Not Another Nob (The Marriage Maker Book 32)

by Annabelle Anders

  Lady Alison has a penchant for mischief. How else could she end up in the bedchamber of the notorious rake Viscount Weston? She expected to rescue her foolish cousin, instead she finds herself engaged…and embroiled in the devious exploits of sex slave traders.

  Cameron Hunter, Viscount Weston’s business dealings require discretion. The last thing he needs is a mischievous wife. However, Lady Alison might be the perfect distraction. A wife as opposed to marriage as he is.

  Dangerous games are afoot. Now assumptions have Alison in the hands of the enemy. Cameron must keep his secrets, rescue his betrothed, and convince her he isn’t the man she believes him to be.

  Excerpt—

  Alison pulled her hood closer against the night chill as she hurried up the walkway toward Lord Weston’s home. Nearly at the door, she slowed and cast a glance back at the darkened street. As expected, her walk from her carriage, parked two blocks over, had been quiet and she had noticed no one peering from windows. If anyone had seen her, they would mistake her for a maid on her way home after an afternoon off. Alison turned right and crept around the side of the house. According to the note she’d found in her cousin’s room, the pantry door at the rear would be open.

  Thankfully, Alison had taken supper at Erin’s home and found the note on her sitting room desk. Foolish girl. Erin was too enamored, too full of fairytale romance, to see Cameron Hunter for the devil he was.

  “Damn you, Cameron Hunter,” she muttered. “I will have your head for this.”

  She reached the door and took the two steps up. Carefully, she turned the knob and opened the door a slit. The door hinge creaked. Alison winced and stilled. Silence emanated from the darkened kitchen. She breathed a sigh of relief, then slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She had to ascend to the third floor where the viscount’s private chambers were located.

  A tremor rippled through her stomach. Alison had wracked her brain to try to remember whether the earl had left for Edinburgh or if they were here in Inverness, but to no avail. She didn’t heed local gossip—a fact she now regretted. Alison shuddered at the thought of the Earl catching her sneaking into his house.

  As directed in the note, Alison took the servants’ stairs to the right and climbed to the third floor. She crept to the first door on the right and halted. If she entered the wrong room... This was ridiculous. The viscount knew his own house. There was no mistake. Still, the situation bothered her beyond the obvious moral implications. She’d never once heard of him bringing a dalliance into his father’s house. Then again, she didn’t keep up on all the gossip—and, no matter what he’d done in the past, he had invited Erin, a virgin of only eighteen years, into his home. Into his bedchambers, no less.

  Her fury fired anew. She would cut off his bollocks.

  Alison turned the knob slowly and peeked inside the room. Candlelight cast a soft glow across the carpet. She slipped inside and eased the door shut. When the latch clicked into place, she winced and held her breath. The small sound had seemed to fill the silent room. No one called out.

  No one called out.

  She whirled and scanned the room. A single lit taper sat on the table between two chairs that faced the empty hearth. Shadows filled the corners and reached out from the bed centered against the far right wall. Where was the viscount? Alison squinted at the bed. Was he asleep? Surely, he didn’t expect Erin to simply climb into bed with him?

  Alison crossed to the bed and discerned that the covers were made. A door was located to the left of the bed. Probably a dressing closet. No light shone from beneath. She turned. Where was he? Had she made a mistake in the time? Impossible.

  She hurried to the candle, threw back her hood and pulled the note from her cloak pocket. Alison unfolded the paper and tilted the note toward the light.

  My Love,

  Meet me tonight at my home at 1:00. I will leave the kitchen door unlocked. Take the servants’ stairs located to the right and go to the third floor. My room is the first on the right. We will be alone, so you need not worry, we will have the privacy I promised you.

  I cannot wait until you are in my arms again,

  Cam

  Her blood boiled as it had each of the other times she’d read the note. We will have all the privacy I promised you. What other promises had he made? Not one of marriage, she would wager. Her gaze returned to the endearment my love. He knew exactly how to manipulate an impressionable young woman. So why wasn’t he here? Damn him again. Why invite Erin to his bedchambers, then not be here?

