Seduced by a Spy (Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Extraordinary Young Ladies #2)

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

L ike a merlin hawk, a long-ago laird of the Mc Allister clan had chosen a remote spot in the Highland hills for his aerie. Angling her gaze, Shannon took measure of the surroundings as their hired coach lurched through the last, steep turn of the climb and came to a halt.

Perched high on the moors, the ancestral home—which looked more like an ancient Viking fortress than a lordly manor house—overlooked sloping stands of pine and rocky meadowland, thick with gorse and wild grasses. Far below, she spotted the glimmer of a river cutting through a narrow gorge. In another moment, however, the view was obscured by a heavy shroud of mist. Fast-moving clouds had been gathering force over the past hour and a storm now seemed imminent.

“Isolation can be a defensive strength,” murmured Orlov as he stepped down from his seat and stretched his legs. “And a?—”

“And a weakness,” she finished.

He nodded. “In this case, yes. ”

Shannon took a last look around, though there was little to see, save for chiseled rock. Both the courtyard cobblestones and castle walls were hewn from the same unrelenting shade of grey granite. But after a few yards, even those solid shapes quickly dissolved in a mizzle of swirling fog and spattering raindrops.

A closer inspection of the grounds would have to wait until later.

Shielding her face from the gusting wind, she followed Orlov to the front door. It took him several tries with the ancient iron knocker to summon any sign of life.

The massive slab of blackened oak finally swung open a crack. “Ye have come a long way for naught,” said a raspy voice from within. “The turn for Braeantra is some miles back.”

“We are not lost,” replied Orlov. He took a small oilskin packet from his coat and passed it over. “Kindly give this to the lady of the house.”

There was a slight pause and a shuffle of feet. “Auch, ye best come in out of the wet while ye wait.”

Shannon shook out her cloak. The entrance hall was rather gloomy, an impression accentuated by the slate tiles and dark wood paneling. A large hunt tapestry on the far wall did nothing to lighten the mood—it depicted a wounded stag being dragged down by a pack of hounds. The only other decorative touch was a large oil painting hung above a heavy pine sideboard.

“The old laird did not appear to look kindly on creature comforts,” observed Orlov as he regarded the stern-faced gentleman staring down from the canvas. “Perhaps it was the haggis that spoiled his appetite for having any fun in life.”

“Sssshhh,” she warned. “Not everyone considers personal amusement the primary purpose of life. The Scots are a serious people, and many of them feel they have a moral responsibility to put duty before pleasure.”

“Duty to what? Making everyone around them miserable?”

Shannon did not have time to frame a reply, for the butler reappeared from the shadows and beckoned for them to enter a small sitting room across from the main staircase.

“Hmmph. How strange.” Light winked off the gold-rimmed lenses as an elderly lady looked up from the letter she was reading. According to Lynsley’s dossiers, Lady Octavia McAllister, widow of Laird John McAllister of Skibo, was nearly seventy and something of a recluse. She was also said to have been quite a beauty in her day, andShannon could see why. Despite the silvery hair and encroaching wrinkles, her fine-boned features and expressive mouth still possessed a captivating vitality.

“My son Angus appears to have been in a dreadful hurry to make these arrangements.” Lady Octavia’s lips suddenly pursed. “I wonder why?”

“The agency did not say, milady.” With his scuffed boots and frayed coat, Orlov looked the very picture of an impecunious scholar. A tincture of walnut leaves had dulled the gleam of his fair hair, which was tied back in an old-fashioned queue, and his slouch softened the lines of his muscular frame, adding to the appearance of bookish reserve.

“They did mention that Mr. McAllister was engaged to lecture at an important scientific conference,” he went on. “So perhaps a last-minute change of scheduling required him to act quickly.”

“Hmmph.” The dowager’s eyes narrowed, and despite the thickness of her spectacles, Shannon had the impression that age had not dimmed her vision. “A very reasonable reply, Mr . . .”

