Secrets to Seducing a Scot (7 page)

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Authors: Michelle Marcos

BOOK: Secrets to Seducing a Scot
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“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.”
It felt as if the weight of the world were crushing him slowly.
Earlington sank into a chair by the open window, allowing the chill morning breeze to cool his fevered head. The world seemed so peaceful from the prospect of this window. The high wind blew a cloud across the sky, and the emerging sun made the rich green grass glow resplendently. Far off in the meadow, a scattering of sheep lazed, their gentle bleating the only sound for miles. This was a beautiful country, simple and natural.
And some people would never be happy unless soldiers’ bodies bled the ground red.
He took a long draft from the glass of brandy in his hand. Drink was never a consolation for him, so he did it sparingly. But today, with the entire world set against him—and now his daughter, too—perhaps a drink would dispel the anxiety and help him think clearly.
“It’s not doon there.”
Earlington turned toward the voice and blinked. It came from the housekeeper, a thin woman with a thick shock of copper-colored hair.
“Pardon?”
“Whatever ’tis ye’re looking for. Ye won’t find it at the bottom of that glass.”
Earlington ground his teeth. He knew that. But to be
upbraided by a servant was beyond intolerable. In England, no domestic would ever speak unless spoken to first. Nevertheless, in all the time he’d been here, it was probably the first time he had ever heard this woman speak at all.
The housekeeper was now oblivious to him, busying herself with clearing away the teacups upon a tray. What was her name?
“I don’t usually drink—” Mrs. Walker? Mrs. Talker?
“Aye, that ye don’t. All the more reason not to start noo.”
Earlington suppressed his irritation at the woman’s familiar manner, because despite the breach of propriety, what she had said was true.
He set down his glass upon the table beside his chair. “You’re right, of course. Thank you.”
She came over to pick it up. “Anyone can see ye’re as tense as the skin on an Irish
bodhrán.
Another glass o’ that and ye’d probably be making as much noise as that awful instrument.”
He smiled. “I won’t be having any more. Thank you for protecting my good name.” He sank back into the chair and covered his eyes with one hand. Another breeze wafted in, gently cooling the skin on his face.
A few moments passed. Sensing no movement, he opened his eyes. The housekeeper was still standing beside his chair, the tray resting on her hip, watching him.
“So what’s licked all the butter aff yer bread?”
He blinked in disbelief. It seemed something out of a dream to be having a conversation with this woman. For the first time, he took a long look at her. She was a handsome woman, and though she was well past forty, he could just glimpse the beauty she had been in her twenties. She had shocking blue eyes, as so many of
her countrymen did, but hers were bold and much more perspicacious. Fine lines vined at the corners of her eyes and her cheeks had lost the plumpness of their youth, but her mouth was wide and sensual, a lovely feature for a woman of her advanced years.
“I’m just a bit preoccupied, that’s all.”
“Seems more like ye’re a bit afeard.”
It jarred him that she could read him so well. After dozens of years spent in politics, he was fairly certain he didn’t exhibit his feelings to any perceivable measure. Yet her remark didn’t seem meant to belittle. She appeared genuinely concerned. And he was genuinely overwrought.
“Yes. That, too.” Having admitted his failing, he could no longer look her in the eye. His gaze fell to her hands, which were gnarled with work.
“Why?” she asked.
He sighed deeply. “Because I fear for your people. And for mine. I want an end to the rebellion. And the Council won’t have it.”
“Och. Ye mustn’t froth yerself over those ruffians. Any twelve Highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion. They’ll come ’round soon enough.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” he said with false cheer. “It’s only the time from now to then that keeps my head in a knot. Things will improve soon. Thank you.”
Despite his polite dismissal, the housekeeper didn’t leave. Earlington marveled at her boldness.
“Ye’re fashed for a great deal more than that, are ye not?”
Her voice was barely loud enough for him to hear. But his innermost being heard her loud and clear. Another human soul recognized the pain in him and wanted to soothe it.
“Yes, I am.” His throat began to constrict as he realized
how much he wanted to unburden himself of the awful, choking truth.
She lay the tray down on the tea table, crossed her hands at her tummy, and waited in silence for him to speak.
He sighed. “Throughout my entire life, my country has been embroiled in war. When I was a boy, we were at war with the American colonies. Then it was battle with the Irish. Then war with the French. I can scarcely remember a time when we were not fighting someone. I went into politics with the express purpose of bringing peace to England. Perhaps it was only a pipe dream. But I thought we could achieve that goal if only we wanted it enough.
“So when I became minister plenipotentiary to the United States in ’11, I believed this was my opportunity to show the world that Britain was not this horrible, warmongering nation. I entered into negotiations with President Madison, and I believed we had reached an amicable solution between our governments. But I failed to comprehend England’s resolve. In the interest of achieving peace, I compromised my directives … conceded too many of our positions, perhaps. Within less than a year, the king had me recalled, and the United States declared war on Britain. I failed in my official mission—and in my personal one.” His voice trailed off.
