And what wouldn’t I trade to be able to gaze upon the clothes of London once more? In Scotland, what is in vogue is actually quite vague. Fashions are at least ten years behind … and only for those people who care enough to mind them. Most of the ladies I see wear clothing that seems more for comfort than for beauty, and the men wear things I’ve only seen in history books.
I don’t know whether to call it dress or dross.
I apologize once more for the circumstances that led to the temporary suspension of the “Rage Page.” I am not unmindful of your predicament or your financial losses. I, too, yearn to return to the parties and social gatherings that were my bread and your butter. I hope to allay your concerns by informing you that a change is imminent. Something is about to happen that may return Father and me to London before expected. I shan’t provide you with any details just now. But rest assured that circumstances may improve forthwith.
I look forward with great anticipation to sharing a dance with you before the Season is over.
Yours truly,
Serena
Serena signed her name with her characteristic flourish. It was so gratifying to have someone in whom to confide. She couldn’t be so honest with Zoe or her parents, and her father was too immersed in the country’s problems to be mindful of hers. At least Archer would be sympathetic.
As she folded the stiff lettersheet and addressed it, the maid came to her sitting room. Serena groaned. Although the girl was assigned to her as a lady’s companion by Rachel Askey, the chambermaid was woefully inadequate for that station. There seemed to be no abundance of well-bred ladies in the Highlands of Scotland fit to serve this purpose, and even less concern among its people to observe the dictates of Polite Society in that regard.
To add to Serena’s irritation, the girl’s brogue was so thick that Serena could understand only every third word the mousy young thing said. And just calling her seemed an insurmountable task—her name, Caointiorn, was impossible for Serena to pronounce.
True to form, Caointiorn said something that sounded like words a drunkard would say. Backward.
“Pardon?” Serena said.
Caointiorn repeated herself, and this time, Serena could just make it out—her presence was requested downstairs, where the ambassador wanted a word.
“Thank you, Quint—Quinch—” Serena sighed.
“Thank you, Quinny. Please tell him I’ll be down directly. Oh, and Quinny … please ask the groomsman to saddle my horse. I feel like a brisk ride.”
“Aye, miss,” she said as she shut the door behind her.
Serena grinned as she sealed the lettersheet with a pool of red wax. She placed a hopeful kiss upon the letter before flouncing downstairs.
As she passed through the house, she silently wished good-bye to the smell of baking oatcakes wafting from the kitchen, the bleating of sheep whispering from outside the window, and the wretched quiet that pervaded the whole of her existence. She would never again take the intrusive smells, sounds, and sights of London for granted. The sooner she got to London, the better. Maybe her father was about to give her the news she’d been waiting for.
She smoothed out her lavender silk dress and breezed through the parlor door. “Good morning, Father.”
“Good morning, Serena,” her father responded.
He was wearing what she called his “official costume,” a black coat and gold brocade vest that made him look distinctively statesmanlike. “I’m surprised to see you here today. I thought you were going fishing with Lord Askey on Loch Ness.”
“I’m afraid there will be no such pleasures for the time being. Serena, there is someone I would like you to meet.”
She saw no one else in the room. She looked at her father quizzically. “Who?”
“Me.”
The deep voice came from behind her, startling her. She spun around to look at him, and her mouth fell open.
He was a man of unusual height, standing a full foot over her own five-and-a-half-foot frame. Like her father, he was dressed in a black coat and trousers, but the inferior cut and cloth of his coat gave him away immediately as a Scotsman. Coal-black hair undulated around his head, echoed in the wide eyebrows that feathered back toward his temples. A dark shadow spread across his chin and cheeks, bluing with the threat of tomorrow’s beard. She craned her neck to look into his green eyes, which looked down upon her from underneath thick black lashes.
Her father came and stood between them. “Mr. Slayter, may I present my daughter, Serena Marsh. Serena, this is Malcolm Slayter. Your protector.”
She halted in mid-curtsy, righting herself awkwardly. “My what?”
His forehead crinkled in bemusement as he straightened from his bow. “Mind ye don’t fall over.”
A crease formed between Serena’s eyebrows as she eyed the man suspiciously. “Father?”
Earlington lowered his voice. “I’ve retained the services of Mr. Slayter to safeguard your well-being for the duration of our stay in Scotland, which will take longer than I had first supposed.”
Serena began to reel from the words she heard. Longer. Duration. Stay. The permanence of it made her head spin.
“But Father, I—” Serena sat down upon the settee. There was so much she wanted to say, but couldn’t. “This was meant to be a short trip. As it is, we’ve been here almost four weeks. I was quite looking forward to my life—that is, our life—back in London.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, poppet,” he said, taking the place beside her. “There are graver issues at stake than I had at first surmised. And to drive that point home, the factions have resorted to more threatening tactics. Mr. Slayter, please show her the letter.”
Malcolm held the letter out to Serena. She took it from his gloved hand and gave it a cursory glance.
