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Highland Rogue
Deborah Hale


Ewan Geddes had once sent Claire’s heart racing… But that was back when he was a servant and she the laird’s awkward daughter. Now he’d returned, an upstart fortune hunter bent on her sister, and Claire Talbot swore to stop any heartbreak before it started – even if that meant tempting away a man who’d only grown decidedly more appealing.Claire Talbot had to be the most exasperating woman in the world, Ewan decided. And she stood between him and the bride he wanted! Or did she? For her grace and fire made him yearn that every day be an adventure…and every night a dream come true!










How much longer would the two of them remain alone?

Claire pushed that foreboding to the back of her mind, alongside her fear of heartache.

‘I have a piece of advice,’ said Ewan, ‘that should help yer game.’

Something in his tone warned Claire it was likely to be an impudent suggestion. ‘Indeed?’ she rallied. ‘And what might that be?’

‘Don’t wear a corset.’ Suppressed laughter bubbled beneath his audacious suggestion. ‘It makes it too hard for ye to bend over the table to make yer shot.’

He rattled on. ‘It’s only me to see ye, anyway, and I think ye’ve got a fine figure without squeezing it all out of shape. Ye’re not wearing a corset now, are ye?’

‘Ewan!’ A furious blush tingled in Claire’s cheeks. ‘That is not a proper question for a gentleman to ask a lady!’

‘Aye, well, I’m no gentleman, am I?’




About the Author


In the process of tracing her Canadian family to their origins in eighteenth-century Britain, DEBORAH HALE learned a great deal about the period and uncovered plenty of true-life inspiration for her historical romance novels! Deborah lives with her very own hero and their four fast-growing children in Nova Scotia—a province steeped in history and romance!

Deborah invites you to become better acquainted with her by visiting her personal website, www.deborahhale.com, or chatting with her in the Harlequin/Mills & Boon online communities.

Novels by the same author:



A GENTLEMAN OF SUBSTANCE

THE WEDDING WAGER

MY LORD PROTECTOR

CARPETBAGGER’S WIFE

THE ELUSIVE BRIDE

BORDER BRIDE

LADY LYTE’S LITTLE SECRET

THE BRIDE SHIP

A WINTER NIGHT’S TALE

(part of A Regency Christmas)

MARRIED: THE VIRGIN WIDOW* (#litres_trial_promo)

BOUGHT: THE PENNILESS LADY* (#litres_trial_promo)

WANTED: MAIL-ORDER MISTRESS* (#litres_trial_promo)

HIS COMPROMISED COUNTESS

* (#litres_trial_promo)Gentlemen of Fortune


Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




Highland Rogue


Deborah Hale








www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is lovingly dedicated to old friends and new.

To Diane Beaumont,

the person who taught me more about writing than anyone…and more about generosity, too. And to the Ladies of the Library: Shannon, Kari, Laura Lee, Michelle, Anna, Alli, Doreen, Biddy, Christi, Marcy, Kate, Karen, Susan, Linda, Tina, Angela and all the gang. Thanks for giving me a special spot to hang my bonnet in the eHarlequin community. I can’t wait to see Irving’s Bookcase overflowing with all your titles!




Chapter One


London, 1875

“My stepmother? Oh, bother!” Claire Brancaster Talbot glanced up from her desk, where she sat reviewing some correspondence from the Admiralty.

To the best of her recollection, Lady Lydiard had never before set foot over the threshold of Brancasters’ business office on the Strand. “Did she say what she wants to see me about, Catch-pole?”

The sudden advent of Lady Lydiard appeared to have flustered the hitherto imperturbable Mr. Catchpole. Claire had long suspected her fussy, middle-aged secretary of entertaining a secret reverence for persons of title.

“Her ladyship did not vouch that information, miss.” Catchpole removed his pince-nez, then immediately replaced it. “Should I have made so bold as to inquire?”

“I would scarcely call it bold to ask a caller’s business.” Claire stifled a sigh as she laid aside her paperwork. “However, I doubt her ladyship will keep me in suspense about what she wants. Show her in.”

Rising from her seat, Claire smoothed down the skirt of her checked silk frock, hoping her stepmother would not fuss about the paucity of her crinolines or the complete absence of a corset. Not that Claire’s angular figure truly required the latter to achieve a slender waist. Corsets did help create the illusion of bosoms, but she could happily do without those in the business world.

The door to her office opened and Lady Lydiard cruised in under full sail, her middle-aged waist cinched so tightly Claire marveled the woman could breathe, let alone sit or eat.

Mr. Catchpole trailed behind her ladyship with an unctuous smirk on his face that made Claire want to shake some sense into him. “Lady Lydiard to see you, Miss Brancaster Talbot. Shall I bring tea for you ladies?”

“One name will do, thank you, Catchpole,” said Claire.

Adopting the name of her mother’s family when she’d taken over Brancasters had been an edict of her grandfather’s will. Though she signed both names on business correspondence, she found the pair too cumbersome for social use.

“And don’t bother about tea,” she added, without consulting her stepmother. “I doubt this is a social call.”

Whatever the purpose of Lady Lydiard’s visit, Claire had no wish to prolong it.

“Very good, miss.” Catchpole made a deep bow and backed out of the office.

His obsequious withdrawal was lost on Lady Lydiard, who swept a glance around Claire’s spartan but spacious office, her nose wrinkled slightly as though she could detect the unpleasant odor of trade. “So this is where you spend all your time?”

“Not all of it.” Claire turned to look out her office window, onto the bustle of London’s commercial district. “Just enough to keep your shares from losing their value, and to grow the fortune your grandchildren will inherit one day.”

Lady Lydiard gave a choked little gasp that made Claire repent her veiled threat. For the sake of her dear half sister, she had resolved to improve the cool relations with her stepmother, at least until after Tessa’s wedding.

When she turned back to offer some sort of apology, she found Lady Lydiard with a handkerchief pressed to her quivering lower lip. Claire’s heart sank even as her exasperation rose. It was not fair that a woman she’d never cared pins about could provoke her emotions to such an unpleasant degree.

“Th-that’s what I came to see you about!” Her ladyship promptly burst into tears, much to Claire’s chagrin and impatience.

She had a wholesome horror of the tearful outbursts to which Lady Lydiard was prone.

“Why don’t you…have a seat?” Claire struggled to think what she’d said that could be the reason for her stepmother’s call…or her sudden fit of weeping.

Money trouble? It couldn’t be. Whatever her differences with the woman, Claire had to admit Lady Lydiard lived comfortably within her generous allowance.

“Shall I summon Mr. Catchpole back and tell him we’ll take tea, after all?” she asked, with a hint of desperation in her voice.

She found the ritual of tea drinking often provided a distraction in awkward social situations. This one certainly qualified.

“No tea.” Lady Lydiard made a visible effort to collect herself as she settled onto the chair in front of Claire’s desk. “I don’t wish to keep you long from…whatever it is you do.”

Claire bit back a sharp retort. The work she did for Brancasters Marine Works was at least as important as whatever most women of her class undertook to occupy their time.

“I need your help!” The words burst out of Lady Lydiard like a guilty confession. “It’s Tessa. She’s having second thoughts about marrying Spencer!”

Was that all? Claire gave a chuckle of relief as she resumed her seat behind the desk.

“Tessa is having twenty-second thoughts about marrying poor Spencer. It’s apt to get worse as their wedding day approaches, I warn you. But she will go through with it, all the same. He’s just the steady sort of fellow she needs, bless him. Beneath all her qualms, Tessa knows it, too, I suspect.”

It didn’t hurt matters a whit, in Claire’s opinion, that the match made marvelous business sense, as well. Spencer Stanton’s family owned a large shipping company that was one of Brancasters’ best customers. Besides, Tessa had long passed her debutante days. Her “free-spirited” ways had frightened off less steadfast suitors years ago.

“This is different!” Lady Lydiard insisted. “There’s another man she’s taken a violent fancy to. From…America.” She spoke the word as if it were some sort of profanity. “Gillis is his name…or is it Getty? No matter. I feel certain he’s a fortune hunter of some kind.”

The tension that had begun to ease out of Claire’s body now made her muscles clench tighter than ever.

She would never forget her father’s words to her one painful night, ten years ago. My dear, you are too wealthy, too clever and too plain for any man to wed, except for your fortune.

She hadn’t wanted to believe him. What girl her age would? The suitors who’d pursued her over the years had convinced her that her father’s harsh assessment was correct.

