked in his cheeks. “If I may be so bold, Ambassador, each man on that battlefield had a choice. If he picked up a sword in defiance against the king, then he deserved to be put down as a subverter of the king’s peace.”

Earlington resumed his seat, and folded his hands upon his lap. “Peace exists where there is also justice. Something that the Scots do not enjoy in abundance.” Earlington inhaled sharply. “Which is why I intend to seek an audience with the Prince Regent and beg him to ask Parliament to repeal his tax on grain, and levy it instead on a different commodity. Perhaps this will alleviate the poverty of the Scottish people. And reconcile His Highness to his northern subjects.” Earlington nodded at his own course of action. “Yes, it will mean a lot coming from me.”

“As you wish. Will that be all, sir?” The general came to his feet.

“Thank you, General Frobisher,” he said, gripping the man’s hand. “I’m sure the Prince will reward you graciously for your victory in the Highlands.”

Earlington leaned back in the chair, lost in thought. Time slipped away as he contemplated the future.

“Father?”

He turned to look. In the doorway was his precious daughter. She was a reminder that his age and infirmity had rendered him incapable of protecting her; in fact, it was she who protected him.

“Serena!” he said, a smile spreading across his face. “Come in, come in.”

She went around the desk and behind his chair, and threw her arms over his neck. “I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning. How are you feeling?”

“Better each day. I woke early, and decided to write some letters.”

Serena clasped her hands in front of his chest. “You know that the doctor told you to rest,” she admonished.

“He’s just being overly cautious. I refuse to lay about like an old cat. I feel fine.”

“Why are you so headstrong?”

“You had to get it from someone.”

She planted a kiss on his cheek and sat down opposite him. “Are you feeling up to traveling back to London ?”

“Soon. But I don’t see why you shouldn’t journey ahead.”

“Actually, Father,” she began hesitantly. “I find that I really have no wish to return there.”

Earlington exhibited only a slight curiosity. “Oh?”

Serena’s eyebrows drew together. “You don’t seem very surprised to hear me say that.”

His face softened to bemusement. “Actually, Malcolm came to see me yesterday. It seems that he has a question he’d like to put to you.”

A blush colored Serena’s cheeks. “Ah.”

“Do you love him?”

The blush darkened. “Unfortunately, Father, I do.”

“I always suspected you’d be a begrudging bride,” Earlington teased. “He’s a good man, poppet. And he loves you. Quite desperately.”

“He must. Since he’s met me, he’s been pummeled black and blue twice. I shudder to think what a lifetime with me will do to him. I don’t seem to be very good for his health.”

He laughed, and then his expression sobered. “You do know that tongues will wag. News of your marriage to a man with a profession will no doubt make the rounds in the parlor rooms of London.”

“I don’t plan to be around to listen to them.”

Earlington looked quizzically at her.

“I intend to be in London for the proclamation of the banns—and for the wedding, of course—but I wouldn’t want Malcolm to live there too long. Aside from the fact that he’d be a fish out of water there, I couldn’t stand it if he were somehow tarnished by any of Society’s foppery or foolishness.”

“You mean the way you were?”

She arched her eyebrows. “I won’t dignify that with an answer, Father.”

Earlington chuckled. “Where do you intend to live?”

“Er—”

He looked incredulously at her. “You’re not serious.”

Serena shrugged and bit her upper lip. “It does have its charms.”

His shoulders drooped. “After all this, you’re telling me you now want to live in Scotland?” He shook his head. “We’ll have to see about that, Serena. I’m not certain I like the idea of my only daughter moving to a distant and remote locale.”

“You mean the way you did?” she replied archly.

“I won’t dignify that with an answer, Serena.” He reached his arm across the desk and took her hand in his. “What am I going to do without you? Home will seem so empty once you’re gone.”

A gleam flashed in her eyes. “That is precisely the point on which I came to consult you. I’ve been thinking very hard about the staffing in our household back in London, and I realized that we really do need another member to help run it.”

“What are you talking ab—”

“So I’ve taken the liberty of looking for an administrator to help keep our affairs in order. And I thought that you would like to interview the most promising candidate this morning.” She jumped up and went to the door.

Earlington sighed. “Serena, this really is too presumptuous of you. We really don’t need—”

His protests died on his tongue when he saw the figure in the doorway. Even though she almost disappeared under the tartan shawl and the plain gray bonnet, he recognized the lady immediately.

“Gabby.”

