Never Seduce a Scoundrel

by Sabrina Jeffries

  When he slid one hand inside her cloak to caress her breast, he was surprised to find fewer layers of clothing than usual. He drew back to grin at her. “You didn’t wear the corset.”

  “I couldn’t put it on by myself,” she said peevishly, “as you know very well.”

  “I’m sorry, darlin’,” he drawled.

  “No, you’re not. If you had your way, I’d be traveling naked.”

  “Now that you mention it…” Eyes gleaming, he opened her cloak and reached for her buttons.

  But this time she shoved his hands away. “Oh no, you don’t. We’ll stop to change horses soon, and I don’t intend to be lying naked beneath you when we do.”

  “Fine. We can keep our clothes on.”

  “No,” she said, staying his hand as he reached for his trouser buttons.

  “Had enough of my ‘manly form’ already?” he grumbled.

  “No, but you haven’t finished telling me about your parents.”

  With a groan, he sat back against the seat. “What else is there to tell, for God’s sake?”

  “I don’t know how or why they died.”

  That was the last thing he wanted to discuss with her. Still, as his wife, she had the right to know.

  When he continued to hesitate, she went on, “Lady Kirkwood said it was tragic, but she didn’t elaborate—”

  “My father hanged himself.” The minute the bald statement was out of his mouth, he wished it back. “He threw a rope over a rafter in one of the Baltimore Maritime buildings and kicked away the chair he stood on.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Good Lord. I’m so sorry, Lucas, I had no idea. Lady Kirkwood didn’t even hint at that.”

  “Of course not,” he said tersely. “It’s the shameful family secret. Except it wasn’t that secret—he was found by a company clerk when the man came in to work.” Bile rose in his throat. “The Baltimore newspapers discussed it at length.”

  He stared blindly ahead. “Not that I got to read them. Oh no, I wasn’t there. And by the time I even learned of it, Mother was dying, too, so I only have the little bit she was able to tell me in her last hours.”

  His throat ached as he remembered his anxious return to Baltimore. How he’d burst into his house to find strangers living in it, who’d bought it from his father before his suicide. They’d kindly directed him to the hospital, which was swarming with his mother’s kin, whom he’d never even met until that day. Surrounded by those vultures, she’d barely been sensible enough to speak.

  “What did she die of?” Amelia said softly.

  “Shame,” he snapped. Then he sighed. “Or it might as well have been. After Father’s death, Mother moved into a lodging house and then…just languished there. When there was no word from me, no answer to her urgent letters begging me to return, she assumed I was dead, too, and I think she just gave up. She didn’t have me—or Father—to take care of her anymore, so she willed herself to die. By the time she learned I was alive, it was too late.”

  “But Lady Kirkwood said she died three years ago. Wasn’t the war over by then? So why were you not—”

  “There? A very good question.” He took a shuddering breath. She’d have to know about Dartmoor eventually. But could he tell her without revealing the full truth about his father’s death?

  He had to. Because he damned well couldn’t tell her the whole truth until the mess with her stepmother was done.

  He turned to look out the window, trying to figure out where to begin.

  Then, as he stared unseeing at the heather, lost in thought, what he was looking at registered. Something looked strange. The clouds had lifted, and now he could see the sun rising…in the wrong place.

  “What is it, Lucas?” Amelia asked.

  His blood began to pound. “We’re going west, deeper into Scotland. That can’t be right.”

  “Perhaps the postboy misunderstood—”

  Somehow Lucas doubted it. Thrusting his head out the window, he called up, “Boy, we’re supposed to be headed to Carlisle!”

  “Aye, sir,” the boy responded. “This is the shorter way.”

  “That can’t be—”

  The coach lurched suddenly, throwing him across the carriage. By the time he caught his balance and got back to the window, he couldn’t make himself heard over the thundering hooves.

  This was bad. Very, very bad. Knowing he might have little time, he dragged the pistol case from under the seat and began to load his pistol.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Climb up onto the perch and get the damned postboy’s attention.”

  “Are you mad? You’ll kill yourself!”

