The Care and Feeding of Your Captive Earl (What Happens In Scotland Book 3) (2 page)

“So, what are we to do? What’s the plan?” Evelyn asked.

Matthias glared at Evelyn. “We wait until your brother arrives. He and I will track down Stephen and Emily while you and Gwen head back to London.”

“My brother is in Bath—it will take another two days, at least, for him to get here.”

Matthias shrugged. “Then we wait two days.”

Evelyn balled her hands into fists. She was the sister of a duke, and not at all used to being brushed aside. “God knows where Stephen and Emily will be by then. Dead perhaps! Lying on the side of the road with their throats slit open.”

Gwen clutched her stomach, suddenly ill. How had this intended rescue mission turned so dreadfully wrong? Emily might very well be in danger, and it was all Gwen’s fault.

Evelyn lifted her chin. “We must find them.”

“I won’t risk your safety,” Matthias said. “Until your brother returns, you are under my protection. You and Miss Wilbraham will return to London immediately.”

After a long pause, Evelyn released a heavy breath. “Yes, Matthias, of course you are right. How foolish of me. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I shall sit back and allow the men to handle things.”

Suspicious.

He nodded. “Very sensible, Eve. The carriage departs in one hour—and I expect you on it
sans
two hundred pounds of Scotsman.”

The blacksmith stepped forward, but Evelyn moved in front of him and smiled at Matthias. “Yes, of course. Consider it done.”

Matthias left the three of them alone.

Something was amiss. Gwen had
never
seen Evelyn cede defeat so easily. She was either deathly ill or planning something.

Evelyn turned to the blacksmith and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Not a word from you. I have this under control.”

Turning back around, she smiled at Gwen. “Gwen, darling, I need you to do something for me. I will be forever in your debt.”

“Ach, lass, what are ye planning?”

Gwen narrowed her eyes at her friend. “I knew your cooperation was too good to be true. You are nothing if not stubborn. You acquiesced far too easily.”

“I need you to keep Matthias occupied for a couple of days.”

Gwen blinked several times. Evelyn said the words so casually Gwen thought perhaps she had misheard. But somehow, she knew she hadn’t.

“A couple of
days
? How in God’s name am I to do that? You may as well ask me to hand you the moon.”

“Gwen.” Evelyn shook her shoulder. “You
must
do this for me.”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going after Stephen.”

Gwen sighed. The determination in Evelyn’s tone was unmistakable; it was clear she intended to do this with or without Gwen’s help—which would be nearly impossible with Matthias in the way.

“The hell ye are,” the blacksmith spat.

They both ignored him.

“Do you recall Lady Tisdale’s treasured urn?”

Gwen groaned inwardly. “You
would
bring that up now, wouldn’t you? It wasn’t my fault! That vicious creature
lunged
at me!”

“It was a cat, Gwen, and it was only asking to be petted,” Evelyn said flatly.

That cat had had a mischievous glint in its eyes—as though it had intended to lure her into petting it and then
pounce
. She’d had that experience once before when she was younger. She’d been petting a neighborhood cat, when suddenly its countenance turned fiendish—completely unprovoked. It swatted at her viciously with its extended
talons,
cutting her, causing her to bleed. It was a terrifying experience she had no wish to repeat.

“The lass is afraid of
cats
?” The blacksmith laughed—actually
laughed.

“They have very sharp claws,” she snapped. “I was nearly mauled.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “With feline affection, perhaps.” She shook her head. “You are the only person I know who is petrified of
cats,
of all the ridiculous things.”

Gwen swallowed. The cat in question had been eyeing her suspiciously; circling her like a panther seizing up its prey when it had suddenly sprung at her. To escape the creature, she’d jerked back and subsequently knocked over Lady Tisdale’s thousand-year-old Egyptian urn.

Mortification did not begin to describe how she’d felt. She was hopelessly clumsy and inelegant—always bungling things. And her position in society was perilous, at best. Her father was a knight, and though she was a lady by title, she was not a
true
lady—not as far as the
ton
was concerned. Additionally, her father’s fortune had been gained by legal but rather unscrupulous means. It was only her tight connection with Evelyn—a duke’s sister—that had redeemed her socially.