Her piercing blue eyes lit up like a fine Scottish sky. The corners of her mouth lifted, and her expression fairly illuminated when she laid eyes upon him. “Good morning, Commissioner Marsh.”

He could hardly speak. To him, she belonged to another time, a whole world away.

She gave a brief sidewise glance at Serena, and then returned her gaze to him. “’Tis good to see ye again, sir. And so fit. I trust ye’re well.”

That lovely lilt was like music to his ears. “Yes, quite well, thank you. Please come in.” He wanted to take her into his arms, but he didn’t dare. “How came you to … that is, how did you know I was here?”

“Miss Serena sent word to us. We were all worried sick aboot what had happened to ye. I’m glad to see ye’re safe noo.”

Earlington looked Gabby Walker up and down, thinking her the rarest and most beguiling creature put on this earth.

Serena exhaled. “As you can appreciate, Father, knowing our desperate need for someone to take over the affairs that I once oversaw and of Mrs. Walker’s willingness to apply for the position, I simply had to fetch her straightaway. I understand that she is willing to relocate to London, and is amenable to the conditions of a long-term relationship in our household. I’ll withdraw now, and leave you two to discuss the terms in greater detail.”

Serena took hold of the doorknob and stepped outside the room. Slowly, she brought the door closer and closer to the jamb, until only a sliver remained through which to see.

Serena watched her father and Lord Askey’s former housekeeper. Without taking his eyes off Gabby, her father took her in his arms and held her firmly against his chest. His look of happiness was so great that it almost brought tears to Serena’s eyes. Gabby’s arms locked around him, too, and silently they held each other for a long time. She raised her head toward his, and their mouths connected in a loving, sensual kiss.

Serena shrugged mischievously at the joy she’d brought to her father’s life. She could almost sense his heart beating stronger already. He might not have many years left, but at least he had someone to live them for.

“What are ye doing?” The loud voice spoke over her shoulder, and she nearly cried out in surprise.

“Malcolm!” She spun around and clutched her chest in shock. “Don’t sneak up on people like that. You just about stopped my heart!”

He wrapped his hands around her hips and drew her body into his. “Well, we can’t have that. We shall just have to think of a way to start it back up again.” His head disappeared into her neck, and his hot breath warmed the shell of her ear.

“Malcolm, someone will see.”

“Ye little hypocrite. Weren’t ye just spying on yer father?”

“I was not spying. I was making sure they were all right.”

“Yer father does not need a chaperone.” A wicked smile razored across his face. “But with all the things I have in mind, ye might.”

She smiled back at him. “You’re going to be a handful, I can tell.”

“Aye, ye can fill both hands with what I have for ye.”

She giggled at his ribaldry. “I’ve heard it said that those who brag the most have the least to show for it.”

His lips thinned with determination as he lifted her in his arms. “Care to put me to the test?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and gazed down into his face. “Aye. Every single day.”



Since she was twelve years old, Serena had been fantasizing about her wedding day. But never, in all those years, did she expect it to turn out as it did.

It all started when they finally arrived in London. Serena was proud of her betrothal to Malcolm, but she was concerned that the same Society bluebloods in her set would look down upon him and make him feel inferior or excluded. She needn’t have worried. The Prince Regent himself had requested to meet Malcolm, and when news of his part in the rescue of Ambassador Marsh was circulated, Malcolm became quite a celebrity in social circles.

To be sure, Prince George had a particular interest in their marriage. There were political fences to mend following the Crown’s victory in the Scottish uprising. He made a gracious, albeit very public, tribute to Serena and Malcolm’s nuptials. The wedding of a daughter of England and a son of Scotland would go far in healing the rift in the kingdom and would celebrate the unity of the British people once again.

To Serena’s great surprise, everything Scottish became all the rage. Tartans were splashed upon window coverings and tablecloths, and whiskey became more prevalent at parties than champagne. And when Serena and Malcolm were called to Carlton House to sup with the Prince, evidence of his support of Scotland could be seen in everything from the food that he served to the entertainment he commissioned.

More than a hundred people were at this dinner when Prince George announced that he had a wedding gift for the couple. He waved his arm, and a page brought forth a plush purple cushion on which rested a leather portfolio. The page lowered the cushion before Malcolm with a sober bow.

Quizzically, Malcolm took the leather folder. “Yer Highness is too kind,” he said, and loosened the ties that kept the folds together.

Serena, who was sitting opposite Malcolm at the table, watched his expression dissolve from pleased curiosity to utter disbelief. “Malcolm? What do you see?”