So she’d packed away her few, modest romantic illusions, along with the wistful yearning for a family. Over the years, she had given Brancasters all the time and devoted attention she might have lavished on a husband and children. In turn, the company had rewarded her dedication with growth and prosperity.

Damned if she would let it fall prey to that most loathsome of creatures—a fortune hunter! Especially one trying to sneak in the back door using her half sister.

“I’ll talk to Tessa.” Claire spoke in a tone of grave finality, as if her intervention was bound to settle everything.

This would not be the first time she’d provided the voice of calm reason to counter her sister’s capricious impulses. Tessa was always grateful afterward. Sometimes she seemed strangely anxious for Claire to bring her back to earth, even while she was in the grip of some dizzying new enthusiasm.

“I have talked to her.” Lady Lydiard wrung her handkerchief. “It’s no use. She won’t listen. She’s smitten with this creature, I tell you. Thank heaven Spencer is out of town on business. He’s been terribly patient with her all these years, but I fear this might be the last straw.”

Claire wasn’t so sure. Tessa’s fancies never lasted long. The hotter the flame, the more quickly it tended to burn itself out. Still, with so much at stake for Brancasters, she could not afford to take any chances.

Resting her forefinger against her lower lip for a moment, Claire pondered the most effective course of action.

“I should like to meet this man for myself,” she said at last. “In the meantime I’ll make some inquiries about him, and we can proceed from there.”

Lady Lydiard gave a final sniff, but otherwise seemed to brighten considerably. “Thank you, Claire. You’ve always been such a sensible, detached sort of person. Almost as good as talking to a man, really.”

“Thank you…” murmured Claire. “…I suppose.”

“Lord and Lady Fortescue are hosting a ball this evening,” Lady Lydiard said. “I feel certain he will be there. The scoundrel’s gotten himself invited to every social event Tessa has attended for the past fortnight. And what with Sylvia Fortescue being an American…”

Claire nodded. Marriages of indebted British noblemen to American heiresses had become something of an epidemic of late.

She thought for a moment. “I do believe I received an invitation from Lady Fortescue. Since I didn’t send my regrets, I suppose I am at liberty to attend if I wish, with a suitable escort.”

“You never bother to send your regrets.” Lady Lydiard clucked her tongue over such social negligence. “Then you fail to arrive, putting out the table of any hostess foolish enough to expect you. And what manner of suitable escort are you planning to bring?”

“A private agent, if you must know. I’ve used him before, to procure information. He’s proven himself extremely discreet and reliable. I’d like him to get a close look at this new admirer of Tessa’s.”

Claire pulled open the top drawer of her desk and swept the Admiralty papers into it. There would be no more time for regular business today, if she was to contact Mr. Hutt and secure his services, then get herself suitably gowned and groomed for the Fortescues’ ball.

There was no help for it, though. Thwarting the aims of this fortune hunter might prove as vital to the continued prosperity of Brancasters as any navy contract. Besides, Claire felt a duty to protect Tessa from her own foolishness.

Dancing had already begun by the time Claire and her escort arrived at the Fortescues’ Grosvenor Square town house that evening.

“Miss Talbot, what a pleasant surprise.” Lady Fortescue did not look or sound pleased. “Lady Lydiard sent word that you might be able to come tonight, after all.”

“That was good of her.” Claire returned her hostess’s brittle, insincere smile with one of her own. “May I present my escort? Mr. Obadiah Hutt, a business associate of mine.”

Lady Fortescue gave a cool but gracious welcome to Mr. Hutt, who looked surprisingly distinguished in evening clothes. Claire wondered if their hostess would have been quite as hospitable if she’d known the precise nature of their association.

Once they were out of earshot of Lady Fortescue, Mr. Hutt leaned toward Claire and murmured, “I’ll just go have a look ’round, and a listen, if that suits you, miss?”

“By all means.” Claire swept a quick glance around the ballroom, but saw no sign of Tessa or Lady Lydiard. “I always approve of people getting on with the job they’re being paid to do.”

Her agent cast a professional eye over the other guests. “If this fellow’s been showing up frequently in society the past week or two, someone’s bound to know something about him.”

The more information Mr. Hutt could uncover, the better, even if it was not especially incriminating, thought Claire as he slipped away to begin his work. Tessa was apt to be attracted by a mystery.

“Why, Miss Talbot!” A familiar, velvety masculine voice rang out behind her. “Is that truly you, or have I had too much to drink already?”

She turned to find Major Maxwell Hamilton-Smythe watching her. As always, he looked impeccably tailored in his dress uniform. And as always, he had a glass in his hand and a roguish gleam in his eye.

In spite of herself, Claire returned his smile. “Nobody who knows you would discount the latter possibility, my dear Max.”

The man was a snake. Claire had decided that long ago, when he’d pursued her so relentlessly. But he was the most handsome snake she’d ever set eyes on. There had been a time, when she was younger and not yet reconciled to a lifetime of spinsterhood, when Max Hamilton-Smythe had made her question whether buying a husband would be so terrible, provided she knew that’s what she was doing, and she got good value for her money.

“As a matter of fact,” she added with mock gravity, “I am a look-alike Miss Talbot has employed to stand in for her at dreary social gatherings she cannot otherwise avoid.”

The wry jest had barely left Claire’s lips when all thought of levity abruptly deserted her. What if Max was Tessa’s fortune hunter?

With a giddy surge of relief, she remembered that Tessa’s suitor was an American. Besides, Max had recently married some poor creature whose fortune exceeded both her beauty and her good sense.

Max bolted the last of his drink, then handed the empty glass to a passing footman. “Well, whoever you are, will you do me the honor of a dance?” He offered Claire his arm. “For old times’ sake?”

“I’m not certain old times merit it.” She took his arm just the same, and let him lead her to the dance floor. “Besides, shouldn’t you be squiring your wife this evening?”

“She’s not here.” Max gave a cheerful shrug, as though her absence did not trouble him vastly. “Indisposed, the poor darling.”

As Max whirled her around the ballroom, Claire tried to decide whether she pitied Mrs. Hamilton-Smythe her husband’s callous neglect more than she envied the woman for being with child.

After two waltzes and a further exchange of good-natured barbs, Claire took her leave of the major, more convinced than ever that she’d been wise to keep out of his attractive clutches.

“It’s been amusing to see you again, Max. But I mustn’t keep you from your mission to deplete Lord and Lady Fortescue’s wine cellar. Do tell your wife I hope she’s feeling better soon.”

“About my wife…” Max maneuvred Claire into a corner near the musicians’ dias and lowered his voice. “Just because I’m married now doesn’t mean you and I couldn’t—”

“It most certainly does, Max, you reptile.”

He gazed at her as if the word were some kind of endearment, and added in a coaxing murmur, “Barbara and I have an understanding.”

“Ah.” Claire fought the urge to slap his face. “Then perhaps you and I should have one, as well.”

Max’s sea-green eyes glittered with lust…or perhaps it was avarice. Claire had never succeeded in telling the two apart.

“I understand that you are as monstrous a cad as ever.” By the tone of her voice, anyone overhearing them might have thought she was paying him a compliment. “And you understand that I would not dally with you if you were the last man on earth. Now, do we understand one another?”

If she’d hoped to goad the major into losing his temper, Claire would have been disappointed.

Instead, he clucked his tongue at her while looking intolerably smug. “I promise, you don’t know what you’re missing. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

On the underside of a rock!

Claire turned away from Max, intending to toss the insult over her shoulder.

Instead, she found her slippers glued to the floor as she watched Tessa waltz past in the arms of a man.

Tessa’s partner was not quite as tall as the major, and most women might have deemed him not half so handsome. But Claire could not take her eyes off him, for he danced the way he walked, with a jaunty, athletic grace that made people turn and stare whenever he passed.

His hair, a rich dark brown, clung to his head in crisp, close-cropped locks. He had a high-bridged, aquiline nose and a wide, bowed mouth that managed to suggest both good humor and unswerving determination. Alert, roving gray eyes nestled beneath forceful dark brows. For the moment, they fastened on Tessa with an intensity that took Claire’s breath away.

“Miss Talbot?”

“Go away, Max!” she snapped. “I don’t want you for a lover any more than I wanted you for a husband.”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Talbot, it’s only me—Hutt.”

A searing blush suffused Claire’s face as she turned toward the agent. For an instant, she forgot about Tessa and her partner. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hutt! I thought you were…someone else.”

“No harm done, miss.” Not even the faintest suggestion of a smirk twitched at the corner of the agent’s thin lips.