  Alison stuffed the note back into her pocket and crept from the room and back down the stairs. She reached the pantry, then hesitated. Where would the viscount be this time of night? She snorted. In some other lady’s bed, no doubt. It was well known he kept a mistress in a nondescript neighborhood of Inverness. One in Edinburgh, as well, if gossip was to be believed. She grimaced. Apparently, she did listen to gossip. Unfortunately, this time, it wasn’t the kind that would help.

  Her heart fell. There was nothing to be done. She couldn’t very well go in search of him—even if she knew where he was. Should she have waited for him in his room? God only knew when the scoundrel would return. Perhaps not even tonight. Her ire mounted. It was bad enough he enticed Erin into his bed, but to not be there was the height of arrogance—and cruelty. Erin was naïve and reckless. But to be so carelessly rejected by his absence would be a dagger to her heart. By God, if she knew where he was, she would find him, consequences be damned.

  The creak of a door snapped her mind to attention. A man’s laughter followed, then a male voice said, “You are no’ on the docks in Glasgow, James. Your carriage is safe on the street here in Inverness.”

  Viscount Weston.

  Alison’s heart jumped to a gallop. He wasn’t alone.

  “If there is any trouble, my driver is not above leaving me here stranded,” replied another male voice.

  “I suggest you find a new driver, then,” the viscount said.

  “Easy for ye to say,” the other rejoined. “Good drivers are hard to come by these days.”

  “He does not sound like a good driver,” Lord Weston said.

  “Everyone has at least one flaw, Hunter. This man happens to be good with a knife and a pistol. In our line of work, that makes him a good man to employ.”

  Deep, rich laughter followed. “I suppose you have a point.”

  Alison’s thoughts raced. The viscount was home and, not only had he brought a friend, but the friend had a driver sitting outside the house. How would she leave without being noticed? To make matters worse, the driver knew how to use a knife and gun. Her heart sank. Might she escape through the garden? If there was no rear gate, she would never be able to scale the wall. It was twice her height. Either way, she had to leave.

  The scrape of wood told her a pocket door was being opened. The library or study?

  “Have a seat,” the viscount said. He had stepped inside the room.

  Alison took the three steps to the door, reached for the handle, then stopped. When she’d entered, the door had creaked loudly. The short hallway between pantry and study made it easy to hear the men talking with the door open. Which meant they would hear the door creak open. Alison closed her eyes and prayed they would close the door. She had to try to sneak past the driver outside. In a few minutes, he would likely be asleep…or shooting her for trespassing.

  “How much will he pay?” the viscount said.

  Alison’s heart fell. The men were discussing business. She balled one hand into a fist. Cameron Hunter was talking business while believing Erin awaited him in his bedchambers. Did he expect his lovers to wait until he was ready to ravish them?

  “Brandy?” the viscount offered his guest.

  Alison chewed her bottom lip. What if they talked until dawn? She couldn’t possibly hide the entire night. She had to return and free Erin from the closet where Alison had locked her. When she left, Erin had been livid. Erin would, no doubt, be even more furious when
Alison freed her. Her cousin’s anger was a small price to pay for saving her from a man like Lord Weston. Alison didn’t want to consider the confrontation with Cousin Henry should he discover she wasn’t home.

  Might she risk slipping out the door? When she’d entered, the creak had sounded in an empty room. Everything sounded louder in silence. She took one step toward the door.

  “As high as five thousand pounds for the right girl,” the man said.

  Alison halted. Girl?

  “A beautiful virgin is worth a fortune,” the viscount said.

  “Aye,” the other man replied. “Those girls must be young and very pretty—minor nobility or the gentry, or perhaps exceptionally beautiful. For those of the lower class, twelve hundred pounds. Still, that is a fortune. And—just as you suspected—he said he can pay that sum as often as we can provide the girls.”

  “What is our share?” Viscount Weston asked.

  “Twenty percent.”