“Oliver,” supplied Orlov.

“And yet, when it comes to the children, he is always very meticulous about making his choices.”

“Our presence only confirms his due diligence.” Orlov’s smile could have charmed the stone basilisks standing guard atop the carved fireplace. “The Woolsey Agency is the best in the business, and with all due modesty, milady, allow me to say that Miss Sloane and I have impeccable credentials. If you would care to examine our references, I am sure you will find everything in order.”

The pinch of the dowager’s mouth softened. “No doubt, young man. Angus has likely gone over your qualifications with a fine tooth comb, so if he caught no snarls, I daresay I shall be satisfied.”

Shannon decided it was time for her to speak up for herself. “Thank you, milady. Mr. Oliver and I look forward to earning your approval.”

“Don’t thank me, gel. You have yet to meet the little hellions.” Though it was said with a slight twinkle in her eye, Lady Octavia’s expression clouded for an instant. “But first things first. Here I am dottering on like an old fool when you are likely tired and hungry from the rigors of the trip. I shall arrange for tea to be set out in the drawing room while you get settled in your quarters.”

With a thump of her stout walking stick, the dowager recalled the butler, who looked as ancient as the Celtic symbols carved in the stone lintel. “Rawley, show Mr. Oliver to the first floor guest room in the east wing. Miss Sloane, you come with me.”

Orlov inclined a graceful bow and offered his arm.

“Don’t imagine you can buy my good graces with glittering manners, young man.” She did, however, accept the attention. “I have seen enough rascals in my day to know Spanish coin from true gold.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” murmured Orlov. “I cannot imagine anyone would dare try to pull the wool over your eyes, milady.” Leaning a touch lower, he added, ”Which are, if I may say so, a most striking shade of aquamarine.”

She laughed and whacked her stick lightly to his shin. “Doing it too brown, Mr. Oliver. Now off with you.” She paused in the hallway and pointed him to the stairs. “Before your outrageous flirtations land you in the briars.”

He winked.

“Has he tried to lift your skirts, gel?” asked Lady Octavia as Orlov walked away.

Taken aback by the unexpected question, Shannon felt her face flame. “I—I, that is, Mr. Oliver understands that our relationship is to be a purely professional one, milady.”

“You aren’t a Methodist, are you?” The walking stick poked gingerly at the valise by Shannon’s feet, as if expecting fire and brimstone to flare up from its depth.

“Er . . . no.”

“Good. Presbyterians are dour enough.”

Staring down at the toes of her half boots, Shannon maintained a tactful silence.

“So, you aren’t warming Mr. Oliver’s sheets?”

Her head jerked up. “No.”

Lady Octavia removed her spectacles and carefully polished the lenses on her sleeve. “Perhaps you ought to get a pair of glasses, gel. If I were your age I should seriously consider tossing propriety to the wind. He is a very attractive man.” Settling the frame back on the bridge of her nose, she gave an owlish squint. “Do I shock you, Miss Sloane?”

Shannon was careful to control the curl of her mouth. “Very little shocks me, Lady Octavia.”

“Then there is some hope for you yet.” The dowager turned for the center hallway. Despite her gnarled limbs, her movements were surprisingly spry. “Well, don’t just stand there—come along.”

An awkward silence, punctuated by the rap of the brass-tipped hawthorn wood, hung over their steps as they recrossed the entrance hall and passed into the east wing. The rooms there reflected the rustic grandeur of the Highlands. Stag antlers crowned carved stone fireplaces that were large enough to roast an ox. In the carved bookcases, stuffed birds sat cheek by jowl with leatherbound tomes on falconry and fishing, while underfoot a scattering of thick sheepskin rugs kept the damp chill at bay. And in keeping with the fierce traditions of the old clans, an impressive array of weaponry, from medieval to modern, decorated nearly every square inch of the walls.