Once again, Claire congratulated herself on having secured his services.

“My inquiries have yielded some information about the gentleman, Miss Talbot.” Though he’d succeeded in hiding his amusement over her gaffe, Mr. Hutt could not conceal his satisfaction over his own quick work. “I thought you’d want to know straightaway.”

Tessa’s fortune hunter!

Claire spun around again, her gaze combing the room in search of him.

Behind her, Obadiah Hutt began to rattle off his report in an eager voice. “I have discovered the gentleman’s name, miss. And I’ve discovered he is not an American, as Lady Lydiard supposed.”

Not an American. No.

From across the ballroom his voice drifted, mellow and musical, with the distinctive lilting burr of the Highland glens. Claire steeled herself to resist its enchantment, but failed.

When Mr. Hutt began to speak again, she held up her hand for silence.

“But, miss, don’t you want to hear the gentleman’s name?”

Across the ballroom, Ewan Geddes glanced up and caught her watching him. For an instant, puzzlement knit his full dark brows together.

Then it cleared.

His bow mouth stretched into a wide, devilish grin, and he winked at her.

“I know his name, Mr. Hutt.” The hand Claire had held aloft balled into a tight fist, as did the one by her side. “Furthermore, I know he is no gentleman.”




Chapter Two


A good job he was at a ball with an orchestra playing, Ewan Geddes thought. It gave him an excuse for dancing around the room without looking like a daft fool!

For ten years he’d worked and struggled to get where he was now—with Miss Tessa Talbot in his arms and no man having the power to take her away from him. Surely Fate had wanted them together, no matter how unlikely a match they once might have seemed. Considering how far he’d risen in the world, Ewan knew nothing was impossible for a man who had faith in himself, and the boldness to act decisively when an opportunity arose.

The music stopped, but he continued to twirl Tessa around the floor, narrowly avoiding several other couples who had paused to wait for the orchestra to begin again.

“Ewan!” Tessa squealed. “What are you doing? We can’t dance without music!”

“Ah, but there’s music in my heart, lass.” As he gazed down into her enormous turquoise eyes, the years fell away and he was eighteen again—an ardent lad in love for the first and only time. “Can ye not hear it? It’s been playing a wild, sweet melody ever since I laid eyes on ye again.”

Tessa lowered her gaze demurely, catching her full lower lip between her teeth.

That look made Ewan ache to kiss her, but he would not do it until she had promised to be his wife. And she could not make that promise until she’d withdrawn from her present betrothal.

She glanced back up at him suddenly, her eyes brimming with a reflection of his own giddy delight. “Ever since I saw you again, I’ve found myself humming a little tune day and night.”

“Ye hum in yer sleep?” Ewan teased, holding her closer and slowing their music-less waltz until it was little more than an excuse to embrace in public.

“Of course not, silly!” Her laughter set the cluster of golden ringlets piled high on her head into a quivering dance of their own. “But the melody runs through my dreams.”

“I know what ye mean.” Ewan caressed her face with his gaze. “The sound of yer voice and yer laugh have run through my dreams for years.”

And the way she’d felt in his arms that last night.

Fortunately for Ewan, the dance music began again—a lush Strauss waltz that perfectly expressed the buoyant, heady feelings within him. Otherwise, he might have broken his promise to himself and caused a twittering scandal among London society, by kissing another man’s fiancée in the middle of the Fortescues’ ballroom.

Tessa gave a breathless sigh. “It’s so romantic that you thought of me all those years you were off in America, working so hard to make something of yourself.”

It hadn’t seemed very romantic when he’d first arrived in Pennsylvania, a lad of eighteen, raw from the Highlands, without a penny in his pocket. But he’d had a fire in his belly, stoked by injustice and true love denied. That fire had fueled his rapid rise in the world.

“It was all for ye, Tessa Talbot. To make myself worthy of yer notice and yer company.”

Well, almost all, Ewan insisted to his bothersome conscience. True, in those early years he’d been at least as eager to take some revenge against her father, who had sacked him without a character reference. In time, however, he’d come to enjoy the challenge of making his fortune for its own sake. Once he’d had the resources to carry out his original plan, he’d assumed Tessa must have been long since married to someone else.

Then a copy of the London Times had fallen into his hands. Ewan vowed to have that blessed paper gilded and mounted. For it had informed him that the Honorable Miss Tessa Talbot, daughter of Lady Lydiard and her late husband, was engaged to be married.

Only engaged!

All his old fallow feelings for her had burst back into bloom, and Ewan had booked passage on the fastest steamer that would get him across the Atlantic.

“Worthy? What nonsense!” Tessa gave him a token slap with the hand that rested on his shoulder. “You know I’ve always thought more of real people who work for a living than I ever have of useless aristocrats.”

Her fervent declaration should have pleased him no end, but for reasons that eluded Ewan, it made him strangely uneasy. He told himself not to be so foolish. He had everything he’d ever wanted within his grasp. Nothing and no one would stop him now. Least of all some vague foreboding he could not even put into words.

It was like the feeling he used to get when stalking game in the hills above Strathandrew. When he’d slowly turn, to discover a pair of wild, wary eyes fixed on him. Try as he might, Ewan could not shake it.

When the final notes of the waltz died away, he bowed to Tessa. “Shall we get something to drink, then find a quiet spot where we can sit and talk?”

While he waited for her answer, his gaze roved over the Fortescues’ ballroom.

There! Near the orchestra dais. A tall, elegant-looking woman was watching him.

The color of her hair, her willowy grace of figure and her long, delicate features all put him in mind of a doe. But the relentless intensity of her gaze better suited a wildcat defending her young.

Did he know the woman? Ewan reckoned he might. But from where?

Then it came to him.

The elder Miss Talbot. What was her name? Catherine? Charlotte?

Whatever she called herself, no wonder she was looking daggers at him. The lady had always twitted and found fault with him during the summers when Lord Lydiard had brought his family north to their Scottish hunting estate.

She’d especially disapproved of his obvious fancy for her half sister. Ewan wondered if she might have been the one who’d tattled to old Lord Lydiard about his midnight meeting with Tessa, on the Talbots’ last night in Scotland, ten years ago.

Well, she’d get her comeuppance when he made Tessa his bride!

Long ago, Ewan had discovered that nothing vexed the elder Miss Talbot so much as when he pretended her slights had no power to vex him. Now, he shot her a wide grin of friendly recognition, with the faintest suggestion of mockery twinkling in his eyes. He knew it was bound to send her into a sputter of indignation. After all these years, he still relished the prospect of getting a rise out of her.

Miss Talbot crossed the ballroom floor with a brisk, purposeful stride. A man followed her.

“Claire!” Tessa cried when she spotted her sister. “What are you doing here? You never go out in the evenings.”

The two women clasped hands and touched cheeks with unfeigned affection.

Ewan had often wondered at their closeness. They were only half sisters, after all, and as opposite in temperament as any two women could be. Each had ample cause to envy the other, too. Tessa, her elder sister’s fortune and consequence in the family. Claire, her younger sister’s beauty and charm.

Claire Talbot smoothed a stray curl off Tessa’s forehead in a gesture that looked almost motherly. “I gather it’s high time I ventured out in society more often. To keep an eye on what you’ve been getting up to while poor Spencer is away. After all, we wouldn’t want any silly gossip to spoil your wedding plans, would we?”

Though she spoke to Tessa, Ewan could tell Miss Talbot’s warning was aimed at him. Did she think him too stupid to know about her sister’s betrothal?

Claire’s mild rebuke appeared to fluster Tessa, which Ewan added to his growing list of grudges against the woman.

“We’ll talk about all that another time, Claire.” Tessa glanced at Ewan and immediately recovered her usual sparkle. “You’ll never guess who’s come to London after all these years!”

“My powers of deduction are better than you may imagine, dearest.” Claire turned to Ewan and thrust out her hand. “Mr. Geddes, isn’t it?”

Ignoring her intention to shake his hand, Ewan caught her long slender fingers in his and raised them to his lips instead. “I’m flattered ye remember me, Miss Talbot.”

As he’d hoped, the gesture and the pretended warmth of his greeting succeeded in provoking her.

She pulled her hand away with the barest pretense of civility. “Pray, don’t flatter yourself too much, sir. I take care to remember a good many people. Not always for the most pleasant of reasons.”

