Chapter Eight

Reade held the torch out as he stepped from the final stair onto the stone floor. He tightened his grip on Abigail’s hand until she stepped down onto the floor. She pulled free and stepped up beside him.

The torchlight illuminated the glint in her eyes. “How often does one get to see a thirteenth century castle dungeon?”

He smiled. “Not often, my lady.”

Her brows rose. “After what just passed between us in the hallway, I’d say you should probably call me Abigail.”

“Abigail,” he murmured.

She started forward. “Come on.”

They walked single file down a narrow corridor that opened into a chamber with six cells, all of which had been converted into storage. Open sacks of potatoes, turnips and carrots sat on waist-high tables. Dried black hellebore and barley meal were scattered around the tables, clearly intended to keep mice out of the food. Jugs he would wager were filled with wine sat on platforms and tables. Barrels of ale filled one room.

“At least, Mr. Russell hasn’t locked anyone in the cells,” Abigail said.

“No treasure room, either,” Reade said.

“There must be a secret room somewhere.”

He frowned. “You have a penchant for secret passageways, I see.”

She shrugged. “They are perfect for hiding things like the crown jewels of Scotland.”

“Where do we begin?”

“I doubt the room filled with barrels has a passageway. The barrels are pushed up against the walls. I would begin our search in the wine room. There are fewer tables and barrels against the walls.”

They started their search there and Reade was impressed with her methodical search. She instructed him to hold the torch low to the floor as she examined the wall. In the right-hand corner, he glimpsed scratches on the stone floor as she said, ‘Ah ha!”

Abigail felt along the stones, a tiny click sounded, and she pulled open a section of the wall large enough for even him to step through, if he ducked.

She looked at him and grinned. “If a lord wanted to visit a particular prisoner without anyone knowing, he could put him in this cell and visit him through this passageway.”

“I wager the lady of the castle could do the same,” he said.

“Why, Lord Reade, it’s easy to see where your mind is,” she said in a dry voice.

His mind was on knowing that a lord might imprison his lady’s lover, and that lady might take advantage of that passageway to cuckold her husband. He and Lady Fenella had known one another for ten years, and two years ago, after he’d returned from the navy, he’d begun to think they had an understanding they would one day marry.

If anything good had come of Robert’s indebtedness, it was the revelation of Fenella’s character. Within a day of Reade selling his property outside Inverness, she’d been seen riding with Baron Hines. Any lingering doubts about her feelings had been dispelled when Reade encountered her at a party two nights later and she’d informed him that there had been no betrothal between them and could never be. She had an obligation to marry into a good family.

At first, Reade had blamed himself for allowing their ‘understanding’ to remain unofficial. What woman would wait two years for a man to offer for her? Afterwards, however, he recognized his good fortune.

“Shall we?” Abigail nodded toward the passageway.

Would this woman care that his main source of income was the gaming table? She wouldn’t give it a thought, for she wouldn’t give him a thought. Lady Abigail Buchman liked being a spy. He saw it in her wide-eyed excitement.

He bowed. “After you, my lady.”

She curtsied prettily, giving him an unexpected view of the rise of her breasts over her bodice. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. His cock pulsed. One way or another, Lady Abigail Buchman would get him into trouble. 

Reade grasped her arm and pulled her upright. “Enough of the coquettishness, my lady.”

She arched a delicate brow. “I thought that’s what you liked.”

“You have spent far too much time in ballrooms.”

She laughed and said, “Perhaps you are correct,” then entered the passageway.

Reade followed.

The stone passageway wound upward at a gentle angle, then turned into a narrow staircase.

Abigail broke the silence “What do you do?”

“Do?” he repeated.

“Do,” she said. “As in, for work.”

“Ah. Well, not much, I suppose.”

“I should have known.”

“Really?”

“I forgot. You are a rake.”

“You are certain?” he asked.

“Do you prefer being called a rogue? Or perhaps a scoundrel.”