Shannon slowed as they came to an armorial display bristling with old crossbows and quoits. Fascinated by the razored edges and powerful gears, she felt her eyes widen.

Her reaction drew a small snort from Lady Octavia. “You aren’t one of those milk and water misses who swoons at the mere thought of violence, are you?”

“No, milady. As I told you, my sensibilities are not quite so delicate,” replied Shannon dryly. She thought she detected a glimmer of approval.

“But as a well-trained governess, you are no doubt a firm believer in rules?”

The Inquisition? There were certainly enough lethal- looking implements hanging around to create a combative mood. What was it the elderly lady wanted to know?

Aware that a misstep could set her on the wrong path with the dowager, Shannon determined to feel her way slowly. “Rules provide a necessary framework, but I am not so rigid as to refuse a bit of bending.”

“Hmmph.” The frail shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “I am glad to hear it, Miss Sloane. My granddaughter is a lively child, exceptionally inquisitive, delightfully energetic. I would hate to see anyone try to stamp the spirit and spunk out of her.” The dowager set a fist on her hip and tipped up her chin to meet Shannon’s gaze. “The young ladies of London may be considered perfect pattern cards of propriety, but if you ask me, they’ve had all the life and color leached out of them. Diamonds they call them. Ha! To me they look like over-polished bits of brittle glass. Can’t tell one from another.”

Shannon bit back a smile. “I am all for encouraging a girl to have a bit of color and individuality.”

The dowager sighed as she eyed the drab hue and severe cut of Shannon’s dress. Her face did not express much hope on that score.

“Not all employers have quite such an enlightened view of how a female should appear,” said Shannon softly. “Especially a governess. I hope to prove to you that I am not so much of a dry stick as you fear. I assure you, I have your granddaughter’s best interests at heart.”

“I have been rude, and overbearing, haven’t I?” Lady Octavia leaned a bit heavily on her stick, then suddenly lifted it with a small flourish. “However, what good is getting old if you can’t be just a little bit naughty.”

To Shannon, the gleam in the dowager’s eye was more one of relief than contrition .

“Come along, gel, just a few more twists and turns in this moldering maze.” Tap, tap. “Perhaps you will fit in here after all.”

“Sugar, Mr. Oliver?” Lady Octavia peered over the ornate silver tea set that the housekeeper had just set on the table.

“Yes, milady.” Orlov dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Quite a bit of it, I’m afraid. A bad vice, but there you have it.”

“Your secret is safe with me, young man.” The dowager passed him a cup, along with a platter of buttery shortbread still warm from oven. “Though if that is your worst sin, you have led a far too virtuous—and boring—life.”

He smiled.

“However . . .” She regarded him through the tendrils of steam rising up from the teapot. “Somehow I would guess you haven’t a boring bone in your body.”

Orlov heard Shannon choke back a gurgle. “I hope my person will stand up to such scrutiny. I should be gravely sorry to disappoint you.”

Lady Octavia looked ready to continue the bantering exchange when her housekeeper approached and murmured something in her ear.

“Ah.” Folding her napkin, the dowager rose with the help of her stick. “If you two will excuse me, Mrs. MacArgyle and I need to go over the new arrangements of the household.”

The two of them withdrew to the far end of the drawing room, leaving Orlov free to compare initial impressions of the situation with Shannon. Without preamble, he angled his chair a bit closer to hers and muttered, “The house is like a damn sieve. With all the windows and quirky alcoves, there are far too many ways in and out.”

She nodded. “And the staff is quite small. A cook, a housekeeper, a butler, a nursemaid and footman—and none of them looks to be much under the age of eighty. A girl comes up occasionally from the village to help with the charwork, along with two locals who tend to the gardens, but that is it.”

“I managed a quick walk around the grounds. As we guessed from the carriage, the surrounding moors could not offer a more perfect cover for someone looking to creep up to the house unseen.” He let out a sharp sigh. “Short of keeping the children and Lady Octavia confined to a small section of the house, it is going to be nigh well impossible for us to mount an adequate guard. The place is too big, too rambling.”

