Too Wicked to Marry (30 page)

"Martin!"

He put up a hand. "Before you point out that I am not trained for espionage, let me say that there's no debate on the subject. You're going, your brother is going, and I am going. I know a way I can be of help. I really
want
to be of help," he added.

He didn't know whether she believed him or not, but he saw curiosity and hope in her guarded expression. She bit her lip to keep from arguing while she got herself used to the idea, and finally said, "Fine. It's on your own head if you get hurt."

"I appreciate your concern." •

"Just tell me who and where, Martin."

"Lady Ellen Causely," he answered. "Michael will be at Hancombe Manor, her house in Hampstead."

"Lady Ellen?" She was furious, but didn't argue the possibility. "I should have known that weasel-faced tart was up to no good."

"I quite agree. She wants to marry me," he added. "It seems I attract spies."

"The way horse dung attracts flies," said Christopher, who'd come silently into the kitchen.

"Marry you!" Harriet sputtered.

Martin was quite pleased with her indignation. Perhaps there was yet hope. "Lady Ellen says I'm the best catch in Britain."

"Does she indeed?" Harriet had never looked more dangerous than when she asked this question.

"Oh, yes. She's mad for me—which is why you need me to create the diversion that will get you in and out of Hancombe Manor unnoticed."

After a moment, Christopher said grudgingly, "He's right, Harry. We need him."

"My dear, I know you invited me for next week, but I could not wait so long before seeing you again."

"Martin! I am so happy to see you."

Martin strode across the sitting room and took Lady Ellen's hands in his, drawing her up from her chair. She did not look as if she'd been sitting very long; her gown was not suitable for the time of day, and her hair had the look of having been hastily done up. Her lips were drawn up in the thinnest of smiles, and there was no warmth at all in her bloodshot eyes. Her gaze darted past him nervously when the maid began to shut the sitting room door, and she jumped at the sound of it closing. She was, in point of fact, not happy to see him at all.

"No need to send for tea," he said, bending to kiss the tips of her fingers. He looked up at her from beneath his eyelashes. "Let us take the time to be alone and share pleasant… conversation. Or on second thought…" He drew Lady Ellen toward the door.

His job was to play the decoy. To make as much noise and fuss as possible, so no one would notice that rescuers were breaking in the back of the house to search for a hidden prisoner. Hancombe Manor was not a large property, but it was secluded behind a high stone wall. The only outbuildings were a small stable and a few storage sheds, not promising places for hiding a prisoner. Christopher claimed Michael was most likely being held in a storeroom belowstairs, so he and Harriet had elected to dispose of any guards at the back of the house and enter there.

Martin had boldly walked in the front door, loudly proclaiming that he must see the fair Ellen, though the butler had at first protested that Her Ladyship was not at home. Though Martin had not had a thing to drink, an aroma of alcohol pervaded his suit. While he had shaved and cleaned up as best he could while at the safe house, he knew he looked like a besotted fool who'd followed a woman home to seduce her. He now paused in urging Lady
Ellen toward the door to kiss his way up her arm and across her throat, making it a long, lingering process. She stood still and let him, but her body remained stiff with taut nerves.

"Please," she said. "I don't think—"

"No need to, my dear," he proclaimed, and brushed his lips across hers. "I'll think for us both. Better yet, let impulse rule." He swung her up into his arms.

"Martin! No!"

He ignored her protest, banged open the door, and carried her out into the entrance hall. "Where's the bedroom?" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Servants came rushing through doorways and paused to goggle as he swung their mistress around, his deep voice booming as loud as he could. "Show me the way to heaven!"

Lady Ellen was a lovely woman, soft and round, a sensual bundle in his arms, and her skin tasted warm and ripe beneath his lips. Martin felt nothing but contempt for her, and would just as happily have walked to the nearest window and thrown her out into the rose bushes. He could not imagine his body responding to any woman but Harriet. His heart and soul could never be touched by anyone but her. Now all he had to do was complete the diversion, so he could rush to Harriet and prove his devotion.

"Put me down!" Lady Ellen cried. "Go away, you fool! I have no time for you now!"

"No time!" He chuckled salaciously. "If you don't want to wait for a featherbed at your back, my dear, we can do it on the stairs!"

There was a gasp of shock from the gaping circle of servants. The affronted butler hastily approached.

"Make him put me down!" Lady Ellen cried as Martin turned toward the stairs, pretending to stumble.

"Have a care, sir," the butler demanded. "Please put my lady down."

Martin swung around to face the butler. Lady Ellen was beating on his chest with her fists, making it a bit hard for him to talk. "P-put h-her down, you's-say? I'm her true love, m-man. She wants me."

"I do not want you!" Ellen shouted in his ear.

"You said I'm the best catch in London!"

"I don't care—put me down this instant!"

"Oh." Martin spread his arms and let her drop to the floor. She hit with a mighty bang on the hardwood.

"My lady!" a maid cried and ran forward.

"Out!" the butler shouted. "Get out this instant."

Martin drew himself up with all the dignity he possessed. "I know when I'm not wanted," he declared and marched regally out the way he'd come, bumping into a doorway for effect.