Gwen would never have survived Lady Tisdale’s fury. It was only Evelyn’s quick thinking that had saved her. She instantly took the blame and offered to replace the urn. Months later, Evelyn had presented Lady Tisdale with a replacement—a beautiful Egyptian idol that was perhaps even
more
valuable and rare.

Evelyn had not deserted her then, and Gwen would not desert Evelyn now.

Gwen released a sigh of defeat. “Very well. But you mustn’t blame me if my methods are a bit…unconventional.”

Matthias would not be easily diverted. His determination to get them all back to London would be impossible to dislodge. How best to get him out of the way? She could drug him—though she could not keep him drugged for an entire
week
. He would certainly wake at some point and insist on going after Evelyn. No, she would also need to spirit him away somewhere remote.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Perhaps not,” Gwen said. “It might be better if you are ignorant of my scheme. But rest assured, Matthias will be out of your way. Just promise me one thing.” She swallowed—“promise me you’ll find Emily. The thought of her out there in the Scottish wilderness makes me sick with worry.”

Evelyn squeezed Gwen’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll find Emily and Stephen both. You just do your part, and I’ll have them back before you know it.”

Gwen nodded. Just as she was about to leave, she turned back around. “You don’t happen to have a length of rope and a gag, do you?”

CHAPTER TWO

Gwen had never kidnapped anyone before—let alone a notorious rake—but she imagined she would need a fair amount of laudanum and rope.

This was all quite preposterous.

Just last week, Gwen had been comfortably ensconced in London. Well, perhaps
comfortable
was a bit excessive. Could one ever
truly
be comfortable in London? And in a home where there was constant strife and bickering?

She had been at home when Matthias Hart came to her door, enquiring about Evelyn’s plans to elope with Stephen. He’d handed her a letter Evelyn had left behind. She’d scanned it quickly, determined right then that she would not allow her best friend to ruin herself so abominably. Matthias was going after her and Gwen was going with him. No amount of persuasion would have convinced her otherwise. But to avoid scandal herself, she’d brought along her trusted lady’s maid as chaperone.

It wasn’t until they’d arrived in Scotland that the plan to rescue Evelyn from her own foolishness had begun to go awry. They’d managed to halt the wedding just in the nick of time, and last night, they’d all gotten foxed.

With the headache still pounding behind her temple, Gwen headed down the staircase of the small inn, searching for the innkeeper. She finally found him in the kitchens. He was stirring a pot of stew when she accosted him, hovering awkwardly until he took note of her presence. Glancing up, he jolted slightly, then seemed to gather himself.

He smiled. “Ye startled me, miss. What can I do for ye?”

“Do you happen to have some laudanum and a length of rope?”

“Aye.” He wiped his hands on his greasy apron. “Rope I have. Laudanum, though, is a wee bit more difficult…”

Drat.
Laudanum would have eased her plan. But no matter, she would find another way.

“The rope will do, then,” she said quickly.

After sifting through several crates in a back room, he produced a coarse length of rope. Thanking him, she took it. Now she just needed to find something that would make Matthias drowsy.

Outside, cold air nipped at her cheeks and seeped through the fabric of her pink shawl. The sky was a beautiful pale blue and clear, save for a few stray clouds that drifted overhead. There was very little to the east—just farmland dotted with sheep— so she turned west, wandering down the busy thoroughfare—roughly the length of Hyde Park—until, at length, she saw a wood sign with a mortar and pestle on it.

A small bell chimed as she stepped inside the squat whitewashed cottage. Instantly, she was assaulted by the scent of potent oils and dried herbs. And though it was morning, the room was dark. Candles provided the only light in the dim space, illuminating hundreds of glass bottles that lined the shelves. Every bottle was shaped differently, giving the shop a cluttered, disorganized air.

A young red-haired woman appeared behind the counter.

“Welcome,” she said in a heavy Scottish accent. “Is there aught ailing ye?”

“Oh, no, it’s not for me.” Gwen struggled to think of a plausible lie. “My…
husband
…is having a great deal of trouble sleeping. Do you happen to have laudanum on hand?”