“The dowager does not strike me as someone who would take kindly to having her freedom curtailed.” Shannon made a wry face. “Besides, Lynsley was very clear about not wanting to alarm her with any hint of our true identities, or the danger lurking close to home.”

“Alarm her? Hah!” It was no laughing matter but Orlov couldn’t help a harried chuckle. “Why, the old battleax would probably grab an ancient blunderbuss from the display of weapons and demand to man the ramparts in defense of her castle.”

The image stirred a smile from her. “I fear you are right. She appears to possess more spirit than most ladies a quarter of her age. She already has hinted that she finds me a stick in the mud.” Shannon smoothed at her skirts, which were, he noted, a hideous shade of brown.

No wonder the dowager had experienced a sinking feeling on meeting the new governess. He muttered something in Russian, which, thankfully, Shannon did not ask him to translate. “We shall have to request that our quarters be moved to the nursery wing.”

“That might present a problem.” She bit at her lip, a rather endearing mannerism that she did when she was mulling over a particularly thorny problem. “Propriety, you know. Though Lady Octavia does seem to have a distinct aversion for the dictates of Society.”

Out of habit, he started to rub at his jaw, then caught himself. “Perhaps that can be turned to our advantage.” As a sharp rapping signaled the dowager’s return, he turned away from Shannon. “Leave the lady to me.”

“If anyone can disarm her, it is you.”

Was that meant as a compliment, or did its meaning have a more cutting edge? Her expression as she stared into her tea was inscrutable.

He was left with little time to think on it, for as he rose, Lady Octavia waved away the proffered chair. “Now that you have fortified yourselves with a spot of sustenance, shall we go meet the children?”

“Prescott, make a bow to Mr. Oliver. And Emma, show Miss Sloane that you know a proper curtsey. You would not wish them to think their charges are wild savages, would you?”

“No, grandmama,” they dutifully chorused. However, Shannon did not miss the sidelong looks that the two siblings exchanged. The rolled eyes and pinched grimaces did not express much enthusiasm for the new arrangement.

“My grandson is quite proficient in mathematics and science for a lad of eleven,” continued the dowager. “ Though I fear he has neglected his study of history and literature.”

“A deficiency that is easily remedied,” replied Orlov.

Shannon saw that the remark earned the new tutor no favor with the lad.

“What do you know of navigation, sir?” demanded Prescott. “I am very interested in furthering my knowledge of the discipline.”

“That is because Scottie means to be a pirate,” announced his sister. “And he‘ll be a corking good one, seeing as Papa has taught him all about gunpowder and ballistics.”

“Emma,” chided Lady Octavia. “It is not polite to interrupt your brother.”

“A pirate,” repeated Orlov, after the little girl had mumbled an apology. “Not an admiral, like Lord Nelson?”

“Pirates have chests of gold and get to drink bottles of rum all day,” said Prescott with a leer.

“Admiral Nelson was pickled in a barrel of brandy after the Battle of Trafalgar,” replied Orlov. “Ensuring that he will be pleasantly foxed for all eternity.”

As the children giggled, Lady Octavia tried to cover her own twitch of amusement with a raised brow.

“History, milady,” he said gravely. “You did say you wished Master Prescott to fill in the gaps of his knowledge.”

“Not with fermented sugar cane or Blue Ruin,” she said dryly.

Shannon was surprised that Orlov appeared to have a natural rapport with children. She hadn’t known what to expect, but certainly it was not this easygoing banter. He was a man of many facets, as she was quickly discovering. Killer, thief, spy. Was he here as a protector? Or were his orders to play another role?

Damn. Lynsley’s parting whisper had warned that for all the hearty handshakes and professions of friendship, the new alliance had to be taken with a grain of salt. She must never forget that his charm could turn deadly in the blink of an eye.

