by Erin Rye
Her Wicked Highland Spy
The Marriage Maker
Book Ten
The Marriage Maker Goes Undercover
Erin Rye
Scarsdale Voices
This is a Scarsdale Voices romance and is part of The Marriage Maker series written by Tarah Scott and Sue-Ellen Welfonder.
Her Wicked Highland Spy The Marriage Maker Goes Undercover Book Ten © Copyright 2018 Jennifer McCollum
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: R. Jackson Designs
Editor: Casey Yager
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Prologue
The Marriage Maker Goes Undercover
Lady Elana Gallaway, known as master spy The Raven, has made a career of navigating enemy territory and risking her life in situations and places no gentlewoman should know exists. She possesses all the social graces and is adept at sweeping into glittering royal courts on the Continent, then vanishing without a trace after she’s ferreted out the treacherous secrets that drew her there in the name of duty. She’s equally accomplished in London and Edinburgh, or wherever the British King requires her service. But never has a mission struck so close to her heart—or proved so daunting—as finding love for four retired spies.
These operatives have helped her many times, once or twice, even saving her from certain death at risk to their own lives. Now, they live solitary, lonely lives while surrounded by throngs.
Elana’s career has introduced her to more than enemies. Among her close friends is Sir Stirling James, the famous Inverness marriage maker. He’s just the man she needs.
Chapter One
Trapping a Daredevil
“The man’s impossible.” Lady Elana Gallaway jabbed the letter with a forefinger.
Sir Stirling James arched a brow.
Lady Elana, elegance personified, was a raven-haired beauty with a natural grace who held an unparalleled reputation as a woman of great composure, but upon reading the letter, this legendary composure had cracked.
“Ethan Brodie was one of the best spies in His Majesty’s service.” She rose and placed both palms flat on the surface of her mahogany, leather-topped desk. “A master of arms. Marvelously keen-witted. Unquestionably loyal. He’s so very excellent at serving king and country…” She let her voice trail away, then added in a distinctly sour tone, “But he’s appallingly awful at living a normal life.”
Stirling permitted himself a smile. “Come now, surely he can’t be the first man to find the Season tedious enough to seek entertainment elsewhere.”
She pushed the letter across the desk. “Read it. He hasn’t bothered to attend even one function where he might find a suitable wife. His excuse? Varnish. The letter is a practical ode to the stuff. He spends his every moment at work with James Sadler on their infernal hot-air contraption. I swear, the man’s more interested in the silk skirts of a balloon than those of a woman.”
Stirling settled back in the leather-tufted chair and scanned the letter as Lady Elana paced before the fire, the crackle of logs and soft swish of her burgundy gown the only sounds to be heard.
“Fascinating,” Stirling murmured.
Lady Elana paused. “I can’t say I care for that tone.”
He chuckled. “Then tell me, why the difficulty with women? Does the man lack social graces?”
“My dear fellow, I fear it’s a problem of the opposite kind,” she replied with more than a hint of dry amusement. “He’s far too comfortable charming his way under petticoats as the fancy strikes him.”
Stirling nodded and placed the letter on the desk. “Then invite yourself to his balloon endeavors and bring me along. I must meet this man in order to find his match.”
* * *
Lady Elana stepped through the French doors, out onto the veranda, and sipped a glass of lemonade as she watched Ethan Brodie of Brodie, 21st Thane and Chief of Clan Brodie, work the bellows on the lawn of his London estate. Well over six feet, he was a beast of a man, square-jawed, and with blue eyes that crinkled around the corners when he laughed.
She sighed. If only there were eligible women present. The way his muscles bulged under his white shirt couldn’t fail to catch an eye. He was a strikingly handsome man, who oozed an easy charm—a charm that had saved their lives more than once--but he’d left the King’s Service nigh on a year ago. Why hadn’t he put his charm to good use? If she could somehow manage to drag him in front of the season’s debutantes, perhaps one would manage to sink her claws in deeply enough to show the man exactly what a stable life could offer.
Across the lawn, Ethan let out a shrill whistle. A handful of men rushed forward and rearranged the patched silk balloon that lay on the grass yet again. They’d tried all morning to inflate the thing—to no avail. Even Stirling had joined, a little too eagerly for Elana’s liking, and as the afternoon passed, she could only assume he’d lost sight of their original purpose.
“Men,” she huffed under her breath. Men and their toys.
Shouts rent the air. The balloon’s multi-colored envelope began to lift off the lawn, struggling like a fledgling as various silk panels billowed from the hot air and smoke. The voices began to laugh, excited.
Then the entire contraption deflated with an audible poof.
Curses replaced the laughter as Ethan ran his hands through his thick, dark hair and wiped sweat from his brow. He clipped several curt orders, then abandoned the bellows altogether and headed her way. Stirling fell into step beside him.
Finally. Elana quickly took her seat at a nearby white-linen covered table.
“It’s the resin. It won’t hold to the seams in the salt air, I’m sure of it,” Ethan was saying as they arrived. A flawless master of accents, his natural voice held the pronounced Scottish lilt of his native Scottish Highlands.