  “But it will be quite an adventure, won’t it?” he quipped as he shoved the loaded pistol into the band of his trousers.

  “That’s not funny,” she said hoarsely.

  Bending over, he brushed a kiss to her lips. “I’ll be fine. I’ve done this kind of thing before.” He handed her his sheathed knife. “Hide this somewhere on your person just in case.”

  He reached for the door just as the carriage slowed. They barely had time to brace themselves before it came to an abrupt halt.

  Shouts from nearby and the sounds of men surrounding them alarmed him. Amelia leaned toward the other window, and he jerked her back. “Don’t let them see you until we know who it is,” he growled.

  The carriage door swung open. “Come on out, then,” said a voice in a heavy Scottish brogue. “And if you want to live, don’t be doin’ nothin’ foolish, ye ken?”

  Lucas climbed out slowly to gain time to assess the situation. Three masked men in motley garb faced him—one on horseback brandishing a pistol and two on the ground aiming blunderbusses at him. The traitorous postboy held the horses.

  “Your lady, too,” the fellow on horseback said with a more cultured voice than the first man.

  Lucas wished he could shoot them both right there. But his pistol contained only one shot and he’d be dead before he could reload, leaving Amelia at their mercy. Fighting to remain calm for her sake, he turned and lifted her down.

  Thankfully, he’d gained her enough time to hide the knife under her cloak. But not enough to put up her hair. It fell about her shoulders like a rich velvet cape, lustrous and rippling and bursting with vitality. She looked as if she’d just been bedded, and the thought of these asses seeing her like that made him want to slaughter them all.

  Steady, man, steady.This is no time to unleash your temper.

  The man nearest them said, “Here’s a right fine lady for the laddies.”

  “We’re not here for that, Robbie,” said the leader. “So you’d best be putting your eyes back in your head.”

  Heart thundering, Lucas slid his arm about Amelia’s waist and pulled her close. “You’re welcome to our money if you’ll just release us unharmed.”

  Robbie thrust the blunderbuss in his face. “Let go of the lady and keep your mouth shut.”

  Gritting his teeth, Lucas did as he was bade.

  The Scot on horseback gestured to Amelia. “You’re the lady who’s friend to Lady Venetia Campbell, aren’t you?”

  “How did you—” She broke off with an accusing glance at the postboy. “You must have heard what I said at the inn.”

  The boy shrugged. “Word gets round.”

  Her gaze swung to the leader. “I suppose you’re the one they call the Scottish Scourge.”

  “Aye.” He smiled. “And you, my lady, are going to be my guest for a while.”

  Lucas went cold. “Now see here, you damned Scot, you can’t take—” He broke off when Robbie thrust the blunderbuss against his chest.

  “In these parts, I do as I please,” the scoundrel said. “And in case you decide to get brave after we leave…” He jerked his head toward Robbie. “Make sure he has no weapons in his pockets. And search the carriage, too.”

  Lucas groaned as the Scots found not only the pistol on him, but the sword and rifle under the carri
age seat. He could only pray they didn’t search Amelia.

  Robbie scowled up at the Scourge. “He’s got plenty of weapons.”

  The Scourge looked none too happy. “Why are you so heavily armed?” he demanded.

  “I’m a major in the American Marine Guard.”

  “Holy Christ, Jamie,” the man grumbled at the postboy. “You didn’t say the lady’s husband was a Yankee officer. What the devil am I to do with him ? If I leave him, he won’t rest until he gets the girl back. He isn’t some English lord who’ll wring his hands and wait for the authorities to act.”

  “I say we kill him,” Robbie said, thrusting his blunderbuss right in Lucas’s face. “He isn’t worth the trouble he’ll cause—”

  “No killing.” The Scourge muttered a curse. “Looks like we’ll have to take him, too.” He turned to the postboy. “Ride the coach over to the French Horn Inn in Carlisle. I’ll be along presently to give you instructions.”

  “Now see here,” Amelia cried, “what do you mean to do with us?”