She looked up to find Emma studying her intently. The girl was about the same age as the youngest students at Mrs. Merlin’s Academy, and had the same air of wariness at finding her life about to undergo a profound change. Did all orphans have such a guardedness to their gaze? It wasn’t as if these children lacked a loving home, but could anything replace a mother and father?

“Do you wish to be a pirate like your brother?” asked Shannon.

Prescott made a rude sound. “Females aren’t allowed to swing from the yardarms or brandish a cutlass. It isn’t ladylike.”

“Says who?” retorted the little girl.

“Parson Greeley’s wife. And Mrs. Leith,” answered her sibling. “They nearly swooned when you mentioned sailing the seven seas.”

“I don’t know why boys get to have all the fun,” grumbled Emma. “Grandmama isn’t such a stickler,” she added after a pause, sneaking a tentative peek at Shannon as if to gauge her reaction.

“Nor am I. A lady should know how to defend herself,” she said. “Though steel is not always the most effective weapon. There are methods of hand-to-hand combat that can throw the brawniest man on his . . . posterior.”

Prescott’s smirk squeezed to a more uncertain expression. “You are bamming us. ”

She winked at Emma. “We shall see.”

“Have the ladies just issued a challenge?” Orlov dusted his sleeve. “We shall have to consider what measures we can come up with to match their prowess. After the textbook lessons, of course.”

“May we start tomorrow, sir?” asked Prescott eagerly.

“I don’t see why not. But of course, Miss Sloane is free to set her own schedule.”

Emma looked up, her eyes widening in a mute appeal.

“Well, we certainly can’t let the men steal a march on us, can we now?” answered Shannon, glad to see her words brought a glimmer of a smile to the little girl’s face. “However, as Mr. Oliver rightly reminded us, the daily lessons must be attended to first.”

“I can already do sums nearly as well as Scottie.” Emma’s chin took a stubborn jut. “Papa said I am very clever with numbers.”

“I am sure you will prove an excellent student in all disciplines.” Shannon paused. “For history, perhaps we shall begin our studies of the British Isles with a look atGrace O’Malley, the Irish firebrand from the sixteenth century, who was the first female pirate.”

Lady Octavia coughed. “Let us leave any further tales of bloodshed and mayhem until the morrow. Children, it is time for your supper.”

“But grandmama—” they began in unison.

A crack of her cane cut off the pleas. “Any mutiny aboard this ship and the guilty party shall be made to walk the plank.”

Grins and giggles greeted the threat.

“Now be off with you rascals.” Once they had scampered away for the nursery stairs, the dowager turned her gimlet gaze on the two new teachers. “Hmmph . . .”

It was unclear whether the rasp of air was an unceremonious dismissal.

“London must have changed a great deal since my days in Town,” she remarked. Her focus suddenly shifted to Shannon. “Where did you say you studied?”

“Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Extraordinary Young Ladies.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I am not surprised, milady” she responded quickly. “It does not count any daughters of the ton among its students, but I do assure you that the training is quite rigorous.”

“The Woolsey Agency is very discriminating in its choice of teachers,” murmured Orlov. “It prides itself on having a progressive educational philosophy.”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, young man. Before you begin the first lessons, I should like to know just what sort of curriculum you have in my mind for my grandchildren?”

Unsure of how much Orlov really knew about academics, Shannon was about to speak up. However, her intervention proved unnecessary.

“We certainly intend to teach all the traditional subjects, along with encouraging a healthy dose of vigorous outdoor activity. Mens sano in corporo sano —the ancient Greeks were firm believers in a healthy mind in a healthy body.”

An assassin who could quote from classical theory? Shannon was getting quite an education in the Russian’s knowledge. She could not help wondering what other talents he was keeping under wraps.

Without missing a beat, Orlov leaned down and replaced the dowager’s hawthorn stick with the support of his arm. “Speaking of traditional views, milady, I would like to discuss another matter with you . . .”

