Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(79)
Chapter 26
The Earl of Wilfort continued to stare at Alec through the gloom of the woods, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
“What has happened?” Wilfort demanded swiftly, more concerned than outraged. “Why are you in England? Is Mary—”
Alec pushed Wilfort into the shadows, cutting off his panicked question. “Not a word. Not a sound.”
Wilfort’s words died away, the man astute enough to realize when silence was necessary. Mal’s father-in-law was a slim man with wiry strength, much of that strength from his character. He was dressed in fine clothes, obviously one of the guests at the duchess’s ball, his neat wig tied with a black ribbon.
Alec gripped his arm and guided him into the woods until they were well away from the garden. He stopped at the tree beneath which he’d hidden a dark lantern, but he didn’t release Wilfort to look for it.
“Your daughter is perfectly safe,” he said in a low voice. “She’s in Paris, growing thick with Mal’s babe. What are you doing skulking at the end of the Duke of Crenshaw’s garden?”
“The duke’s crushes weary me.” Wilfort adopted the same soft tones. “I attended tonight only because I need to show my interest in his offspring’s tiresome new husband, an Irishman of no note. One glimpse of the colorful popinjay was enough.”
Alec couldn’t suppress his grin. He let go of Wilfort’s arm to sketch a fussy bow, à la Mr. Finn.
Wilfort’s eyes widened. “Good God. I thought there was something familiar about the man, but I never got close enough to observe you clearly. Do you mean to say you tricked Crenshaw’s insipid daughter into believing she is your wife? What on earth for?”
Alec lost his smile. “Celia is not insipid. She’s worth a thousand of the duke and duchess and her rather dim brother. It was no trick. I married her in truth.”
Wilfort’s bafflement deepened. “Then why are you still in England? I understand about the disguise—your life is forfeit if you’re caught. But why did you not abscond with her out of the country the instant you married her?”
“What do you know about Crenshaw’s regiment?” Alec countered.
“Little. The duke raised it to fight in France, but after Fontenoy, it was diverted to Scotland with Cumberland. A contingent is billeted nearby, I believe.”
“On the Earl of Chesfield’s land. I suspect they’re holding my brother.”
“Malcolm?” Wilfort’s question rang with horror.
“Not Mal. Will. I made the Runt stay with his wife.”
Emotions flickered through the earl’s eyes, he not one for demonstrating either great fear or relief. He settled on amazement and disapproval. “You are creeping over to try to free him? Are you mad?”
“I need to discover if Will is there at all, and if so, how to get him away. If you have any fondness for our family, you’ll help me—namely return to the house and escort Celia safely to our rendezvous.”
Wilfort’s mouth firmed. “I’ll accompany you, if you don’t mind.”
He stated it politely, but Alec knew he meant he’d follow whether Alec liked it or not.
“I can move quicker on my own,” Alec protested.
“And if sentries spy you, they’ll respond to an order from me more readily than an explanation from you. I can walk right in without challenge if I declare that the duke or Chesfield sent me to look over the prisoner.”
“We believe there’s more than one prisoner. I heard that several Scotsmen were being held. Why, I’ve not learned.”
“All the better. I will say I was sent to observe what is being done with the prisoners.”
“Too bloody risky.”
Wilfort gave him a deprecating look. “I suppose you intend to pick a lock or break open a window? I’d believe it of Malcolm or William, but you have always seemed more civilized.”
“If by civilized ye mean weak, you’re wrong.”
Wilfort shook his head. “I did not mean that at all. I mean that picking locks and breaking windows is not in your character. If you charge in there by yourself, you’ll end up fighting for your life.”
Alec ground his teeth, but he knew in his heart that Wilfort was right. Will and Mal had inherited the cunning and crafty nature of their ancestor, Old Dan Mackenzie, the first duke, who’d come by the title in ways best not looked into. Alec had always been more straightforward. He encountered a problem, he beat on it until it solved itself or went away.
“How can I know you won’t simply turn me over to them?” Alec asked. “We get inside the prison, and they lock me in as well?”
“Because of my love for my daughter and my unborn grandchild,” Wilfort said sternly. “And my respect for your brothers and father. Besides, I know that if I betray you, you’ll slice me open on the spot. I want to live to see Mary again.”
“Aye, well. You have a point.”
Alec crouched down and reached beneath the leaves. Wilfort took a step back, as though worried he’d come up with a sword, and relaxed when he saw the lantern.
Alec took flint and steel from his pocket, struck a spark, and lit the candle inside. The dark lantern had three sides solid iron, and the fourth side could be quickly shuttered.