  The Scourge eyed her coldly. “You’d best pray that Lady Venetia is as good a friend to you as you claim. Because her father is the one who’ll be paying your ransom.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dear Cousin,

  We have still heard nothing of Amelia and her new husband, whoever he may be. Lord Tovey torments Lady Kirkwood daily for information, but her ladyship has been most unhelpful. She seems more concerned that her son’s carriage be returned unharmed than she does about whether Major Winter was able to stop Lord Pomeroy. Have none of your connections learned anything?

  Your anxious friend,

  Charlotte

  Amelia couldn’t believe that merely mentioning Venetia at the inn had gotten them taken prisoner. Thanks to her, the Scots now prodded Lucas up a hill at the end of a blunderbuss while Amelia traveled astride a horse before the Scottish Scourge himself.

  The next time she prayed for more adventure, she’d be sure to specify what sort. This being kidnapped grew exceedingly tedious.

  “It’s absurd to hold someone for ransom and ask her friends to pay it,” Amelia grumbled at her captor. “What possible quarrel could you have with Lord Duncannon that’s bad enough to warrant kidnapping people?”

  “Quiet! I don’t need your tongue just now.”

  She sat there seething, biding her time, hoping she and Lucas could escape later. At least she still had his knife. She’d shoved it in the only hiding place she could think of—her bodice.

  They crested the top of the hill, and she spotted a ruined castle in the little valley below them. “Is that where we’re going? To that ruin?”

  “Hardly. The boys claim it’s haunted, so they won’t go near it. A lot of rot, I say, but you can’t tell them that.” He paused. “And since you insist on chattering, tell me something of use: Is Lady Venetia as beautiful as the London papers claim?”

  A Scottish kidnapper who read the London papers. How extraordinary. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.”

  But she could sense his irritation. Perhaps she should encourage him to reveal something that might help her unmask him if they ever escaped. “Venetia is the most beautiful woman I know. Men trip over themselves trying to marry her.”

  He tensed. “Then why does she remain a maid?”

  “I suppose she hasn’t yet found a man she likes.”

  “Or a man her father will approve,” he said dryly.

  “So you know her father personally?”

  He growled, “That’s enough chatter. You’d be better off preparing yourself for a long stay in Scotland than trying to get the truth out of me.”

  She sighed. Her spying skills clearly still needed work. It was most annoying.

  As they rode down the steep hill, she saw beyond the castle a stand of beech and firs surrounded on all sides by oat fields. They passed through the half-grown oats, then entered the little island of forest, picking their way through the trees until they reached the center. They stopped by a burned-out fire where the brigands had apparently spent the night.

  After sliding off the back of the horse, her captor helped her dismount, then gestured to Lucas. “Bind the Yankee’s ankles and tie him to a tree.” He mounted his horse again. “I’m headed off to instruct Jamie and set up a place more permanent for our guests.”

  “And the woman?” Robbie asked. “Bind her, too?”

  “She’s not going anywhere without him—not a fine English lady like her. But if you’re worried, tie her hands. In front of her, ye ken?” He scowled at the men. “Don’t be getting ideas about touching her. She’s worth more to me unharmed.”

  Amelia watched with a sinking heart as their leader rode off across the field, leaving his accomplices eyeing her and Lucas as they’d eye a couple of plump chickens ready for the plucking.

  The younger fellow held his blunderbuss on her while Robbie forced Lucas to sit, then bound Lucas’s hands together around the tree and his legs in front.

  Robbie rose to face her. “Your turn.”

  She thrust her hands out, swearing that when this was over, she would make Lucas teach her how to use a weapon. She’d be damned if she’d ever let some scoundrel tie her hands again.

  “Sit,” Robbie barked when he was done.

  After she did, he went to the other side of the spent fire to set down his blunderbuss. Sweeping aside some leaves, he drew a jug out of a hole in the ground, then sat and drank. His friend walked over to join him on the ground, laying aside his own weapon to seize the jug and swig from it.

  Lucas called out, “Damned inhospitable of you not to offer me any.”

  “This is good Scotch whiskey,” Robbie said. “I’m not wasting it on a Yankee.”

  “I dunno,” the other man said. “He might be easier to handle if he’s foxed. And God knows no Yankee could hold much of our whiskey.”