Tessa must have sensed the tension between them, for her voice rang with forced brightness as she asked her sister, “Who is your escort tonight? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

For a moment, Claire Talbot gave her sister a blank stare, then she turned to the man behind her. “Oh! Pardon my manners. This is Mr. Obadiah Hutt, a business associate of mine. Mr. Hutt, allow me to introduce my sister, Tessa, and Mr. Ewan Geddes…an old friend of the family.”

Ewan bridled. Did she think he was ashamed of who he’d been or where he’d come from? Was her introduction a veiled threat to expose his past?

And who was this Hutt fellow, anyway? He lacked the languid ease of a gentleman, and he shook Ewan’s hand with a firm grip, meeting his eye with a direct gaze…almost too direct.

“What Miss Talbot means, sir—” Ewan tried to stare her down, but she did not flinch “—is that I used to be a gillie on her father’s estate in Scotland.”

When a look of puzzlement wrinkled the other man’s brow, Ewan explained, “A gillie’s a sort of guide for hunting and fishing. Totes gear, loads guns, dresses the kill. That sort of thing.”

Tessa clasped his arm in a show of support that touched Ewan. “He was perfectly marvelous at it, too! Why, I can still picture him striding off to the hills in his kilt, with a gun slung over his shoulder. Like a hero of Sir Walter Scott’s, I always used to think.”

Miss Talbot’s business associate nodded at the explanation. “And what brings you down from Scotland, Mr. Geddes?”

“I didn’t come from Scotland, sir.” Hard as he tried to sound matter-of-fact, Ewan couldn’t manage it. “I left my home ten years ago, and I’ve never been back since.”

Thanks to Lord Lydiard. With a little help, perhaps, from the woman who now stood before Ewan, eyeing him with barely disguised hostility.

His old plans for revenge tempted Ewan sorely. Perhaps he should make a few discreet inquiries about Brancasters, after all.

I left my home ten years ago.

Ewan Geddes’s words, and the glint of outrage beneath his facade of casual charm, made Claire’s stomach constrict and her breath catch, as if strong hands had suddenly pulled the stays of her corset even tighter.

She’d come tonight expecting to do battle with a simple fortune hunter, like Major Hamilton-Smythe. Instead, she’d found an old adversary who might have far darker motives and a far greater capacity for mischief. One who might wish to harm the only two things in the world she cared about—her sister and Brancasters.

As the orchestra struck up a new tune, Claire turned to Obadiah Hutt. Behind the cover of her gloved hand, she whispered, “Ask her to dance.”

When he seemed not to hear, or perhaps not to understand, she hissed, “My sister! Invite her to dance.”

“Miss Tessa?” Mr. Hutt extended his arm, as Claire had bidden him. “May I have the honor?”

When Tessa cast a doubtful glance at Ewan Geddes, Claire urged, “Go ahead, dearest. There’s apt to be less talk if you’re seen dancing with a number of different gentlemen while Spencer is out of town.”

“Very well, then.” Tessa shot her sister a look as she took to the floor with Mr. Hutt—half warning, half pleading with Claire not to make a scene.

Claire and Ewan stood for a moment in awkward silence, watching Tessa and Mr. Hutt ease their way into the swirl of dancers.

“Well?” she challenged, when it became obvious he meant to ignore the opportunity. “Aren’t you going to invite me to dance?”

She quashed a foolish flicker of eagerness to feel his arms about her once again. Hadn’t ten years and a succession of men like Max Hamilton-Smythe taught her anything?

The Scotsman raised his dark, emphatic brows and thrust out his lower lip in a doubtful expression. “Ye wouldn’t think it too forward—a former servant taking liberties with the laird’s daughter?”

Claire skewered him with an icy glare, but she kept her tone and smile impeccably polite. “That would not be a first for you, would it?”

That wasn’t fair, her conscience protested. Ten years ago, she’d craved every liberty Ewan Geddes had been prepared to take with her. The trouble was, he’d only ever wanted to take them with her beautiful, vivacious younger sister.

For a moment, his gray eyes darkened like thunderheads over Ben Blane. Then, just as quickly, they cleared like the morning mist off Loch Liath. Both stirred something in Claire that she did not wish to have stirred. Heaven help her if she let this man gain any of his old power over her heart, or, worse yet, guess that he had.

He made a bow, so deep and sweeping it verged on mockery. “In that case, Miss Talbot, as my folks say, I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Will ye do me the honor of a dance?”

No one had ever roused her usually temperate emotions the way he did. Claire struggled to subdue them.

“Did your people steal a great many sheep?” she inquired with arch civility, as she took Ewan’s arm and let him lead her to the floor.

“Only as many as they needed to keep from starving after they were driven from their land.” He spoke in a tone of cheerful banter quite at odds with his words. But when he took Claire’s hand in his and slipped his arm around her waist, she could feel the taut clench of his muscles.

Perhaps she provoked a more intense reaction in him than he had ever permitted her to see. The possibility restored a bit of her self-respect.

Remembering the reason she had lured him to the dance floor in the first place, she ignored his bait about starving Highlanders. “You look very prosperous now. You’ve done well for yourself in America?”

Not so well, surely, that the Brancaster fortune would fail to tempt him?

“Well enough.” His reply confirmed Claire’s suspicion. “There’s no limit, in the New World, to how far a man’s brains and hard work will take him.”

And if that wasn’t far enough, thought Claire, he could always cross the Atlantic to see how far hollow charm and a total lack of scruples would take him.

“I believe a truly determined man will succeed anywhere, Mr. Geddes. My grandfather, for instance. He built Brancasters from nothing, and he didn’t have to go all the way to America to do it.”

Ewan acknowledged her point with a nod. “A great achievement, to be sure. Then he was able to marry his daughter off to a laird.”

That stung. Had her father’s hurtful warning about fortune hunters been the voice of experience speaking? Claire refused to let Ewan see her flinch. One needed a tough hide to trade barbs with the man these days.

“If you think that gives you leave to pursue my sister, Mr. Geddes, I beg to differ. Poaching a few sheep is one thing. Poaching another man’s fiancée is quite another. Exactly what are your intentions toward Tessa?”

“Only the most honorable, I can assure you.” The hand that held hers tightened, as did the one around her waist. “I agree, Miss Talbot, there is a difference between sheep thieving and courting a lady. Sheep, curse their stupid heads, don’t give a hang who shears them. But a lady may have a strong preference about who she weds. If she changes her affections from one man to another before she gets to the altar, I’d hardly call that poaching.”

Heavens! This dance had become more like a fencing match set to music. For all that, some traitorous part of Claire enjoyed their thinly veiled cut and thrust. She had not felt so alive in years.

“My sister may have a strong, even passionate preference for one man this week, sir, then be quite as smitten with another fellow the next. Did it never occur to you why a lady of her beauty and charm should still be unwed at the age of twenty-six?”

Ewan’s roving gaze flitted to Tessa as she danced by in the arms of Obadiah Hutt.

“A bit fickle in her favors, is she?” He did not sound as troubled by the possibility as he should be. “What about ye, Miss Talbot? Why is an attractive lady of fortune like yerself still single at the age of…?”

“Twenty-eight.” Claire rapped out the words with perverse pride. “As well you know, Mr. Geddes, since my sister was sixteen and I eighteen during your last summer at Strathandrew.”

She let her reply sink in for a moment before she added, “I have not remained unmarried for lack of opportunity. Of that you may be sure. No woman with my size fortune has the luxury of going unpursued, no matter how great her deficiencies of beauty, wit or temperament.”

For the first time since they had been reintroduced, Claire sensed a change in Ewan Geddes’s manner. Gone was the antagonism disguised as affable banter. Something she’d said must have struck a nerve with him.

But what? And why?

For the first time since he’d met Claire Talbot, more than twenty years ago, Ewan felt a glimmer of sympathy for the woman.

In the past year or two, she’d been the target of several fortune hunters. It was not an experience he’d have wished on his worst enemy, let alone the sister of the woman he loved.

Around them, the music swelled to its dazzling conclusion. The dancers came to a stop and applauded politely. Some withdrew from the floor to rest or seek refreshment, while others lingered for the start of the next number.

Though he’d had every intention of escaping Miss Talbot’s company at the earliest opportunity, Ewan heard himself ask, “Shall we have another go, then?”

She seemed as surprised by the invitation as he. “Y-yes. I suppose. Thank you.”

Over her shoulder he could see Tessa staring his way with a look of puzzled annoyance. He tossed her a reassuring wink, hoping she’d understand that he was trying to jolly her sister around.