Serena had never thought to see this particular emotion on the face of her betrothed. Her eyes jumped from the Regent back to Malcolm. “What is it?”

He held it up. “It’s the deed to Ravens Craig. My ancestral home.”

An appreciative applause rippled down the table. Malcolm faced Prince George.

“Yer Highness, I have no words adequate enough to thank ye,” he said haltingly. “This gift is beyond anything of value to me, save my bride. How can I ever repay ye?”

The Prince shifted his considerable frame in his chair. “By living in it. It was forfeited by one of the leaders of the insurrection, whose goods and property were seized by bill of attainder. It is especially fitting that a Scotsman and loyal subject should own it instead.”

“Ye overwhelm me, sir.”

Serena hadn’t seen Malcolm so moved since she first told him she loved him. “And I wish to thank you as well, Your Highness. Malcolm and I hope you will honor us by considering it your home when in Scotland and that you favor us with your presence very soon.”

The Prince nodded in appreciation. “There is one more gift. Ambassador Marsh has told me that Slayter is not your true last name, as this last was stricken from you for some offense. Is this so?”

A troubled look cast a shadow over his face. “It is, sir.”

“Well, then, by royal proclamation, in gratitude for your acts of bravery and loyalty to the government of our people, we hereby end the proscription of your name, restoring it to its former honor without blemish or prejudice, and decree that you will never again be forced to bear the designation of slaighteur again.”

The guests at the table applauded, but no one could have been happier than Serena herself. It meant everything to her that the world would recognize Malcolm for who he was, and honor him with the simplest of gifts—his own name back.

“A toast.” The Prince rose to his feet, and everyone at the table rose in deference. He lifted his glass, and everyone followed suit. “To the rechristening of our honored guest, henceforth to be known as—”

Malcolm closed his eyes and smiled, forming the unspoken words on his lips. “Malcolm David MacAslan.”

The din of the thunderous applause dimmed as she basked in the contentment of seeing his expression. Serena beamed for Malcolm—and because of him. She’d become a new creature once Malcolm edged his way into her life. Now she, too, would carry a new name … Serena MacAslan. And she loved it.

Malcolm nodded at the people who applauded him, and slowly, his smiling green eyes landed on Serena. He raised his glass to her, and without words, the curve of the smile on his face told her how much he loved her.

Their wedding day was glorious. The weather had cooled, bringing a crisp chill to the London air. Serena’s dress was made of white silk taffeta with gold ribbon at the sleeves, bodice, and hem, with gold threading up the front of the skirt. Her modest tiara dripped with teardrop pearls, and a string of them hung around her neck. The bodice was tight enough to delicately lift her breasts over the hem, but ruched so as to give the appearance of looseness. Long white gloves snaked up her arms, leaving just a narrow band of pale skin showing on her arms. It was a costume of her own design, and she hoped Malcolm would like it. She thought of him when she ordered her bouquet, a singular piece with white roses interspersed with purple thistles and sprayed with heather, a subtle nod to the union of their two cultures.

And when Serena walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, her apprehension evaporated when she saw Malcolm’s face. He smiled broadly as she approached him, his eyes shining into hers. She pleased him.

And he pleased her as well. His masculine beauty had been the object of more than a few whispered comments behind open fans, and now it was resplendent for all to see. His thick black hair waved over his head, echoed in the eyebrows that hovered above his luminous green eyes. His alabaster smile shone brilliantly against his healthy complexion, shaved smooth to see the dent in the middle of his prominent chin. Dense eyelashes lined the mischievous eyes that now dared her to desire him.

Malcolm was wearing a garment she had become quite used to seeing him in—a kilt. But its hue was not black, devoid of any identity, but the vivid blue, red, and green of the MacAslan tartan. Her clan now.

His cutaway double-breasted jacket in the same tartan formed a triangle of his torso, and was made even more elegant by a fly plaid tied around his torso and over one shoulder like a sash. His sporran had a silver cantle, and was made of black fur with six small tassels in white fur dangling from the front. He looked like a prince of Scotland.

Her father dropped a kiss on her cheek, and placed her hand upon the back of Malcolm’s outstretched hand. It was a moment full of poignant symbolism, and the tears began to well up as she left her father’s side and joined Malcolm.

Breaking tradition, Malcolm turned his hand upward, and their palms touched. His warmth and strength spread to her, even through her gloves. The meaning of the gesture was not lost on her. They would face the future not merely as gentleman and lady, but hand in hand, joined together, as one.

“My hero,” she whispered as they approached the clergyman.

“My hero,” he answered right back.