Her astute eyes scanned him. “And noo ye’re afeard ye’re about to fail again?”
Earlington nodded slowly. “I don’t want to go down in history as the ambassador who begot wars instead of ending them. It was my sincerest hope that I could bring a peaceful solution to the unrest in Scotland. Then I’d be remembered as the peacemaker I always wanted to be.”
It was her turn to sigh. “Seems to me that if the king truly wanted a peaceful solution, he’d have sent somebody else.”
Earlington’s eyes flew open. It was a hurtful thing to say. He was offended by her remark, especially after his uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. “I’m sorry?”
She shrugged. “Ye don’t send a lame collie to herd the sheep. Yet here ye are, a man with a sick heart who’s also sick at heart. Ye think ye’ve got something to prove, to the king and to yerself. I don’t know if ye failed in America … might be that the king failed ye. Perhaps ye’re the perfect man to send here if the king wanted to give the
appearance
of wanting peace.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Are you saying that the Prince Regent
wants
me to fail in my commission?”
“I’m saying that he doesna expect ye to succeed. And if ye fail, the fault will then be with us, not him. Or ye.”
Earlington’s eyes danced around about the floor as he pondered the possibility. Could it be that this woman suspected a truth he didn’t dare to believe? He knew that even now, troops gathered in the north of England to prepare for battling the insurrection. In case the talks failed, the general had told him. Maybe military action was being planned not
in case
he failed, but
after
it.
Earlington had wondered why he’d been chosen for this diplomatic mission. His failure in the colonies seven years ago distressed him greatly, and the heart seizure he suffered after his return had made him gravely ill. Parliament had been sympathetic, but he thought he might never be asked to return to foreign service. Until a few months ago, when trouble in Scotland started to brew.
The government could have sent anyone. The ambassador
to Russia was available. So was the ambassador to Austria. Why, then, had they asked him to return to the service?
He hadn’t questioned it. In truth, he had been so overjoyed at the opportunity to redeem himself that he hadn’t bothered to ask why they would consider him. Yet even this woman, a household servant he didn’t know, could see that despite his lofty title he was merely a pawn in a chess game with a predetermined winner.
His gaze flew back to the housekeeper’s eyes. “You amaze me, Mrs.—”
A brief smile touched her eyes. “Ye can call me Gabby.”
He grinned. The name hardly suited her, quiet as she had always been. She had been in his presence a number of times, and this was the first time she’d opened her mouth. Though when she did, a torrent of wisdom came pouring forth.
“Gabby. I had never considered it from that standpoint. Please do me the honor of sitting with me awhile, so that we may talk some more.” He rose from his chair and motioned for her to sit.
She looked aghast. “I canna sit doon! With all the work there is to do? I’m behind as a cow’s tail.”
“Just for a moment. I would hear more of your perspectives.”
She grabbed the tray from the table. “Nonsense. Idle words won’t make the pot boil.” Without another look back, she flitted out of the door.
He smiled at her retreating back. Though she’d just shed light on a matter of international relations, she clearly held household matters in greater esteem.
For the first time, disjointed concepts in his head began to fall into rightful place. Suddenly a plan of action formed in his thoughts. A cool breeze blew through
the open window as he stood by it, and he felt a surge of something coil through him. Strength.
A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts. He hoped it was Gabby.
“Come.”
Serena entered. “Father, I really must protest.”
“Not now, poppet,” he said. “There is an urgent matter I must attend to.”
Malcolm appeared behind her and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.
“But Father, this
is
an urgent matter.”
“What is it, Serena?”
“I can’t abide this protector. Send him away.”
Earlington went to the escritoire and scribbled something on a piece of paper. “I can’t do that, poppet.”
“But he wants to sleep in the room next to mine!”
“That’s precisely where I want him.”
“Yes, but inside the very walls?”
Malcolm cleared his throat. “I discovered a hidden passageway leading to Miss Marsh’s bedchamber. It’s no’ been used in some time. But stationing myself in that corridor will give me a strategic advantage. This way, should an intruder make his way into Miss Marsh’s room, no one will suspect her protector to burst in from the very wall.”
Earlington pondered this carefully. “Make whatever arrangements you must to ensure my daughter’s safety.”
Serena shook her head. “But Father, you don’t understand—”
“No, Serena. You don’t understand. Mr. Slayter is your protector. I’ve hired him to keep you from harm. With the exceptions of the bath and the bedchamber, Slayter has been tasked by me to stand beside you at all times. Make full use of your abigail, but Slayter must also be present wherever you go. He is not a guest and
he is not a servant. You don’t need to entertain him, you don’t need to govern him. You don’t even need to talk to him. But you do have to put up with him. All right?”
“But Father—”
“Do it for me. Now I really must dash. I’ll take Askey’s carriage. You can take ours. Go into town. Go shopping with Zoe. And just pretend that Mr. Slayter isn’t there.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Earlington felt empowered. His daughter was in good hands. Now he would make sure the Scottish people were in good hands, too.

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