  “Two hundred and forty pounds for the crime of kidnapping a woman—a minor noblewoman or a gentlewoman,” said his lordship.

  Alison barely stifled a gasp. Kidnapping?

  “Napier is of the mind we can harvest the young working class until the clients’ money runs out.”

  Good God, Cameron Hunter, the future 8th Earl of Weston, was a kidnapper?

  Alison jarred at the quiet thump of approaching bootfalls. She wouldn’t get as far as the street before getting caught. Alison veered toward the servants’ stairs and hurried up. Her sleeve snagged on a splinter of wood on the door jamb and ripped. She stifled a cry and kept going.

  Thank God she’d worn her evening slippers. She’d borrowed one of her maid’s work dresses, but the girl’s shoes were too small, and Alison had been forced to wear her slippers. They made no sound on the stairs. She reached the third floor, ducked into the viscount’s room and collapsed, back against the door, breathing hard.

  She simply couldn’t believe it. She didn’t know Cameron Hunter well, but he’d seemed the typical rake. Too much money, too much idle time, and lots of gambling. His note to Erin was indicative of a man who believed his power over women to be absolute. A bored, arrogant nobleman. But to partake in the criminal world? Would he go that far to relieve his boredom?

  The door abruptly shoved open, sending Alison tumbling forward. She landed on the floor, shoulder first, and rolled onto her back to find herself staring up into Viscount Weston’s face.

  ***

  Cameron cursed. Was the woman lying on her back in his bedchambers the Earl of Kincaid’s daughter?

  Cameron reached for her arm. “You have some explaining to do, Lady Alison.”

  She slapped his hand. “Do not touch me.”

  “Lower your voice,” he ordered.

  She scooted backwards. “I will scream.”

  “For Christ’s sake, get up.”

  She stared for a moment, then pushed to her feet. Her dress caught beneath her slippered foot and she toppled forward. Cameron caught her, all lush curves and smelling faintly of jasmine.

  She snapped her head up and scowled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here,” he growled. “The question is, what are you doing here?”

  Even in the candlelight, he discerned her narrowed eyes.

  “I’m sure I am quite the surprise,” she said.

  “You have a knack for understatement, my lady, particularly given that you are in my arms.”

  She drew a sharp breath and yanked free. “You were expecting someone else we both know,” she said in an oversweet tone. “A charming, yet foolish, young lady.” She crossed her arms over her breasts. “You don’t like having your plans spoiled, do you?”

  “Have you gone mad?” he demanded. “If you are discovered here, your reputation will be ruined beyond repair.”

  She snorted. “How chivalrous of you. However, we both know that you are hardly this generous to all your late-night lovers. Should I feel honored that you’d defend my reputation?”

  “What?” Fire ripped through him. “Madam, let me make myself perfectly clear. You could parade naked from my bedchambers and tell the entire world I compromised you, and I still would not marry you.”

  “Would not marry me?” she cried. “That’s rich. I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth.”

  The words, and her sarcasm, startled him, but he didn’t have time to listen. Contrary to his threat, his father wouldn’t be pleased if an unwed noblewoman were caught in his room—naked or not.

  “I must finish my business,” he said. “You are no’ to leave this room until I return. Understand?”

  She frowned. “Nae, I do not believe I can accommodate your request.”

  He took a step toward her. “You will do as I say.”

  “I believe it is in my best interest to leave. Only you know that I am here.”

  “The last thing you want is for someone to see you slinking from this house.”

  “Someone who is good with a knife and gun?”

  Cameron started. “You little fool.” He gripped her arm and gave her a hard shake. “Remain here, be quiet, and I will cut short my business—”

  “I know about your business,” she interrupted. “If you think I will remain here, you are very much mistaken. Is your father aware you deal in prostitution?”

  His jaw clenched, but he forced a slow breath. Despite her attempt to entrap him, he couldn’t blame her for misinterpreting the conversation between him and James.