He was confident Tessa would break her engagement to marry him. But whether she’d stay the course against the disapproval of both her mother and her sister, Ewan wasn’t so certain. Some intuition warned him that he could never win favor with Lady Lydiard. But Claire Talbot might just learn to like him, if she’d let herself.

Perhaps he needed to take a different tack with the lady. Remember that he was no longer a nineteen-year-old gillie with a chip on his shoulder the size of a full-grown Scotch pine, and stop letting her gibes get under his skin. Lavish on her a little of the charm with which he’d won her sister’s heart.

“Only a rank fool would claim ye lack for wit, Miss Talbot.” He held her out at arm’s length and pretended to scrutinize her from head to heels. “And I can’t say I see any deficiency in yer looks, either.”

Nor did he.

Oh, she might not have the breath-catching beauty of his Tessa, but Claire Talbot was a bonny woman all the same. What her distinct, regular features lacked in softness, they made up for in character. Her eyes were not the warm blue-green of some southern sea, but the bracing blue-gray of a Highland loch. If he had not known her age, he would have guessed her to be several years younger.

His modest compliment seemed to fluster her more than any of his subtle digs. “You needn’t take pity on me, sir. I’ve lived with my sister long enough to recognize female beauty. And to know that I do not find it in my own looking glass.”

The music began again, this time a gentler melody that put Ewan in mind of a spring breeze whispering through the trees around Loch Liath.

He drew Miss Talbot toward him.

“Pity?” He stared at her as if he’d never heard anything so outrageous. “Ye’ll get none of that here, lass. For ye never had a drop to spare for me in the old days.”

And that, Ewan realized, was one thing he’d always liked about her. Oh, she’d taunted him, outright insulted him at times. Yet somehow she’d made him feel it was because she considered him an equal in character—a worthy opponent, not some poor soul she ought to patronize with gracious platitudes.

“I reckon there’s more than one kind of beauty, don’t ye?” he asked.

“What other kinds can there be?” She sounded dubious.

“Well…” Ewan scrambled for an example that would prove his point. “Plenty of folks think Surrey’s a beautiful place.”

“I am one of them.”

“Does that mean the Highlands aren’t beautiful, then?” He twirled her about so fast it made him a trifle dizzy. “Just because they don’t look like Surrey?”

“Well, of course not!”

The sincerity of her outrage touched him.

“There ye go, then. Perhaps Miss Tessa’s got a Surrey kind of beauty and ye’ve a Highland kind.”

“Harsh, rugged and cold?” Her eyes sparkled with triumph at having cornered him into a slight he hadn’t meant.

“If I didn’t know better, Miss Talbot, I’d swear ye were fishing for flattery.”

“You were once a gillie. Tell me, am I using the right bait?”

If he hadn’t known better, Ewan might have supposed she was trying to flirt with him. But Claire Talbot flirting? No, that was too outrageous.

“Ye shouldn’t have to speak ill of yerself to get folks to praise ye. I expect ye know yer own worth well enough, and I think ye know what I meant about Highland beauty, too.”

“Perhaps I do, Mr. Geddes.” She spoke in a soft voice, and for a moment, her face took on a pensive look. Then her guard went up again. “You’re a more skillful flatterer than most men of my acquaintance. You don’t make the mistake of laying it on too thick.”

Ewan laughed. “I think ye’ve given me an indirect answer to my question, Miss Talbot.”

“Pray, what question might that be?”

“The impertinent one about why ye hadn’t found a husband.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “With the equally impertinent reference to my advanced age?”

“Guilty as charged.” Ewan flashed her a rueful grin. “Dare I offer a humble apology and throw myself on the mercy of the court?”

“Anything is possible, though I doubt you have a humble bone in your body.” Her expression softened. “Very well, then, I accept your apology. I am not ashamed of my age, nor of being unwed.”

“No reason ye should be. I’d say ye’re not married because ye haven’t yet found a man who can give ye a good run for yer money.”

She considered his suggestion. “If one did present himself, I expect he’d be lost in the scrum of those anxious to chase my money.”

Again Ewan found himself laughing at one of her wry quips. He’d often thought something like that of himself.

That was why he’d decided not to reveal the full extent of his wealth until Tessa had formally accepted his proposal. Not that he had any fear she’d wed him for his fortune. How much sweeter his victory would be, though, if she had no idea how far he’d risen in the world, but agreed to wed him just the same.

The thought made Ewan anxious to get back to her as soon as this waltz ended. He nearly missed the words Claire Talbot murmured. Ones she might not have meant to speak aloud.

“I once thought I’d met a man who could give me a run for my money. It turned out I was wrong.”

Ewan forgot about not feeling sorry for her.

Little wonder she mistrusted his feelings for Tessa if she’d been sought after by fortune hunters and let down by the one man she’d cared for.

The music ended and once again the dancers applauded.

“Thank you, Mr. Geddes.” Claire Talbot backed away from him. “You’re a fine dancer.”

He bowed to acknowledge the compliment. “I’ve learned a thing or two in the past ten years. Including that I’m the one who should thank ye for the honor of yer company.”

When she started to turn away, Ewan caught her hand. “I expect we’ve both changed a good deal in the past ten years, Miss Talbot. Maybe we should stop treating each other as though we’re the same folk we were then, and make a new start. What do ye say?”

Her gaze seemed to search his face, weighing his sincerity.

Ewan found himself hanging on her reply with far more suspense than it merited.

Then her face blossomed into a smile as sudden and unexpectedly bonny as the blooming of the heather. “Very well, Mr. Geddes. What you say makes a great deal of sense.”

Her agreement and the modest compliment elated Ewan far more than they ought to have.

“But,” she added in a tone that brooked no contradiction, “that does not mean I will surrender my sister to you without a fight.”

Ewan considered for a moment. “It doesn’t mean I’ll give her up without a fight, either.”

Strangely, the prospect of such a battle of wits and wills with Claire Talbot fired his blood.




Chapter Three


“Come now, Tessa, be sensible, dearest,” Claire begged her sister. “You can’t mean to jilt poor Spencer over a man you barely know.”

A few days after the Fortescues’ ball, they sat in the morning room of Lydiard House. Claire occupied an armchair opposite a matching settee that held Tessa and her mother. A tea tray rested on the low table between them.

This was the first time in the three years since her father’s death that Claire had paid a call on Lydiard House.

“I wish you wouldn’t use an awful word like jilt!” Tessa thrust out her full lower lip in a pretty pout. “It sounds perfectly heartless!”

Lady Lydiard set down her cup of tea, for once in complete agreement with her stepdaughter. “It is a rather heartless thing to do, dear, no matter what you call it. Especially considering how long poor Spencer has waited for you.”

“That’s part of the problem, isn’t it?” Tessa’s splendid eyes flashed with more green than blue, a sure sign of rough sailing for anyone foolish enough to oppose her. “If Spencer had been truly eager to marry me, I cannot believe he would have stood for so many delays.”

After the forbearance he’d shown her sister, Claire would not tolerate hearing Spencer Stanton abused. Not even by his own fiancée.

“Delays that were your idea, may I remind you! Spencer has only wanted to give you time to be certain of your feelings. Would you rather he’d blustered and bullied you to get his own way, like some men?”

“Of course not.” Tessa sighed. “Spencer’s been perfectly sensible and selfless, as always, and I feel ghastly about—” she hesitated over the word, then steeled herself and spat it out “—jilting the dear fellow. But I cannot go through with the wedding when I’m head over heels in love with another man, now, can I?”

It made a sort of topsy-turvy sense, though not a kind Claire could have much sympathy with. If she had given her word, and the gentleman in question had done nothing to make her change her mind, she could not have brought herself to break her promise.

“If you ask me, head over heels does not sound like a very balanced frame of mind in which to make such an important decision.” Claire reached across the low tea table to rest her hand on top of her sister’s. “For Spencer’s sake and especially for your own, please do not act in haste. How much do you really know about Ewan Geddes, after all?”

His name came far too readily to her tongue, curse him! It gave her a ridiculous little rush of pleasure to wrap her lips around it. And to hear it spoken by her own voice…as if that granted her some secret sense of ownership.

Worse yet, the sound of it conjured up a vivid image of the man, and a disturbingly intense memory of how it had felt to whirl around the dance floor in his arms, his voice beguiling her more deeply with every word. It was bad enough she hadn’t been able to get him out of her thoughts last night. If he was going to plague her during the day, as well, how would she get anything done?