The woman nodded and if Gwen weren’t mistaken, she saw a knowing glimmer in her eyes. “I donna have laudanum. But I do have precisely what ye need.” The woman turned and riffled through a shelf of glass bottles. Plucking one up, she swung back around to Gwen. “’Tis sure to do the trick.”

Gwen took the small bottle. The label was written in another language—Gaelic, perhaps? “What is it?”

“A brew of my own making. ‘Tis rather potent, so ye must use it with care. Just one or two drops, nae more.”

Oh, dear.
Gwen suddenly grew anxious, thinking of her tendency to bungle things. What if she gave him too much? “Is it safe?”

“Aye, quite.” She wrapped her hand around Gwen’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Donna fash yerself. This is precisely what you need.”

Gwen blinked at the woman, and she had the sudden feeling that they weren’t talking about the sleeping tonic any longer. If she were forced to speculate, she’d say this woman was some sort of witch. It hardly seemed possible in this day and age, but Gwen was quickly learning that Scotland was a mysterious and often contradictory place.

“Thank you.” Gwen paid the woman and walked back to the inn. But despite the woman’s reassuring words, dread twisted in her stomach. Now that she had everything she required, there was nothing left to do but slip this concoction into Matthias’s drink and pray he remained asleep long enough for her to hire a carriage and spirit him away.

Simple. Easy.

No, nothing is simple for you. Nothing is easy. You fail at everything you do. You are a daft, hopeless disgrace.

Her father’s voice echoed inside her head. He was always quite free with his criticisms. It was his one true passion in life. Some men played whist. Others enjoyed billiards. Her father, however, found pleasure in seeking out and enumerating his only child’s countless faults.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she
was
hopeless.

But she’d given her word to Evelyn, and she wouldn’t go back on such a promise. Evelyn had been there for her through everything. How many times had she comforted Gwen after one of her father’s violent outbursts? Evelyn was her constant friend and companion—she couldn’t possibly let her down. She
wouldn’t.

Back at the inn, Gwen bumped into Matthias on the staircase, reeling back as she collided with his solid chest. Reaching out, he grabbed her shoulders, preventing her from tumbling backward down the steps. His grip was firm, betraying his strength, and she found herself leaning into him.

“Oh,” she said, breathless. “Pardon me.”

Looking up, she glanced at him through her lashes. He was inordinately beautiful. With fair hair, brilliant blue eyes and strong, masculine features, he was a favorite among the debutantes of the
ton
. In society, she often watched as women vied for his attentions—stalking him around the perimeter of the ballroom, calculating the most beneficial moment to pounce. Much like lionesses encircling their prey.

She could still remember the first moment she’d glimpsed him. It was several years ago at the Tisdales’ annual musicale. At some point during the performance, she’d escaped outside to the small garden. Crowds often gave her the sensation that she was confined, unable to draw a proper breath.

Once outside, she’d drawn in a lungful of cold night air and thanked the heavens she’d remembered to sit in the back row, which had afforded her occasion to sneak out unnoticed.

That was when she’d first met him properly—or
im
properly, rather.

He’d been standing near the sunken fountain, gazing off into the distance, when she’d stumbled upon him. Well, in actuality, she’d seen him and stumbled into the
fountain
. She hadn’t expected to see anyone, let alone a reputed rake. Shocked to see him there, she’d completely lost her footing and stumbled—drenching her slippers, her stockings, and a good five inches of her hem. He’d caught her around the waist, and she’d placed her hand on his chest to steady herself.

She was cast back to the feel of his heart beating through the fabric of his waistcoat—in a frantic rhythm that had matched her own. Some trifling words were exchanged, but to this day, she couldn’t recall what exactly was said. She only remembered the jolt of energy that had darted through her the moment they’d touched. It was…exhilarating…

Matthias’s voice stirred her from her thoughts.

“Gwen—” He stopped himself, then continued. “Miss Wilbraham. We must discuss what happened between us last night.”

Her heart leapt into her throat, but she feigned nonchalance. “As far as I am concerned, nothing happened. And if anything
did
happen—which again, it did not—it was entirely your fault.”

Pressing his lips together, he glared at her. “We’re leaving within the hour.”