“Indeed, I can only agree,” Stirling mused in reply.
Ethan glanced at Lady Elana with a wide grin. “A most good afternoon, my lady. To what do I owe the honor of your visit? Surely, you have not come to bully me over attending your fêtes somptueuses?” He executed a full courtly bow, complete with elaborate flourish.
“You’re incorrigible, Ethan. Tell me truly, what harm would it do you?”
“Immeasurable.” He leaned back against the veranda railing and crossed his arms. “But I shan’t waste your time. It’s a moot point. Stirling has just brought the matter of Lady Sarah to my attention.”
Elana didn’t miss the sudden tightening of Ethan’s mouth as the woman’s name fell from his lips. It wasn’t a name he would mention lightly. Lady Sarah Stafford, wife to their beloved mentor, Lord Stafford—the late Lord Stafford.
Un
beknownst to his own family, Lord Stafford had served as a master spy for decades. He’d recruited and taken a particular shine to Ethan. He’d taught the Highlander every trick he knew. For his part, Ethan had loved the man as a father, and as such, the man’s death the previous year had dealt him such a devastating blow that he’d left the King’s Service—for good.
There wasn’t a thing Ethan—or herself, for that matter—wouldn’t do for widowed Lady Sarah, a cheerful, middle-aged soul without an enemy in the world.
But now? Most curious. “Lady Sarah?” she repeated and glanced in Stirling’s direction. “She’s a distant relation of yours by marriage now, isn’t she, Stirling?”
The man sat down at the table and helped himself to a glass of lemonade. “Aye. An aunt to my wife’s cousin, Rosalyn Beaumont. The lass lives with her now and writes to my wife quite frequently. We fear, since the loss of her husband, that Lady Sarah’s health has become quite fragile. A sea holiday at Brighton would do her good, and since Ethan’s headed to his own property there, he’s kindly agreed to host them.”
Rosalyn Beaumont…so, Stirling had found a match. Elana struggled to contain her delight. She stole a quick look at Ethan. The man didn’t suspect a thing. Priceless.
“And why are you headed to Brighton?” she queried in disapproval, lest he smell the trap. “I would never deny Lady Sarah a thing, but I worry about you so, Ethan…” A sudden thought flashed across her mind and this time, her alarm was genuine. “Surely, you don’t intend to sail that contraption across the channel?”
The devilish twist of his lip confirmed that was precisely what he had in mind. Did the man miss the danger of the service so much he had to concoct it on his own now?
“Do you not have the matter of the Clan Brodie succession to solve?”
Ethan shrugged. “I still have the advantage of three younger brothers.” Then, before she could issue another complaint, he sprinted off the veranda and headed back to the balloon.
Elana waited until he was out of earshot, then faced Stirling and said with a sly smile, “So, it’s Rosalyn Beaumont?”
Stirling chuckled. “It’s the perfect match, my dear. I have no doubt I’ll soon welcome Ethan into the family. She’s precisely what he needs, but I fear, she may be more difficult to ensnare into this scheme. I’ll need your help.”
Chapter Two
Ensnaring a Minx
“He’s a two-timer,” Rosalyn Beaumont announced with absolute conviction. She tightened her lips into a hard line as she adjusted the pearl comb in the artful array of dark brown ringlets that cascaded over her shoulders. “Hand him his hat and see him to the door. For heaven’s sake, Amelia, don’t marry the man. You can do much, much better.”
A round of sighs circled the young women seated in the drawing room around her. China cups rattled to their saucers. Fans snapped up.
“I knew it,” seemed to be the predominant theme.
At Amelia’s crestfallen expression, Rosalyn gave the girl’s hand a friendly squeeze. “I’m sorry, but at least you now know he’s a cad. Imagine how miserable your life would have become if you’d found out after the wedding?” Or before he’d managed to slip his way under her skirts, as had occurred in her case.
“So true, Rosalyn.” The young Amelia resolutely lifted her chin. “I shall tell Papa this very moment I shan’t wed the man. How can I ever repay you?”
“There’s no need, truly,” Rosalyn assured, relieved to have prevented a disaster. She watched Amelia jump to her feet and dash away with a decided sense of satisfaction.
“And who will you be investigating next?” Amelia’s sister, Anne, asked.
The young women leaned in for the answer.
Rosalyn gave her reticule strings a thoughtful tug. Investigate was too strong a word. She preferred to call herself a discreet observer of men’s habits, particularly those relating to manners, hygiene, and, of course, fidelity. She also sought to answer any personal curiosities a prospective bride might have. She was a lady’s defense, a lady’s eye, if one must name her.
This season, she’d begun to score men on an overall scale from one to ten. This season, the highest mark she’d bestowed was an eight and, thereafter, three sevens. She’d never yet observed a man worthy of a ten. Amelia’s suitor had scored a dismal zero. Lacking in fidelity was entirely unforgiveable. It firmly erased any other qualities a man might possess.