“But clearly these people wish to convey their hostile intentions. Let us return to England. You can still serve our interests from home.”
Malcolm squinted at her. “Does this letter no’ frighten ye?”
Serena seemed to regard him for the first time. “Not in the least, Mr.—er—”
“Slayter,” he provided.
“Mr. Slayter. It does, however, make me wonder why my father would wish to remain here, even under the threat of such antagonism.”
Earlington put a pale hand upon Serena’s. “I have my duty.”
“Your duty will not get done if you are dead,” she said, bolting off the settee.
“With all due respect, miss,” interrupted Malcolm, “the letter is not threatening him. It is threatening ye.”
Serena flashed him a haughty look. “I appreciate your concern, Mr.—er—”
His lips pursed. “Slayter.”
“Slayter, yes,” she repeated in annoyance. “But you clearly do not understand my father’s condition. He suffers from a weak heart. If any mischief befalls me, his heart will not be able to take the strain of it.”
“Then perhaps ye ought to take his advice and return to England, where he knows ye’ll be safe.”
Serena grew irritated at his familiarity. “As I have explained to my father, it is out of the question. I cannot in good conscience leave him alone.”
Earlington rose and stood beside the tall man. “Which is why Mr. Slayter is here. He will serve as your protector. He is skilled in battle, criminal detection, security, and high-risk fugitive pursuit, and he can properly defend you against anyone meaning to do you harm.”
Serena’s gaze dusted down the length of her presumed protector. His hardened expression proclaimed he had been in quite a few skirmishes already—and did not always emerge unscathed. His brow, cheek, and chin had tiny scars that contrasted whitely with his tanned complexion. The size and breadth of his imposing body made him look quite formidable, and she could only imagine the lethal skills he possessed. Certainly the type of figure that Serena would cross the road to avoid.
Her father continued. “He will be your constant companion, and will follow you wherever you g
o. Lord Askey assures me that Mr. Slayter is a man of honor and integrity, and can be trusted to accompany an unmarried lady. I don’t wish to risk injury to your reputation, but given the level of the threat, it’s imperative that he remain near you at all times.”
The tall man turned to her father. “I’ll speak to each of the servants of the kitchens, household, and stables to charge them with my new security measures. The doors to the house will be kept locked all along the day, and I’m to be informed immediately of any visitors. No servant will engage tradesmen without getting an aye from me first. If anyone from the outside is needed on the estate, I’m to know beforehand. I’ll also make certain that no one accepts food or articles from people they don’t know well, especially things meant for the family. Lord Askey tells me that the servants have been with the family for years, and they’ve shown themselves loyal, to a man. Dinna worry, Commissioner Marsh. In my care, yer daughter will be safe as mother’s milk.”
Serena swiped both hands down her face. “Father, this really isn’t necessary. You mustn’t take such petty threats to heart.” She turned to the black-haired man. “I’m sorry that you were bothered—”
“Mr. Slayter.”
Fire flashed in her eyes. “I was aware of that!”
A smirk touched his lips. “I believe in preparing for the worst.”
Her hands pinned to her hips. “As I was about to say, there will be no need of your services. To his credit, my father is being overly protective. But I can’t allow him to be fooled by these … juvenile pranks. My father will see you are adequately remunerated for your trouble. You may leave us now, with our thanks for your offered assistance.”
He crossed his arms at his chest. “I’m no’ going anywhere, Miss Marsh.”
Her neck stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yer father is the one who’s engaged me, and I will answer to no one but him. And the fact that ye make so little of the letter in yer hand leads me to think that ye’re either very brave or very daft. Personally, I’m hoping it’s the former. But yer casual attitude toward yer own safety—and yer father’s duty—leads me to question my assessment.”
Her eyes became round as saucers. “How dare you speak to me in so insulting a fashion! Father, discharge this man at once.”
Ever the agent of appeasement, Earlington stepped between them. “Mr. Slayter, despite her delicate appearance, my daughter is a very strong woman. She has never been one to back down from a challenge, even as a little girl. I’m certain she realizes fully what is at stake. Nevertheless, I cannot take any chances with her safety.” Earlington took Serena’s hands in his. “Serena, my dear, I need you to please me in this matter. I know that having Mr. Slayter as a constant presence may be a slight inconvenience. But at least with a protector you will not be a prisoner of your rooms. As long as Mr. Slayter is with you, you may be at liberty to ride, take walks, and travel into the village. And if your desire is that my heart should be at peace, then please accept Mr. Slayter as your protector.”
Serena looked into her father’s concerned face, and the rigid reluctance in her posture softened. She sighed deeply.
But one glance at Mr. Slayter, whose expression was just a shade too triumphant, and she stiffened once more.
“Mr. Slayter, I hope that you have a thoroughly unpleasant stay.” She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.
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 To
wn 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.
Secrets to Seducing a Scot Page 5