  Robbie laughed cruelly. “True. Well then, give the man a snort.” As his friend rose, he said, “No, wait—he just wants you away from the weapons so he can attack you. Send the girl.”

  With her heart thundering in her ears, Amelia waited. She mustn’t look too eager. This was her chance to slip Lucas the knife.

  Robbie sneered at her. “Well, girl, didn’t you hear me? Come take the jug. You can manage that, can’t you, even if you are a fine lady?”

  Trying to look offended, she rose and went to clasp the jug in her bound hands. As she walked toward Lucas, she used the jug’s mouth to push the cloak back over her shoulders, then maneuver the sheathed knife up between her breasts. By the time she bent over to offer Lucas the jug, the hilt was thrust up very nicely.

  “Interesting hiding place,” Lucas murmured.

  With her hands bound, she couldn’t hold the jug and also extricate the knife, so she whispered, “Pull it out, will you?” She thrust the hilt close to his mouth.

  He caught it with his teeth and slid it free, his eyes gleaming up at her. She wanted to brain him. How could he think of that in a situation like this?

  As soon as it was out, she moved the jug closer so she could tuck the sheathed knife under her fingers.

  “Drop it by my hands,” Lucas whispered.

  “Hey!” Robbie cried from where he was sprawled. “Do you mean to give him the whole damned thing, for God’s sake?”

  “He’s thirsty, that’s all,” she threw back over her shoulder.

  Her pulse pounded furiously as she dropped the knife. While Lucas sank lower so he could run his bound hands over it, she shrugged her cloak back into place.

  “Come on then, that’s enough,” Robbie said.

  “Got it,” Lucas whispered. “Now distract them.”

  She straightened, turned, and walked toward the men. When she’d gone far enough past so they were forced to turn away from Lucas to look at her, she lifted the jug to her lips. “I do hope you gentlemen won’t begrudge me any of this.”

  Robbie laughed. “Not a bit. But if you can get that down your throat
without choking, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “Fine.” Never one to resist a challenge, she took a swallow—then sputtered and spat. Lord, what would ever possess a man to drink that?

  As Robbie laughed, an idea struck her, and making sure both men watched, she “accidentally” spilled it down her front.

  “Zounds, what a clumsy wench,” Robbie snapped as he leaped up and took the jug from her.

  She glanced behind him. Lucas’s hands were free, and he sawed at the ropes around his ankles with grim purpose.

  She batted her eyelashes at Robbie. “It’s seeping into the fabric.” Loosening the ties of her cloak with her bound hands, she shrugged it off. “This nasty whiskey will destroy my delicate skin.”

  Robbie’s eyes scoured her, taking in her now damp and clinging gown. Thank goodness for breasts and tight bodices.

  His friend said, “Remember what the laird ordered—”

  “I’m just looking, is all. Can’t hurt to look, can it?”

  The laird? The Scottish Scourge was a man of property?

  “Then let me have a look, too.” The younger one stood and came toward her.

  “If one of you would just wipe off the whiskey,” she said in a plaintive voice, “I would be ever so grateful…”

  “I’lldo it,” Robbie said, whipping out a handkerchief.

  Suppressing a shiver, she glanced behind them. Lucas was on his feet, creeping toward the other fellow with knife raised.

  Then everything happened quickly. Whether it was her glance or the other Scot’s instincts, as Lucas brought his knife down, the other fellow turned, and the knife caught him in the shoulder.

  As he let out a roar and Robbie’s head jerked around, she grabbed the jug from him and brought it down on his head so hard it shattered. But although he dropped to his knees wailing, he was already reaching for the pistol.

  Lucas yelled, “Run, damn it, run!”

  She rushed toward where Lucas and the other Scot struggled for control of the knife. Lucas punched the man in his wounded shoulder and broke free, then seized her by the arm and set off at a run.

  Terror hounding her, she raced along with him, though her dainty slippers were little protection for her feet. Behind them a pistol sounded, but they kept running, weaving through the trees, pounding across the forest floor. Ahead of them she saw sunlight. They were coming to the end of the grove.