“Claire’s right, dear,” Lady Lydiard chimed in, speaking those words for the first time her stepdaughter could recall. “I disapproved of this man when I believed he was simply a stranger from America. But when Claire informed me he was one of our servants…Such an alliance would be out of the question, even if you weren’t already engaged! Really, you might have told me.”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d fuss. And why should it be out of the question, Mama? You always say what marvelous servants we have.”

Lady Lydiard’s patrician countenance took on a look of horror, like a fastidious clergyman listening to heresy. “Marvelous in their proper places, dear.”

“Proper places—tush!” Tessa sprang from her spot on the settee and began to pace the morning room, her delicate hands gesturing wildly as she spoke. “You know I have no patience with that kind of thinking. People are people.”

Where had Tessa picked up her egalitarian notions? Claire wondered. From reading Mrs. Trollope’s novels at an impressionable age? From the handsome but radical-minded tutor their father had dismissed after discovering just how revolutionary some of the young man’s views were? Or was it a natural expression of the rebellious streak her younger sister had displayed as far back as their nursery days?

“Besides…” Tessa made a dramatic sweeping gesture that almost spelled disaster for an Oriental vase perched too close to the edge of the mantelpiece. “Ewan Geddes is nobody’s servant anymore. He is a perfectly respectable man of business in a place called Pittsburgh. And quite prosperous, I dare say. He was able to afford a holiday in London, after all, and his clothes are very well tailored.”

The exchange between her sister and stepmother had given Claire a chance to rally her composure. Now Tessa’s words reminded her of something else.

“I’ve made inquiries about Mr. Geddes, as it happens.”

Tessa’s mouth fell open. “What gives you the right to pry—”

Lady Lydiard interrupted her daughter. “Do be quiet, dear, and listen to what your sister has to say. What did you find out, Claire?”

For the first time in her life, Claire wavered a little under her sister’s indignant glare. It was for Tessa’s good, she reminded herself, and Brancasters’. Yet, somehow, her own foolish partiality for the man tainted her sisterly concern.

“He’s staying at the Carleton, for one thing. A rather expensive hotel for a man who lists his occupation as ‘marine engineer,’ wouldn’t you say?”

Her sister did not seem to draw the same conclusions as Claire had. Perhaps because Tessa had not been forced to guard herself against fortune hunters for so many years.

“How dare you set spies on Mr. Geddes, just because he and I are friends?”

“I’d call it a good deal more than friends,” Claire snapped back, “if you are thinking of jilting your fiancé for the man. I’ve also discovered that he is employed by the firm Liberty Marine Works.”

The significance of her sister’s words seemed lost on Tessa. She lifted her gracefully arched brows in an unspoken question.

“Liberty Marine Works is a shipbuilding firm.” A sinking sensation had gripped Claire when she’d first heard this incriminating piece of information from Mr. Hutt. Now it returned. “Like Brancasters.”

Leaning on one arm of the settee, Tessa brought her face close to Claire’s. “Then you and Ewan should have plenty to talk about at dinner parties, after he and I are married.”

“Teresa Veronica Talbot!” her mother thundered. “Don’t be impertinent!”

“Impertinent?” Tessa pointed an accusing finger at Claire. “Why don’t you lecture her about the impertinence of spying on a man who’s committed no crime other than once having been in our employ?”

Claire rose from the chair, gathering her self-control around her as a buffer against her sister’s passionate outrage.

She was not proud of what she’d done, but she’d had no choice. Now her sister must face the unpleasant truth about Ewan Geddes, just as she had.

“Don’t you see, dearest? A man who lives beyond his means that way can’t be up to any good. Has it never occurred to you that he may be after your fortune?”

“What fortune would that be?” Tessa crossed her arms over her shapely bosom. “A minor interest in Brancasters and part ownership of Strathandrew?”

Claire bit her tongue to keep from reminding her sister that the Scottish estate had cost more in upkeep over the years than it was worth—an expense she alone had borne.

Perhaps Tessa sensed what her sister was thinking, for her lip curled in an unattractive sneer. “I consider myself fortunate not to have been burdened with great wealth. I am not forced to suspect that any gentleman who admires me has mercenary motives.”

“Well, I have.” Claire forced herself to speak calmly as she struggled to hide the hurt her sister’s words had inflicted. “So I must beg you to trust my judgment. Do you suppose there haven’t been times when I was tempted to trust the flattery of an attractive man? When I wanted to believe he would love me just as well if I hadn’t a farthing?”

The defiant glitter in Tessa’s eyes dimmed, and her pretty features crumpled like a child’s. “I’m sorry, darling!”

She dashed into Claire’s arms. “I didn’t mean to be hateful, truly! I just can’t understand why you’re doing this to me.”

Claire’s eyes prickled with tears she had forgotten how to shed. She couldn’t bear to push the matter so hard it caused an irreparable breach between her and Tessa.

She returned her sister’s embrace, then drew back, taking Tessa’s hands in hers. “I’m not doing this to you, dearest. I’m doing it for you. And for Brancasters. I truly believe Ewan Geddes means trouble for all of us.”

“Brancasters!” Tessa spat the word out like some vile oath as she wrenched her fingers out of Claire’s grasp. “I should have known. You’re more concerned with protecting your grandfather’s precious company than with my happiness.”

“Now, Tessa, you know that’s not true.”

Lady Lydiard could hold her tongue no longer. “Apologize to Claire, at once, Tessa.” She rose from the settee. “Your sister would never have involved herself in this unsavory business if I had not appealed to her for help. If you must be angry with someone, let it be me.”

Claire wasn’t certain which of them her stepmother’s words surprised more—her, Tessa, or Lady Lydiard herself.

Surprised or not, Tessa made no effort to apologize. “This is worse than I thought, if both of you are allied against me. I don’t care, though. I will not let you spoil my chance of happiness!”

With that, she spun away and ran out of the morning room, slamming the door behind her.

Claire and Lady Lydiard stood frozen for a moment, listening to the muted pounding of footsteps up the stairs. Then her ladyship wilted down onto the settee again.

“This is worse than I thought.” She echoed her daughter’s words. “Tessa has always been such a willful child. And I fear I’ve only made it worse by indulging her so often. What if she runs away to Scotland and marries the fellow, just to spite us?”

Runs away to Scotland. Those words stirred an idea in Claire’s mind.

She sank back onto her chair and took a drink of her tea, only to find it had gone cold. “I’m afraid that’s just what might happen if we push her too far. We need to let her feelings cool to the point where she can be reasoned with.”

“What are you suggesting?” In spite of the early hour, Lady Lydiard appeared in need of a stronger drink than tea. “That we should look the other way while this fellow continues to pursue my daughter all over London in such a scandalous fashion?”

“Not quite.” Suddenly Claire’s plan took shape with brilliant clarity. For only the second time in her cautious life, she tasted the heady draft of reckless zeal. “We need to keep them apart long enough for Tessa to come to her senses. In the meantime, we must force Ewan Geddes to tip his hand, so she can see him for the fortune-hunting troublemaker he is.”

“And how are we to accomplish that?”

A tiny secretive smile tugged at a corner of Claire’s mouth. The more details she added to her plan, the better she liked it.

“We must present Mr. Geddes with an even more tempting target for his schemes.”

Her ladyship’s eyes widened. “You?”

Claire nodded. Then she remembered another bold plan of hers that had involved Ewan Geddes, and how disastrously it had gone awry.

“This is a pleasant surprise, I must say.” Two evenings later, Ewan looked around the table at the three Talbot ladies, his eyes coming to rest upon Tessa, seated opposite him.

Ten years ago, if anyone had told him the day would come when he’d be sitting down to dine at Lydiard House, he wouldn’t have believed them. It felt as though he was in sight of the crest of a tall peak he’d been scaling for as long as he could remember.

“I was afraid ye ladies might not take kindly to my renewing Miss Tessa’s acquaintance after all these years.”

Lady Lydiard didn’t take kindly to it. Ewan could feel her critical gaze trained upon him, as if she was just waiting for him to fumble his forks or drink the contents of his finger bowl.

He would not be sorry to disappoint her.

From the foot of the table, Claire Talbot spoke up. “I won’t attempt to deceive you, Mr. Geddes. Tessa’s mother and I are concerned about the…haste with which she is making important decisions concerning her future.”

“Claire…” murmured her sister, a distinct note of warning in her voice.

Ewan caught Tessa’s eye, then gave a subtle shake of his head. A great family row wasn’t likely to win him sympathy from her mother and sister. “It’s fine. Honestly. I have no objection to hearing the truth.”