“What man isn’t a scoundrel?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, then faced forward and said, “I wouldn’t think of arguing with you.”

“Oh, but you would, if so inclined.”

“Don’t you get bored?”

He couldn’t help a laugh. “I have no time to get bored, Abigail.”

“Of course.”

He didn’t like the sense of finality in the simple ‘of course.’ 

She fell silent. They ascended what he felt certain had to be at least two floors. He would have expected Abigail to get cold, but despite a cool draft across his face, he was forced to remove his coat due to the exertion of the steep climb. At last, they reached a short corridor that ended abruptly.

Abigail began tracing her fingers along the walls as she had done earlier. Reade donned his jacket and began inspecting the opposite wall. A tiny click sounded. He looked at Abigail. A large section of the stone wall stuck out a tiny bit. She pressed a finger to her lips, then dragged the door open an inch. A sliver of light fell across the floor. Abigail opened the door a little more, leaned into the opening and looked, then straightened.

“Just as I thought, Mr. Russell’s chambers.” She pulled the door open all the way.

Reade took the two steps to the door, placed the torch in the righthand holder, then used the snuffer hanging beside it to extinguish the flame. Reade followed her through the open door and into the room. A fire blazed in the hearth.

“We are fortunate he isn’t here,” Reade said. “The fire has been stoked. He intends to return soon.”

“Aye.” She pulled the passageway door closed, then started toward the hall door.

Reade followed close behind.

Voices sounded in the hallway.

Reade halted alongside Abigail.

“I promise, you needn’t worry,” a male voice said in the hallway.

Reade looked sharply at Abigail.

“Mr. Russell,” she whispered.

* * *

Abigail’s heart jumped to a gallop. Reade pressed a finger to his lips and she wanted to box his ears. Did he think she didn’t know to be quiet?

She scanned the room and caught sight of a door in the far left hand corner. Abigail hurried across the room. Reade reached the adjoining door first and she forced patience as he inched it open. She glimpsed a fire crackling in a small hearth on the opposite wall as he leaned forward and scanned the room.

He stood aside, and whispered, “It’s a washroom.”

Abigail looked at the wall where the secret passageway was located. The bedroom doorknob rattled.

“No time,” Lord Reade whispered, and pushed her into the washroom.

Firelight, and the moonlight that streamed in through the small right-hand window, illuminated a claw-footed porcelain bathtub sitting to the left of the hearth. A chaise lounge covered in emerald green brocade was located against the wall to the left of the tub, and a mirror hung over a table where sat a men’s shaving razor, soap dish and brush. Lady’s perfume, hairbrush and mirror sat on the far side of the table. Mr. Russell did quite well, indeed, to have a private washroom. Abigail whirled back toward the door as Reade closed it to a sliver. She wanted to scream when he blocked her view and peered through the slit.

The bedchamber door creaked open. She laid a hand on Reade’s arm to pull him away so she could peer into the room but froze when a woman giggled. Mr. Russell had brought a woman to his room. His wife? She had a feeling the answer was no.

“I have prepared something special for you, my sweet,” Mr. Russell said in a voice laced with lust.

“I should hope so,” she purred.

Lady Julia.

What would Lord Reade think about that?

“Otherwise, I will be very disappointed,” Lady Julia said.

Mr. Russell laughed. “I wouldn’t think of disappointing you, my lady.”

She gave a low, throaty laugh. “You haven’t yet.”

“Come,” he said, “let me help you with your dress.”

They grew quiet and a too-vivid image flashed in Abigail’s mental vision of Mr. Russell dragging the sleeves of Julia’s dress down her arms. Devil take the man. He would choose now to engage in a tryst. She had no intention of waiting in this room while he bedded the woman. Lord Reade, however, seemed to have other ideas, for he still stared through the slitted opening.

Abigail reached to grasp his arm, then stopped when he eased the door closed. To her relief, he closed the door so quietly that no audible click of the mechanism followed. He turned and she caught sight of his thinned lips. The thought struck that he didn’t approve of Mr. Russell’s assignation with a lady who wasn’t his wife. She shook off the thought. More likely, he was peeved that Mr. Russell had beat him to bedding the woman.