Shannon was content to bring up the rear. A rakish rogue, she admitted, could prove a useful ally. Just as long as she did not allow herself to be seduced by his golden tongue. Or the sleek stretch of corded muscle that rippled beneath the frayed serge.

Hidden talents, indeed. Along with keeping a close watch on the children and the surrounding Highland moors, she didn’t dare take an eye off of Alexandr Orlov.

“A walk on the moors?” Lady Octavia looked strangely troubled at Shannon’s announcement. The first day in the schoolroom had just ended and the children had gone off to the kitchens. “I would have thought you would still be tired from your journey here.”

“Oh, I am made of sterner stuff than that,” she replied. “Seeing as our lessons are finished, and Emma is having her supper, I thought I would take the opportunity to become more familiar with my surroundings while there is still a bit of daylight left.”

“Hmmph.”

Shannon sensed the elderly dowager had still not decided on whether she was up to snuff. Unlike Orlov, who had clearly charmed his way into the lady’s good graces. “But if you feel that I ought not abandon my charge, I will of course remain here.”

“I am not questioning your diligence, Miss Sloane. I am merely reminding you that Scotland is quite unlike the gentle countryside around London. It is a wild and rugged terrain, with many hidden pitfalls. For someone used to a more pastoral setting, it could be daunting. ”

“I am quite at home in rugged country.”

“You don’t look it,” said the dowager bluntly.

Deciding it would do no harm to show she was not such a timid little mouse, despite the drab brown dress, Shannon lifted her skirts to reveal the small dagger strapped to her calf. “Appearances can be deceiving, milady.”

A glint flashed in Lady Octavia’s eye. “Is it real?”

“You can shave the hairs on your forearm with its blade.”

“And likely lop off a few limbs while you are it.” The dowager waggled a brow. “God help Mr. Oliver if he gets too randy, eh?”

Shannon could not help but like the elderly lady’s earthy bluntness. Matching the dowager’s grin, she chopped at the air with her hand. “He has been warned not to come too close for comfort.”

As her chortle died away, Lady Octavia turned a bit more pensive. “And yet, you readily agreed to the rascal’s suggestion that the two of you be allowed to change your quarters and sleep in the same hallway. I was under the impression that you and he . . .”

“Oh, that.” Shannon decided the best explanation was the one nearest the truth. “I think Mr. Oliver imagines that given time, I shall eventually succumb to his charms. Which are undeniably attractive. However, our primary concern is truly for the children. In a large and rambling house such as this one, it seemed prudent to request a closer proximity to their rooms at night, in case we are needed.”

“Needed?” The dowager’s voice suddenly seemed sharper.

“Nightmares, strange sounds in the dark. Such things can be frightening to young children, especially ones who have recently experienced the loss of their parents.” She paused for a fraction. “I, too, was orphaned at an early age, so I understand how traumatic it can be.”

Lady Octavia appeared to be contemplating the silver top of her walking stick. “I am impressed by your concern. The Woolsey Agency is to be commended for finding such conscientious young people.”

“They are, I am told, experts in the field and take their reputation very seriously.”

“Then no wonder Angus chose them. He wouldn’t entrust his niece and nephew to just anyone.”

“He hasn’t.”

“Hmmph.”

Shannon was learning that the low snort could mean anything from displeasure to delight. She hid her own thoughts behind a polite smile.

“Well, go on, gel, and enjoy your tramp through the heather. Mind you watch your step on the path above the stable. A deep gorge cuts below the ridge and the footing can be very treacherous. And if you choose to wander as far as Loch Morie, avoid the southeast bank. There is a peat bog close to the shoreline.”

“I shall exercise great caution.”

“Do.” A hesitation seemed to hang in the air. “As Angus has gone to all the trouble of dispatching you here, I should hate to think of losing your services before they have rightly begun.”