Page 78 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
“Quiet,” Duncan hissed when the servants cheered. Abashed, the staff fell silent. He demanded, “What happened?”
“They came in just before sunrise,” a footman said.
“How many?” Duncan clipped.
“Three? Four?” the cook said anxiously. “Couldn’t count ’em all. They rounded up mister and missus, and the guests, too. Took ’em into the ballroom and had us down here. Think they mean to rob us all.”
That explained all the valuables the knife-wielding man had been taking from one of the bedrooms. But why hadn’t she and Duncan been herded with the other guests?
“Someone should go get the authorities,” Beatrice said to the staff.
“I’ll go,” one footman volunteered.
“Be quick,” she instructed him, “and be sure you aren’t seen.” When the servant dashed off, she turned to Duncan. “Now what?”
He took the pistol from her and carefully uncocked the gun before setting the knife down. Grimly, he said, “Now we stop them.”
She was both afraid of that, and also she knew that was precisely what a man like Duncan would do.
“The ballroom is on the ground floor?” she asked the cook.
“Yes, madam.”
“There’s an alternate entrance to the ballroom, correct?” Duncan demanded.
“A corridor the staff uses to ferry to and from the kitchen,” a housemaid said. “For serving refreshments and the like during balls.”
“Take us there,” Beatrice said, then glanced at Duncan. “And before you order me to stay behind, I feel safest with you.”
He started to argue but must have seen that she would not be dissuaded, and he nodded.
The housemaid motioned for him and Beatrice to follow. Before they left the kitchen, he turned to the footmen. “Tie up that bastard, and whatever you do, don’t let him speak or leave.”
“Yes, sir,” one of the footmen said. He took a piece of fabric and wadded it up before stuffing it into theunconscious stranger’s mouth. A kitchen rag was torn into strips and used to bind his wrists and ankles.
“The ballroom,” Duncan said to the housemaid.
“This way, sir.” The girl guided them to a passageway that had a series of small windows cut high in the wall. They slipped along the corridor. Thank goodness the stone floor kept their footsteps quiet.
Duncan loosened his shoulders and muttered sardonically, “‘Come out to the country, take a lady to a house party, have a few laughs...’”
Beatrice pressed her lips together to fight a burst of hysterical laughter. The poor man. Here he’d thought he’d left combat behind, and a simple errand had turned far more dangerous.
A narrow, baize-covered door stood at the end of the passageway. The housemaid signaled to Duncan that he needed to press a latch to open the door.
He nodded, then tilted his head to indicate that she should return to the kitchen. The girl dipped into a quick curtsy before hurrying back the way they’d come.
Duncan drew in a breath before turning to Beatrice. He gripped the back of her neck, kissing her fast and hard, stealing what little breath she had.
“We can do it,” he said firmly. “Believe me. We’ll survive this threat.”
“If you say so.” She had less conviction in her voice, but she knew that of anyone she wanted beside her now, it was Duncan.
He rested his forehead against hers. “I do. I’ll get us out of this.”
“I know you will.” And she believed it. He was her island in this tempestuous sea that threatened to drown her.
He kissed her again, then slowly cracked open the door, and they both looked in.