  “Things are no’ what they seem, Lady Alison. I must have your word that you will not leave.” She didn’t reply, and he added, “You said you wouldn’t marry me if I were the last man alive. If that is true, then you will not want to be discovered here alone with me.” She hesitated, and he pressed his advantage. “Stay here. Once James is gone, I will see you safely home.”

  “I will not remain silent on what I heard tonight.”

  “If I were truly the nefarious fellow you believe me to be, that admission would get you killed,” he said.

  She said nothing.

  “I am not a kidnapper. I will explain when I return.” He lifted his brow in expectation.

  Her gaze sharpened, but she gave a curt nod. He gave her no chance to say more, but turned and left, firmly closing the door behind him. Cameron hurried down the hall, then the stairs. Why couldn’t the noise he’d heard have been one of the servants returned home early, as he’d feared? What the bloody hell was Lady Alison Clarenton doing in his house? Cameron reached his study.

  “All is well?” James sipped the earl’s twenty-year-old cognac from a snifter.

  “Just as I thought, my valet returned early.” God, he was too good a liar.

  James chuckled.

  Cameron smiled and picked up his glass. “Back to the business at hand.”

  “Napier wants six girls,” James said. “They must be blonde, between thirteen and sixteen and, of course, they must be virgins.”

  “Six?” Cameron shook his head. “Six girls, virgins, regardless of their station, would be missed—particularly girls of that age. He must know that is impossible.”

  “Quite a test, do you not agree?”

  Cameron nodded. “Sallie could pass for sixteen, but we have no one who could pass for anything younger than fifteen.”

  James’s brows dove downward. “We cannot actually involve women in this plan.”

  Cameron snorted. “How do you suppose we will secure Napier’s trust if we cannot produce even one woman?”

  “I just assumed we would arrange a meeting with his superior, then arrest them.”

  Cameron liked James, but he’d worried that the Bow Street officer might not be experienced enough in infiltrating a crime organization like Napier’s. It seemed his fears were founded.

  “You do no’ understand the law, James.” James opened his mouth to reply, but Cameron added, “Aye, you understand when a man breaks the law, but the law is not so clear when it comes to putting him
in prison. It isn’t enough for Napier to discuss with us the kidnapping of women. We must catch him in the act. But, as you know, even that is not enough. We need to snare his superior. Napier has a great deal of power, but the man who runs this operation is far more dangerous. We must discover his identity.”

  James released a breath. “Aye, ye are right, of course. ‘Tis just that they have stayed one step ahead of us. Damn it, Hunter, I want these bastards.”

  A loud bang sounded at the front door. Cameron leapt to his feet. “Who the bloody hell could that be at this time of night?”

  “Come on.” He dragged James to his feet and herded him toward the bookshelf on the left hand wall. “We will finish this later. You cannot be seen here.” His life was becoming more complicated by the hour.

  They reached the bookcase and Cameron pulled the volume of Hamlet from its place on the fourth shelf and yanked down on the hidden lever. The shelf sprang open an inch.

  “What’s this?” James exclaimed.

  “This is your escape.” Cameron scooped up a small taper burning on the nearby desk and thrust it into his hands. “The passageway leads to the north side of the yard. The door is in the middle of the dead end. Simply press on the middle of the wall and release. The door will spring open.”

  The pounding came again, this time loud enough to rattle the door.

  Cameron shoved James inside, then pushed shut the shelf and whirled.

  “Hunter, open the damn door,” a man shouted as Cameron hurried across the room.

  Thank God, his father wasn’t due home for another night. The pounding continued. Cameron burst into the hallway and raced down the corridor. He flung open the door and stopped short at sight of Harrison Lennox standing at his threshold with Roger Selwick.

  “Good hell, Lennox, what are you doing here at this time of night?” Cameron demanded

  “Out of my way.” Lennox shoved past him. “Where is she?”

  She? Lady Alison.

  “Lennox, if you’ll give me a minute to explain—” he began, but the man charged up the stairs.

  “As I am sure you can explain what happened in the garden two nights ago.”