“Do tell us,” the young women urged. “Who is next?”
“You know I can’t,” Rosalyn replied primly. “Secrecy is key.”
Sighs of disappointment met her statement.
“How did she become so bold?” someone whispered in admiration.
Bold? Rosalyn suppressed a snort. She certainly hadn’t started that way.
“Is it Lady Meredith?” Anne pressed, determined to ferret out any salacious hint of gossip. “They say Lord Bramwell will propose to her within the week. Has she procured your services?”
Her services. If only someone had provided herself with such services when she’d arrived at her aunt’s London townhouse, a naive, slender debutante, dewy-eyed and filled with dreams. If only someone had warned her of George Hearne, the two-timing captain whose smooth-talking ways had charmed her into his bed.
We’re as good as married, sweeting.
Displeased to find where her thoughts had wandered, she stood. She’d had enough of Lady Preston’s May Spectacular.
“Good evening, ladies.” She ignored their pleas to remain, and left them to their devices, as she headed to the foyer to retrieve her wrap from the footman.
Again, thoughts of George Hearne popped up along the way. She huffed. Mercifully, her folly with the man had escaped society’s notice. She’d experienced bliss. She’d never known such delights of the flesh had existed. She was madly in love—until she’d caught him in bed with another gullible debutante, fresh from the country. George had leapt to his feet. Rosalyn’s temper had taken care of the rest. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she recalled the limping shuffle that plagued him in the days that followed. Ah yes, and his even limper explanation of blaming the cause on a fall from his horse.
The strains of the orchestra drifted from the ballroom as Rosalyn descended the grand staircase of Lady Preston’s London estate. After observing men for nearly three years, she knew enough about those dancing there to know a cup of hot tea and a good book were far superior. She smiled in anticipation. She’d yet to try the rose-and-lavender tea she’d purchased on St. James Street, and didn’t she still have two chapters left of that titillating novel? The one she’d hidden under her mattress at her aunt’s townhouse?
When she reached the landing, a voice called out behind her, “Lady Rosalyn!”
She turned to see a young maid dashing down the stairs. “Yes?”
The young woman bobbed a quick curtsey. “Lady Elana wishes to speak with you, my lady. If you’d be so kind as to follow me?”
Rosalyn paused. Lady Elana? It took her a moment to recall where she’d heard the name. Ah, yes. On occasion, her aunt had fondly spoken of her as a friend.
Rosalyn followed the maid back the way she’d come, past the drawing room and then down a side passage to a small, private study.
The maid opened the door and stood aside, revealing an elegant, dark-haired lady seated on the sofa near the fire. As Rosalyn entered, the lady rose in greeting. Her exquisite scarlet silk gown draped her slender figure in flattering folds, and her diamond pendant glittered at her neck like a small, captured star.
“Lady Elana.” Rosalyn dipped in respect.
The woman bestowed a gracious smile and sank back to her seat, then gave the cushion next to her an inviting pat. “Do join me, Rosalyn. I’ve just come from visiting your aunt, Lady Sarah and Sir Stirling James.”
Sir Stirling James. Rosalyn smiled. He’d married her cousin, Chastity. She’d always gotten along with the man famously well. “And how is Sir Stirling? It’s been too long since I’ve seen him.” Sh
e took her place and arranged her skirts.
“He sends his warm greetings.” Lady Elana nodded, then leaned closer. “I do beg your pardon, but I’ll come directly to the point. Sir James has recommended I speak with you on a most sensitive matter. I’m told you are the very soul of discretion, and I’ve come for your help.”
A ‘sensitive matter’ meant only one thing: an investigation. Rosalyn drew her brows in a faint frown. “I wasn’t aware Sir Stirling knew of my endeavors.”
The woman’s eyes widened, but she answered quickly enough, “Your reputation precedes you, my dear, and Lady Margot has personally recommended you, as well.”
Rosalyn’s frown vanished. Lady Margot. She’d had a much happier ending than Amelia. Margot’s intended had proven loyal and true. He’d rated a solid seven. Rosalyn smiled. “I would be absolutely delighted to assist you, my lady. Who is the gentleman in question?”
Lady Elana looked relieved. “Ethan Brodie of Brodie. Do you, by chance, know him?”
“My aunt has mentioned him a time or two.” Actually, her aunt spoke highly of the man, and often. “I believe he’s in London for the season, but I’ve yet to see him.”
“Indeed,” Lady Elana muttered in a sharp tone, but after clearing her throat, she sounded as cool and as calm as before, “I do so desperately need your services, Rosalyn.”
Rosalyn smiled politely. “And how long do we have? I do not mean to pry, but has he already asked for your hand?”
“Heavens, no.” Lady Elana drew back. “I do not ask for myself. I seek information on behalf of another.”
“I…see,” Rosalyn replied. “This is a rather unusual arrangement. Would it be possible to speak with the intended bride directly? While I do provide a reliable scoring of a man’s temperament, interests, hygiene, and ranking of fidelity, I also seek answers to any delicate questions a lady might have.”