He could only hope that he'd bought the others enough time by making an utter fool of himself. Making an utter fool of himself was worth it if the price was the safe return of a MacLeod to the bosom of a family Martin believed was very large indeed. He wouldn't know if they'd been successful until they rendezvoused back at the safe house. He would have run if he could, but entered the hackney cab he'd left waiting at the end of the lane and was driven decorously away.

"You're still attracted to him aren't you?"

"Shh." Harriet didn't want to think about it. She'd just returned from dragging the unconscious guard into a garden shed and making sure he was securely tied and gagged with the restraints and gag she'd brought with her. Christopher had a lockpick out and was working on a side door to the house. A deep, ivy-covered trellis arched over this entrance, providing enough cover to conceal them.

"He's an arrogant swine," Kit went on.

"He has a few good points," she whispered back. He was risking his neck to help them right now, for one. She smiled a little. Martin's action was indeed earning him points with her. Not that she wasn't still furious with him, but…

Kit glanced up at her and grinned. "I see. You could do worse, I suppose," he admitted grudgingly. "You're not getting any younger, Harry."

While that might be true, it was no reason to be attracted to a man who'd treated her as Martin had. Still… Oh, she didn't know. She needed to think. She hadn't had a moment's peace or a minute alone since he'd tracked her down on Skye. She'd had to concentrate on the assignment, and before she could properly confront Martin she needed to work through what he meant to her, what she wanted, and whether she dared risk telling him the whole truth about herself.

And this was not the time to think about all that. "Are you going to unlock the door or not?" she asked impatiently.

"Already done," he said, and rose gracefully to his feet. The lockpick disappeared up his sleeve, then he produced a tin of thick balm and greased the hinges as a precaution. The door swung open without a sound and they moved cautiously into a small breakfast room. The room had two other doors. One led toward the front of the house. The other let onto a butler's pantry, which led into the kitchen. They waited, listening intently, until shouting started in the front of the house. As soon as Martin's voice rose in the distance, they headed for the deserted kitchen. While the servants were being treated to a show out front, Harriet and Kit rushed down to the basement.

There was indeed a locked storeroom. Harriet held a gun at the ready while Christopher swiftly picked the lock. When he was done they rushed into the room, using surprise to get past any internal guards. Fortunately, all they found in the storeroom was Michael. He was tied to a heavy chair, his mouth gagged. Both his eyes were blackened, but amusement lit them when he saw his siblings.

"They're a small-time operation," was the first thing Michael said when the gag was removed. "I don't think they're part of Rostovich's gang, but freelance brokers who funnel information to the Russians. I met this girl in Paris. Wasn't taken in by her, but let her think I was. Got a coded message off to Aunt Phoebe that the girl might be tying to seduce a MacLeod to their side, and I wanted to let her lead me to her controller. Only she drugged me, and… here I am. The controller is named Lady Ellen Causely, by the way."

"Want me to put the gag back in?" Harriet asked Kit as they worked on the ropes.

"Report on how later," Christopher told Michael. "How many in the house, and how well armed?"

"Haven't the faintest idea. I see you figured out that I'd given them the courier drop point so they'd send someone and you'd follow their agent."

"Yes," Christopher agreed.

Harriet could see that her older brother had tensed up at the mention of Rostovich, but Michael wouldn't notice.

"Report later," she repeated Christopher's admonition. "Done here."

"Done here."

Michael sighed. "Can we go now?"

"Can you walk?" Harriet asked, helping him to his feet.

He hugged her and laughed softly. "To get away from here, I'll run."

"Where is she?" Martin demanded, standing in the middle of Lady Phoebe Gale's sitting room.

The old woman looked at him blandly. "I have no idea."

"That, madam, is a bald-faced lie."

When her brothers had returned to the safe house, Harriet had not been with them. All Martin could get from Christopher was the flat statement that Kestrel wasn't good enough for his sister and ought to be shot. MacLeod had grudgingly thanked him for his help in rescuing Michael, then showed him the door.

Martin had stalked off in a fit of red rage. But after he left, he didn't know where to go or what to do. He had served his purpose; he was no longer welcome in the world of the MacLeods. And Harriet had once again disappeared.

He had shared her company for every hour of the last few incredibly intense days, and for hundreds of hours before that, when he thought her someone else. Even in disguise she had always essentially been herself. He could not imagine a life without her, whatever she cared to call herself.

After hours of roaming the city in devastated shock, he remembered Lady Phoebe Gale and rushed off to confront Harriet's great-aunt. The woman looked at him now as if she barely recognized him, and dared to state that she had no idea where her niece was.

"I won't tolerate any more interference," he threatened. "She belongs to me and I'll have her. You'll tell me where she is right now."

"Belongs to you?" The old lady lifted a delicately shaped silver eyebrow. "Belongs? I see. So you'll have her no matter what she's done or who she is?"

"Of course. I love her."

After he said it, he stood blinking in dumb shock. He'd never said it before, had he? Certainly never told Harriet. Abigail, yes. He'd de-dared his love to her, when he thought she was—Blast and damn, the two were one and the same! Harriet
knew
he loved her. Except she didn't, did she? How could she believe he loved her, after all he'd said and done in the last several days?

"Never mentioned the word to Harriet, I see," Lady Phoebe concluded. "Well, aren't you the prize fool?"

Martin wiped a hand across his face. He was so tired, so confused. His heart weighed a ton and hurt like boiling lead had been poured into it. "Yes," he agreed. "A fool in love."