Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(72)

“We don’t know for certain your brother is involved,” Alec said. “I know I said that, but I could be wrong.” Alec didn’t think he was, but Celia’s anguish cut at him.

“He was very nervous,” Celia said. “Far more worried about me catching him here than I was of him. It took him a few minutes to realize he ought to wonder why I’d come. Then when he looked at you …”

“I know,” Alec answered. “It was a bad moment.”

“So, what do we do?”

Alec lifted Celia’s hand and kissed it. “For that, I have a few ideas. We need a council of war—I’d like Mrs. Reynolds in on it, if ye don’t mind. She and Lady Flora are a devious pair.”

Celia agreed. Not long later, Mrs. Reynolds entered the room and they gathered around the small table, speaking in low voices.

Mrs. Reynolds, now that they were in private, lost the quiet deference she assumed even in Lady Flora’s house. She gave Alec a blunt stare and declared they should all return to London at once.

“Aye, I was thinking so,” Alec said.

Celia flashed him a look of surprise. “I thought you wanted to investigate the house. You said you felt it in your bones—are you thinking that perhaps your bones are unreliable?”

Alec gave her the ghost of a smile. “No, I still believe Will’s here. I can feel it. Mal’s theory is that because I’m quick to learn the layout of a place and remember it that I catch clues that most people miss—even I miss them until I reason out what I’ve seen. However, you are right. I can’t say for certain he’s there. But it’s only a matter of getting close enough to find out.”

Celia shuddered. “Please go no closer than this, at least not tonight.”

“Not with your brother roaming about. He might have alerted the soldiers.” Alec leaned across the table to her. “I have an idea how we might search. You won’t like it, love, but I can think of no other way.”

“What?” Celia asked, torn between curiosity and anxiety. “Disguise ourselves as farmers and pretend we’re looking for lost cows?”

Alec’s eyes crinkled. “I like that, but I don’t believe I could be convincing. No, lass, I was thinking we’d return to London, as Mrs. Reynolds suggests, and you face your mum and dad, and ask for their blessing.”





Chapter 24





Celia sat in cold shock while Alec outlined his plan, which was both calculating and terrifying.

She knew he was right—she would have to face her parents sooner or later. What she’d hoped was that they’d find Alec’s brother, fetch Jenny, hop into a boat for the Continent, and from there she could write a long letter to her father, a lengthier version of the note she’d sent him from Josette’s boarding house.

She and the duke would correspond for a time, years perhaps, before she returned to London. By that time, the scandal of her elopement would have worn off, and she and her father could laugh about it.

“What if they refuse to see reason?” she asked in near panic. “Have you arrested for abducting me?”

Mrs. Reynolds broke in. “Do not fear, my lady. We will have Lady Flora on our side. She will make your mother understand that accepting Mr. Finn and blessing the marriage will be the least embarrassing course for her all around. Who knows? If your father declares he will make something of Mr. Finn, groom him as an MP or some such, then your marriage will be seen as a boon rather than a misalliance.”

It was not a misalliance. Celia’s father and Alec’s were of equal rank—whatever the English might think of a Scottish title—but that was hardly the point.

“Until my father’s men of business discover there is no Mr. Finn, small landholder in Ireland,” Celia pointed out.

“But there is such a man,” Alec said calmly. “I’ve a friend called Alden Finn, whose father recently passed and left him a bit of land in County Cork. There’s even a ruined castle on it to give it éclat.”

Celia let out her breath in irritation. “I ought to have guessed. You have friends who lend you uniforms, boats in which to escape, and now a name and family history.”

Alec nodded, far from contrite. “I knew there’d be a risk that some clever-wit would look into the background of Mr. Finn. So I made certain he had one.”

“Bloody cheek,” Celia growled.

Alec grinned at her exasperation. “You’re very beautiful when ye glare at me like that, lass.”

“If we may resume,” Mrs. Reynolds interjected, while Celia’s face heated. “Lord Alec is correct. We must return to London, make your parents swallow your marriage without fuss, and carry on with the plan. Lady Flora, as I say, will be a great help. She can be very persuasive.”

All three of them nodded thoughtfully.

“Well then,” Alec said. “We leave at first light. If we change horses often enough, we’ll reach London by midnight. My daughter is waiting there, impatient for her da’.”

And Alec keenly felt the separation, Celia could see.

Mrs. Reynolds departed then, and Alec ate heartily of the supper the landlady had provided. Celia’s interest in food revived as well—deciding to act was certainly preferable to brooding.

She and Alec made love well into the night, and both were red-eyed and exhausted by the time they piled into the coach, driving out of the inn’s yard as dawn broke.