Page 34 of A Scoundrel in the Making

He shrugged. “He shouldn’t have left them here. In fact, he shouldn’t have taken them off in your room.”

That probably meant he wouldn’t be willing to remove his coat and cravat in her room. Well, perhaps that was best. Abigail seated herself in the right wing backed chair, and Reade sat in the other. She took a long swig of brandy and handed him the flask. He did the same, then set it on the table between them. Abigail took another drink.

They sat in silence for several long moments before Reade said, “Do you feel the need to further search Russell’s bedchambers?”

Abigail stared into the fire. “Aye. His chambers, library, and the dungeons are the most obvious places he might’ve hidden the Honors. There might even be a secret room or passageway in his private washroom. I don’t believe he would allow them very far out of his reach. If the conversation we overheard between Lord Chaluim and the other gentleman involved the Honors, then he is keeping them somewhere close enough to be able to show them.”

“It also means that Lord Chaluim and the other gentlemen are party to the crime.”

“Exactly. Mr. Russell told Lord Chaluim that he caught us in his washroom.”

Reade took another drink of brandy. “I’m not surprised. Russell isn’t a gentleman.”

Abigail laughed. “Nae, he is not. The fact he chose to tell Lord Chaluim is interesting, however. I wonder what part the viscount plays in Mr. Russell’s scheme.”

“Russell has to have some friends in high places; otherwise, King George will simply imprison him for stealing the Honors.”

She turned her head and met his gaze. “Wouldn’t it be amusing if King George wasn’t one of the few who know of the Honors’ existence?”

He grimaced. “God have mercy. Do you ever tire of being a spy?”

She released a breath. “Aye.”

“You surprise me.”

“Why? No one with any sanity likes living a lie.”

“You’re not living a lie now,” he said. “You’re simply searching for the crown jewels of Scotland while attending a party.”

Abigail shook her head. “But it is a lie. As Abigail Matheson, I would never attend this party.”

“Really? You don’t like parties?”

“I like parties hosted by my friends—or, at least, by people I don’t dislike.”

“Abigail, you are a contrary woman.”

She wrinkled her nose. “A gentleman never points out such things to a lady.”

He canted his head. “You are right, of course. Forgive me.”

Abigail took another drink of the brandy. “If I drink enough of this brandy, I’ll forgive you almost anything.”

His expression sobered. “Most ladies don’t carry a flask filled with brandy.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not most ladies. “

He gave a slow nod. “I have noticed. I’ve also noticed you enjoy your spirits.”

Abigail stiffened. “That I enjoy my spirits is none of your concern.”

“It is my experience that when someone makes a habit of drinking too much, it is often because they are trying to forget something.”

Abigail reached for the flask. His hand covered hers.

“What are you trying to forget, Abigail?”

Ire flared, then vanished as quickly as it came. She removed her hand from the flask and took a deep breath. “On my last assignment, I mingled in Napoleon’s court. There was a young man, Victor--a boy, really--only nineteen years old. He was the nephew of a minor nobleman. You know the French, to them—especially the young—everything is about love.” She gave a low laugh. “It’s lust, of course, but youth doesn’t know the difference.”