Reade turned from the door and she scanned the room for the door leading to the lady’s chambers. Abigail froze when she discovered no door. The window to the right was too small, she realized with rising horror, for her to fit through, much less Lord Reade. How could there be no door to the lady’s chambers? She started toward the window at the same time he did, and her attention riveted onto the bathtub as she passed.

Abigail halted at sight of the filled tub. She looked sharply at Reade. His brow furrowed in question and she pointed to the tub. His gaze shifted to the tub and understanding dawned in his eyes. They weren’t just stuck in the washroom adjoining the lovers’ room. Mr. Russell’s surprise for the lady was clearly a shared bath. There was simply nowhere to hide in the room. Perhaps Mr. Russell would forego the bath. Abigail took two steps to the tub and stuck a finger in the water. A perfect temperature for a bath.

“You rogue,” Lady Julia cried. “What is it?”

“A muffled answer followed, then “...for a naughty minx like you.”

They were closer to the door.

Abigail’s mind raced. If she were alone, she would strip down to her chemise and pretend like she’d been waiting for Mr. Russell. 

In an instant, Reade reached her side. He grabbed her sleeves and yanked them down her arms.

“What the—” She broke off at the warning look he gave her.

“This is what you brought me here for,” he whispered.

Then she understood. He intended for them to be caught in a tryst. He pulled the dress past her hands. To her surprise, his gaze didn’t so much as flick to her breasts, which pressed tight against the thin fabric of her chemise. He let the fabric drop to the floor. She leaned into him with the intent to throw her arms around him as if they stood in embrace.

He swung her into his arms and, in the next instant, plunged her into the warm water. She cried out before catching herself. He dropped to one knee beside the tub and yanked her into a kiss. The door banged against the wall. Lord Reade broke the kiss and sprang to his feet. Mr. Russell stood in the doorway with Lady Julia behind him.

“What the devil are you doing in my private washroom?” Mr. Russell demanded. His gaze dropped to Abigail’s breasts.

She glanced down. The sheer chemise might as well have been invisible. Her rose areolas were clearly visible as hard peaks.

“I suppose we are doing the same thing you and Lady Julia had planned,” Lord Reade drawled.

Mr. Russell’s expression darkened. “Aye, but these are my private chambers. How did you get in here? I locked the door.”

“Locked?” Abigail frowned. “Not when we entered.”

Mr. Russell’s eyes narrowed. “I had to use my key to get in.”

“Of course,” Reade said. “I locked the door when we entered. I’m sure you understand.”

“I am certain I locked the door when I left.”

Reade shrugged. “I hate to disagree with you, but it was unlocked. How else might we have gotten in?”

Abigail thought of the sconce they’d left in the holder inside the secret passageway. Mr. Russell was sure to check the passageway after they left, and when he found the torch, he would know how they’d entered the room. They would have to return and dispose of the damn thing.

“What are you doing in this part of the castle? This is my private wing,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh dear,” Abigail said. “You were right, Lord Reade. We shouldn’t have explored this part of the castle.” She looked at Mr. Russell from beneath her lashes. “I’m afraid this is my fault. Lord Reade warned against us coming here—and entering the room—

but I prevailed upon him. I must admit, I couldn’t resist the warm bathwater.” She leaned forward so that her breasts pressed more heavily against her chemise. Lord Reade’s attention snapped onto her breasts and her cursed nipples puckered.

“I have had enough of this.” Lady Julia whirled. Mr. Russell hesitated, his gaze lingering on Abigail’s breasts. Men really were quite predictable.

He looked at Reade. “I will escort Lady Julia to her room. Once Lady Buchman is dressed, please leave.” He turned and hurried after Lady Julia.

Through the open door, Abigail glimpsed the woman dragging her dress over her head. Mr. Russell reached her side as she pulled the fabric down over her breasts.

