Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(40)

Mayhap scouting alone was best.

“I’ve seen enough,” Alec said abruptly. “We should go.”

Mrs. Reynolds frowned. “Patience. Let us continue. If there are sentries, that will tell us something here is important enough to be guarded.”

Alec meant he’d seen enough to know the lay of the land. He was good at memorizing spaces—he’d noted the position of every window in the house, every tree on the ground, every possible entry into the building, and he would not forget.

The nearby fields, most of which lay fallow, were empty, no farmers tilling them. They’d seen no riders on the road, nobody going into or out of the house. It was strangely quiet here, a good place for highwaymen to lurk.

Highwaymen would get more than they bargained for if they attacked this carriage. Alec was on edge enough to become the berserker Highlander, and Mrs. Reynolds carried a pistol tucked somewhere about her person—the woman was reputed to be a dead shot.

They rolled along the tree-lined road, tall grasses bending in the wind and rain. Rain drummed on the carriage roof, and the vehicle bumped hard through ruts, at times nearly dislodging Alec from his seat.

Alec spied a man in a long coat and wide hat leaning against a tree, not doing much of anything. He could barely be seen with his dark garb against the rain-soaked trunk, and Alec might not have noticed him at all if he hadn’t been looking.

The man gazed across the rainy fields and didn’t turn his head to study the carriage as it went by. It would be less strange if he did stare at them, Alec wanted to tell him. A carriage trundling down a back country road should be of interest to the local men, an event to speculate on. The man’s seeming lack of interest betrayed him.

“Well, we know they have a sentry,” Mrs. Reynolds said after they’d passed him. “Something to guard. Interesting.”

Alec boiled with anger and impatience. “Far more than interesting. The Duke of Crenshaw knows about these places? Were the prisons his idea?”

“I have no notion, my lord.” Mrs. Reynolds gave him a steady look. “I can only report what I heard from Sir Amos and his colonel.”

“I will shake the duke until he tells me.”

“And be arrested alongside your brother or killed where you stand? We must go softly.”

“There’s no time for that.” Alec moved restlessly. “Who knows when the prisoners might be moved or simply executed? And Lord knows what Will Mackenzie will get up to inside a Sassenach gaol. He’ll get himself killed before he knows it.”

“You must continue as you have. Gain Lady Celia’s trust. Her father dotes on her.”

“Celia is no fool,” Alec said. He already admired her for that.

Thinking about her calmed him slightly. Celia also had a beauty he’d not encountered before in his life, like the sudden gleam of a candle in the darkness.

He’d kissed her in Lady Flora’s anteroom in rage and passion, and he’d kissed her in the studio for the fun of it, when he’d showed her the camera obscura. Both times he’d found her kisses soothing, healing.

“No, but she is unworldly and lonely,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “Her mother is the foolish one for not recognizing her worth. You are a handsome gentleman, Lord Alec. You could make Lady Celia your servant if you chose—she will be malleable because she’s been raised to be. She showed her good sense when she turned down the Marquess of Harrenton, a disgusting man, but that act reveals her romantic notions. She wants a marriage of equals and one of love. She has yet to learn, as I did, that there is no such thing. Her sense of romance is where you will win.”

Mrs. Reynolds’s words were bleak against the already bleak day. Yes, Celia might have romantic notions, but Mrs. Reynolds’s description made Celia sound like a silly ninny, waiting to be swept off her feet, and Alec knew she wasn’t. She already had a fairly clear-eyed view of marriage truly in her world.

Mrs. Reynolds continued. “You are not exercising your charm enough on her. You are too angry. Show her the Alec Mackenzie I have heard of, who had the ladies of Edinburgh and Paris happily surrendering.”

At one time, before all the sorrow, Alec had been quite the rogue. Now he was a father, sober and responsible, his roué days behind him.

Except Celia was drawing out the rogue again.

“Seducing information out of Celia will take too long,” Alec said. “Lady Flora is a grand plotter, but her plans take time.”

“We shall have to think of a way to increase the pace, then.” Mrs. Reynolds gave the house receding into the distance one last look. “Celia already watches you with much interest. When she spirited you out of the salon the other night, I wager you rewarded her. She certainly looked flustered when she emerged. One hard push, and you will have her.”

“Aye, maybe.”

Before he’d met Celia, Alec had planned exactly what Mrs. Reynolds suggested—draw her into his power, no matter what he had to do. But now that he knew her better, his tactics had changed. Celia had been hurt—she was like a wounded bird, afraid to fly again.

Alec no longer had the desire to break her. If he hastened the wooing, as Mrs. Reynolds urged, he would do so in earnest, no pretense. He would make Celia his in all ways, and no matter what happened with Will, he would not give her back.

Regardless of the fact he was supposed to be dead, his family name anathema, his home burned, Alec had money—his mother had settled it on all the brothers long ago. He had plenty squirreled away in many places, including Paris. But he’d have to live out his life there, in exile. Would Celia agree to that?