They ate their soup in awkward silence for a while before Claire Talbot spoke again.

“As you may recall from our younger years, my sister has a strong will and knows her own mind. Since her mother and I both love her very much, we do not wish to cause an unfortunate breach in our family, as can sometimes occur under these circumstances.”

“A wise and compassionate course, Miss Talbot.” Ewan found himself warming to Claire in spite of himself.

It couldn’t have been easy for a woman of her spirit to back down from the defiant challenge she’d flung at him on the night of the Fortescues’ ball. But she recognized that opposing him too forcefully might push her sister straight into his arms. And she cared too much about Tessa to risk estranging her.

“A practical course, sir.” Miss Talbot seemed pleased by his praise. “My years in the world of commerce have taught me to be practical, even when it comes to matters of the heart.”

A serving maid stepped forward to collect their soup bowls. Ewan murmured a word of thanks when she took his. Was it his imagination, or did she look a bit familiar? Could she be one of the wee lasses from Strathandrew, brought south to serve in the family’s London home?

Claire Talbot spoke again, distracting Ewan from his thoughts. “The reason we invited you here this evening was so we might begin to get better acquainted with you. Of course, we remember you from our summers in Strathandrew, but that was quite some time ago. Tell me, do you get much opportunity to hunt and fish over in America?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Ewan admitted, as the serving maid placed the fish course before him—poached Highland salmon.

A gillie on the estate must have caught it and sent it south by train, packed in ice.

“My work has kept me pretty busy, ye know. It’s only in the past year or two that I’ve been able to take my nose from the grindstone.”

He took a bite of the salmon. The soft pink flesh melted on his tongue with a familiar salty-sweet flavor so delicious Ewan closed his eyes, the better to savor it. If Lady Lydiard hadn’t been watching him so closely, he might have let out a faint groan of pleasure.

“I know what you mean,” said Claire. “Since taking over at Brancasters, I have not had much opportunity for leisure, myself. Why, just this morning, I realized that it has been fully three years since I last spent any time at Strathandrew. It used to be the highlight of the year, when Tessa and I were children.”

Her gaze took on a far-off look, and Ewan thought he detected a hint of wistful softness in her eyes.

He remembered the Talbots’ summer visits, too. The flurry of anticipation as the great house was opened up and cleaned from cellar to attic. The larder stocked with all sorts of delicacies brought from the south. Fishing tackle sorted and line mended. Guns hauled out and cleaned in preparation for lots of hunting parties.

Then, on the day the Talbots’ yacht moored in the firth, he would steal down to watch the family and their guests disembark. And to take his first, private look at Tessa, to see how much taller she’d grown. How her figure was beginning to fill out in just the right places. If she was wearing her hair in a new style. Whether she was still as bonny as he’d remembered her.

Now he had only to glance across the table…which he did.

The lass was as much a feast for his eyes as the salmon was for his palate—so dainty, soft and golden. She looked almost as though time had stood still for her during the years they’d been apart. For some reason he couldn’t quite puzzle out, that notion troubled him vaguely.

Again Claire Talbot’s voice broke in on his thoughts. “I’ve just had a grand idea. Why don’t we all go up to Strathandrew for a few weeks? Mr. Geddes can come as our guest. It will give us an opportunity to get better acquainted, away from the formality of London. What do you think?”

She glanced around the table at the others, her eyes finally coming to rest upon Ewan.

Tessa slammed down her fork with a force that threatened the delicate china of her plate. “If you must know, I think you’re far more interested in spiriting Ewan and me away from all the tattling tongues in London than you are about getting reacquainted.”

Before Claire could reply to her sister’s charge, Lady Lydiard spoke. “Please excuse my daughter’s ill manners, Mr. Geddes. I can’t think where she’s picked them up.”

Her ladyship’s cool stare told Ewan she need look no further than him.

To Tessa she added, “I believe you owe Claire an apology. Thank heaven there is someone in the family who considers propriety.”

“No apologies necessary,” said Claire, though her face had gone a bit pale during her sister’s rebuke. “Tessa is correct, in part, about my motive for suggesting a holiday in Scotland. I fail to see what harm it will do to exercise a little discretion. There is bound to be a good deal of gossip, in any case, dearest, if you break your engagement. Why add to it?”

“When I break my engagement.”

The lass had spirit, that was certain. Ewan knew he should be grateful that she wasn’t ashamed of her feelings for him, and that she was willing to defy her family on his account, if necessary. All the same, her sharp tone and quarrelsome air set his teeth on edge.

Beneath the table, he gave her foot a gentle nudge. “Well, I think a holiday at good old Strathandrew is a capital idea, Miss Talbot. I was hoping to make a wee visit home, anyway. It’ll be almost like old times, eh?”

Tessa’s features softened. Perhaps she was picturing the two of them riding through the hills, sharing a picnic lunch of Rosie McMurdo’s fine cooking, or walking together by the burn in the late summer gloaming. Those thoughts certainly brought a smile to Ewan’s lips.

Of course, that wouldn’t be like old times, he reminded himself. During the summers of their youth, the thought of wooing Lord Lydiard’s daughter was one he’d reserved for his hopeless dreams. Being able to court her in the familiar splendor of the Highlands, away from prying eyes and tattling tongues, would be like a dream come true.

A dream he’d cherished so long and so desperately, he doubted he could let go of it now, even if he’d wanted to.




Chapter Four


The faintly bilious sensation in the pit of Claire’s stomach had nothing to do with the gentle rocking of the yacht. Unlike her sister and stepmother, she seldom suffered a moment’s seasickness, even in the roughest weather. During their annual voyages to Strathandrew, she had taken keen enjoyment in prowling the decks, questioning the crew about sails and rigging, her senses quickened by the rhythm of the waves and the tang of the sea breeze as it rippled through her hair.

Several years since their last such voyage, Claire now stood on the deck of the Marlet, awaiting Ewan Geddes’s arrival. She reached up to make certain her becoming new hat was firmly secured atop her flattering new coiffure.

Lady Lydiard’s hairdresser had assured her the lower, looser style made her look quite five years younger. Claire had tried to ignore the shallow compliment, but she had not been able to subdue a ridiculous flicker of pleasure…any more than she could subdue the nervous, expectant flutter in her stomach.

Perhaps it was the corset.

Claire suspected the blame for a vast percentage of feminine maladies lay with this unnatural binding of women’s bodies. It was a measure of her regard for Tessa that she had submitted to its tyranny.

Rubbish! protested a voice from deep in her memory—the voice of her late father. You’d never have a hope of winning that bounder away from your sister with your looks. And no amount of corsets, cunning hats or fussy hairstyles will alter that!

Claire’s insides clenched as if powerful hands had jerked the laces of her corset tighter still. Pulling herself to her full height, she thrust out her chin. When he’d been alive, she had never given her father the satisfaction of guessing how much his constant censure had stung. She was not about to let that change just because he was dead.

There was some truth in the notion, though, she admitted to herself as she opened her parasol against the cheerful glare of the sun. She did not expect to win Ewan Geddes with her looks, but with her money.

Once she took care to let him know how little fortune Tessa had in her own right, no doubt he would alter his course in favor of a more lucrative opportunity. Still, Claire did not wish to make him view the prospect as altogether odious.

What time had it gotten to be? She foraged in her reticule and brought out a large gold pocket watch that had once belonged to her grandfather. She consulted the heavy old timepiece, then searched the bustling quayside for a glimpse of Ewan Geddes.

There he was! A powerful wave of relief buffeted Claire.

He strode down the quay with a pair of baggage porters scurrying along in his wake. Then he paused for a moment, peering around at the diverse assemblage of vessels. Claire could tell the precise instant he spotted the Marlet, for he gave a visible start, then headed toward the yacht.

Claire’s insides pitched and swayed worse than ever. She had been a fool to go to such lengths to beautify herself for Ewan Geddes. No doubt he would see through her pitiful plan and laugh at her for even trying to win him away from Tessa. For an instant she considered going below decks and hiding out there with the excuse of some feigned indisposition.

Then she remembered everything at stake— Tessa’s happiness and Spencer’s, as well as the fortunes of the company her grandfather had entrusted to her. She mustn’t give up without a fight.

Resisting the urge to adjust her hat one last time, she approached the gangway as Ewan Geddes sprinted up it.

“Welcome aboard!” Claire smiled, surprised to discover how little effort it required. “I hope you did not have too much difficulty finding us?”

