Page 18 of A Scoundrel in the Making

Lady Buchman.

“On the contrary,” a male voice replied, “no mistake at all. Lady Buchman, Abigail, you and I will get on famously.”

“I have no intention of marrying you, sir. Now stand aside. “

“Come now, sweet. Let me show you what I have to offer.”

“If you show me what you have to offer, I will slice it off at the root.”

Reade broke into a run. He rounded the castle an instant later and came to a sudden halt at sight of Lady Buchman as she dropped to a squat, snaked a foot around a man’s ankle and yanked. The man—Lord John, Reade realized—landed on his arse like a sack of potatoes.

“I warned you,” she muttered.

Fury contorted John’s mouth and he shoved to his feet. Lady Buchman took two quick steps beyond his reach.

“You little witch.” He started toward her.

Reade strode toward them. “I would think twice about that, John.”

John whirled to face him. “What are you doing here, Reade?”

“Like you, I am a guest.” Reade continued past him and stopped at Lady Buchman’s side. She didn’t look as if she’d been manhandled. Reade faced John. “Was there something more you wanted?”

He shot a venomous glare at Abigail, spun, and strode away.

Reade waited until he disappeared from sight, then looked at Abigail. “Are you unharmed?”

She frowned. “Of course, I am unharmed. He lay on the ground, not I.”

He had seen that, and the move interested him. It seemed female spies learned a trick or two about taking care of themselves. Still...

“Aye, my lady. I see you have a penchant for walking in gardens alone.”

“What—” She narrowed her eyes. “For your information, the night I met you I fled to the garden.”

“If I recall, a gentleman was pursuing you.”

“That is correct,” she said.

“Just like today,” he said.

She shrugged. “It isn’t my fault the world is filled with foolish men.”

“I would say it is you who are foolish.”

“Thankfully, I care nothing for what you think.”

“So I see,” he murmured. “What were you doing in the garden alone this time?”

Excitement sparkled her eyes. “I found a secret passageway leading from Mr. Russell’s library to the garden.”

“I suspected your absence meant you’d already begun your investigation. Do you think it advisable to enter secret passageways alone?”

“I encountered no trouble in the passageway.”

“Of course not,” he said. “Shall we return to the castle?” He winged an arm.

Unlike most women, who placed their hand in the crook of his arm, she grasped his arm and held tight as she kept pace with his stroll toward the open balcony doors.