“Julia,” he began, but she turned as the skirt fell down over her hips and legs. She headed for the door.

When the bedchamber door closed behind them, Lord Reade said, “I will leave you to dress.”

Before she could reply, he crossed the room and pulled the door closed behind him.

* * *

When Lady Buchman emerged from the washroom, Reade turned from the claymore hanging on the wall over the hearth. She looked almost as indecent as she had in the bathtub. Her dress clung to her breasts and Reade discerned the dark patch at the apex of her legs. The woman had no shame. Neither did he. He willed his hardened cock to cease throbbing.

“Do not look at me as if I am a prostitute,” she said. “It’s your fault that this dress is so sheer.”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“This is what happens when one wears a wet chemise beneath a dress.”

That hadn’t occurred to him. Still, she didn’t appear the least bit embarrassed.

Her eyes narrowed. “And don’t act as if I should be ashamed. You have no compunction about seducing a woman for your own pleasure, but a woman isn’t allowed to use her charms in the service of her country?”

“I said nothing about you being embarrassed,” he said irritably. “In fact, I didn’t say a single word.”

“No need,” she said. “Your thoughts are plain.”

He wanted to reply—and say what, he knew not—but she interjected, “Mr. Russell won’t return right away. We can begin our search.”

“You don’t think he’ll return right away?” Reade asked.

She snorted. “He has his hands full placating Lady Julia. He won’t want her to stew overnight.”

No, he wouldn’t. “Shall I take the wardrobe?”

“I searched it earlier when I arrived. The secretary, if you will,” she said, and he realized he’d offended her.

She gave him no time to reply, but added, “Be careful to replace things as you found them. If Mr. Russell finds anything out of place, he will know we searched his room.” She hurried to the nightstand, opened the drawer and began searching.

Fatigue tugged and he had a sudden longing to escape to his room. Description de l'Égypte awaited him—along with peace and quiet, away from contentious women who seemed to go out of their way to irritate him. The sooner he searched the desk, the sooner they could leave.

The secretary had one drawer and several cubby holes. He found only writing paper, quills, two old bills for suits and…a partially composed letter to…

 

My Dearest Sister,

I am pleased to hear that you will visit next month. It is my greatest hope that by then our plans will have reached fruition. Alex assures me things are going well in London. Take heart. We shall soon take our rightful place in the world. 

I know how much you wanted

 

“Bloody hell,” Reade muttered.

“What is it?”

He looked up. Abigail knelt beside the bed and peered at him over the edge of the mattress.

“Do you know the name of the Scottish separatist in London who is leading the accusations concerning the Honors?” he asked.

“The leader?” She frowned. “I didn’t know they had a leader.”

He nodded. “His name is Alex Hayes.”

“Why is that important?”

“I have a letter here that Russell wrote to his sister. Come have a look.”

She pushed to her feet and hurried around the bed. When she reached him, Reade handed her the letter.

A moment later, she looked up at him. “Alex, as in Alex Hayes?”

“We can’t be certain, but it is a coincidence. Russell hopes their plans will come to fruition next month. Someone named Alex is telling him things are going well in London, and that part about them taking their rightful place in the world fits quite well with the theft of the Honors. What do you make of it?”

“I have come to conclusions based on much less evidence than this,” she said. “I just wish this letter gave some clue as to the whereabouts of the Honors. Caithis castle isn’t massive, but there are likely a hundred places the jewels could be hidden.”

“Perhaps there are more passageways in the dungeon,” he said.

“Perhaps,” she said. “I will search more down below another time.”

“For now, we had better go,” he said.

“Aye. Tomorrow evening, during the ball, I will search the private rooms in this wing more thoroughly while you keep him busy.”

Reade didn’t like the idea of her searching the castle alone, but she had a point. Plus, she would be far safer if he kept Russell busy with cards. That probably meant letting Russell win. Not a bad idea, now that he thought about it. That meant Russell would feel confident betting more money down the road.