“None at all.” He doffed his hat and bowed over the hand she extended to him. “I apologize for being so late. I had a few pressing business matters to attend to. I hope I haven’t kept everyone waiting.”

“Quite the contrary.” Claire managed to withdraw her hand from his, with considerable reluctance. “I only arrived a short while ago myself, and there has been no sign of Tessa and her mother. I expect they’ll be here soon.”

She directed a member of the crew to show the porters where to stow Ewan’s trunk. When she glanced back, she found him staring at her with an intense and somewhat puzzled look.

Immediately, she raised her hand to her hair. “I beg your pardon. Is something the matter?”

Ewan answered with a decisive shake of his head and a slow blossoming smile that might have made Claire’s knees grow weak if she’d let them. “Quite the opposite, Miss Talbot. I was only thinking it’s a lucky woman who can claim the passage of ten years has made her more bonny, not less.”

Powerful, contrary feelings collided within Claire. Sweet dizzy delight at finally receiving the kind of compliment she’d waited a decade to hear. A flicker of triumph that all her ridiculous preparations had not been in vain.

Poisoning both of those was the bitter certainty that Ewan Geddes only flattered her to further his own selfish ends, like so many unscrupulous men before him. Unlike those other men, he had one most distressing advantage—she wanted to believe him as she had never wanted to believe them.

That sense of vulnerability brought a sharp reply to the tip of her tongue, but Claire managed to imprison it behind a forced smile. It would not do to trade barbs with Ewan Geddes if she hoped to make him pursue her. But she had spent too many years fending off fortune hunters’ compliments to begin lapping them up now.

She affected a tone of breezy banter. “If you believe the past ten years have improved my looks, then you must have thought me very ill-favored when we were young!”

Averting her face, so his sharp scrutiny would not catch a glimpse of the pain her eyes might betray, Claire set off on a leisurely turn around the deck. She heard Ewan’s brisk footsteps following her.

“I can’t deny, Miss Talbot…” He gave a soft chuckle. “In those days, I only had eyes for yer sister.”

“Whereas you now notice other women?” Hard as she tried, Claire could not resist baiting him.

She braced for a sharp retort or a mocking return jab. His gust of laughter, as invigorating as a sea breeze, took her by surprise. “You find my remark amusing?” she asked.

“Aye, in a way.” His eyes sparkled with impudent glee, much better suited to a young Highland gillie than to a mature man of business in a well-tailored suit. “Ye took me back ten years, is all. To a time when the pair of us liked nothing better than going at each other hammer and tongs.”

His infectious camaraderie could seduce her more easily than other men’s passionate or sentimental lovemaking…if she did not resist.

“Are you saying there was something you liked better than making calves’ eyes at my sister, Ewan Geddes?”

“I reckon ye have me there, lass.” He gave a bark of wry laughter at his own expense. “Likely I’m counting myself too high in yer regard, as well. There must have been plenty of other things ye fancied more than trading friendly insults with a hired boy.”

He was wrong about that. There’d been nothing she liked better. At least when he’d answered her thinly veiled insults with comical quips that skirted the edge of outright insolence, she’d been assured of his attention, however fleeting. And she’d had a safe outlet for the futile fury that built up inside her when she’d watched the handsome young gillie showing off for the benefit of her sister.

Claire ignored his question, in case her tone or expression somehow communicated the truth. “Dear me! I wonder where Tessa and her mother can have gotten to?”

Where had Lady Lydiard’s messenger gotten to? Claire cast a nervous glance at the quayside. Someone should have been here by now. Timing was critical to her plan.

Ewan leaned against the deck railing, turning his top hat around and around by its brim. “Do ye reckon Lady Lydiard might be dragging her feet?”

His shrewd insight made Claire chuckle in spite of herself. “It is the sort of thing she might do to express her disapproval, I’ll grant you. In this case, I doubt it, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well…” She chose her words with care, so as not to rouse his suspicion. “I cannot pretend her ladyship is delighted with the prospect of having you as our guest at Strathandrew.”

“Now there’s an understatement if ever I heard one!” Ewan twisted his features into an exaggerated look of disapproval that aped Lady Lydiard’s to perfection.

Biting back a grin, Claire fought the false sense that he was on her side. “My stepmother may be toplofty, but she is no fool. The one thing she wants less than you wooing Tessa at Strathandrew is you wooing her here in London under the noses of all the gossips.”

“So she’ll be here, come what may, looking all grim and disapproving and barely speaking a word.” Ewan tossed his hat in the air, then caught it again. “Would it be wicked of me to hope her ladyship might meet with a wee mishap that would prevent her from sailing with us?”

His suggestion so closely echoed her plan, it took Claire’s breath away. She reached for the deck railing to steady herself. When Ewan’s large brown hand closed over hers, she felt even less steady.

“Are ye all right, Miss Talbot?” The solicitous warmth of his voice and his touch wrapped around her. “I didn’t really mean any harm to yer stepmother, I swear!”

“Of course not.” Claire struggled to rally her composure—something Ewan Geddes had always taxed more than any other man. How would she ever explain her excessive reaction to his jest about Lady Lydiard?

Footsteps sounded behind her and a familiar masculine voice spoke. “Pardon me for interrupting, Miss Brancaster Talbot. I was told to bring you this.”

Claire spun around, barely resisting the urge to throw her arms around her secretary. She was so grateful for his well-timed interruption that she did not even remind him to call her by a single surname.

“Mr. Catchpole, what brings you here?” She took the paper he held out to her, as if she had no idea what message it might contain. “Some problem at Brancasters?”

She handed Catchpole her parasol to hold, so she would have both hands free to open the letter. “I told you, while I am on holiday in Scotland, Mr. Adams and Mr. Monteith will be in charge. If you encounter any serious difficulty…oh, dear!”

“What’s wrong, then?” Ewan leaned closer to read the note over Claire’s shoulder. Whatever it was, he didn’t much care for the sound of it.

When she glanced up at him, he backed away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to look at your note.”

What must she think of him? First that thoughtless remark about her stepmother, now trying to read her private mail. In the past five minutes, he’d done precious little to dispel the doubts she must have about him as a potential member of her family. He must do better if he hoped to enlist her as an ally in his fight to wed Tessa.

To his surprise, she did not look the least offended. She held out the paper to him. “This concerns you, too. By all means read it.”

If the note concerned him, it could only be about one thing. In his haste to read the message, Ewan fairly tore the paper out of Claire Talbot’s hand. Manners and a good impression be hanged!

He scarcely needed to glance at the closing salutation to know the message had come from Tessa’s mother. The florid, swooping script was everything he would have expected from Lady Lydiard.

“‘My dear Claire…’” He muttered the words under his breath as he read, squinting to decipher the words. “‘I fear Tessa and I will not be able to join you and Mr. Geddes on the voyage to Strathandrew, after all.’”

In his mind, he could hear her ladyship speaking those words in a tone of cool, malicious triumph. Gritting his teeth, Ewan struggled through the rest of the note.

“It says Tessa’s ill.” He crumpled the paper in his fist, no longer caring what sort of impression he made on Claire Talbot. “I have to go to her!”

For a moment, Miss Talbot looked as though she meant to prevent him. Something must have changed her mind, though.

“If you feel you must.” She shrugged. “Then by all means, fly to her side.”

For some reason, her willingness to let him go, and her tone of wry amusement, calmed his sense of urgency. “Ye think I shouldn’t?”

“That is for you to decide, of course.” Miss Talbot retrieved her parasol from the fussy-look-ingm middle-aged man who had brought the note. “Thank you for delivering her ladyship’s message, Mr. Catchpole. We will not detain you any longer.”

“Always happy to oblige, miss.” Catchpole regarded his employer with a look that bordered on reverence. “If I may be so bold, I do hope you will enjoy your holiday in the north. You have driven yourself so hard these past three years. It’s about time you had a proper rest.”

Ewan’s clerk had said much the same thing to him on the day he’d made his whirlwind departure for London.

Claire Talbot acknowledged the good wishes with a warm smile. “I do feel the need for a change of scenery. I know I can count on you to keep Mr. Adams and Mr. Montieth up to scratch for me.”

Her shoulders slumped, just a trifle. Beneath her well turned out facade, Ewan thought he could make out subtle signs of fatigue.

Once Mr. Catchpole had departed, she turned to Ewan again. “The note does not say Tessa is deathly ill, only indisposed.” She lowered her voice. “A feminine indisposition, perhaps. I fear you would only embarrass her by making a great to-do about it.”

A scorching blush suffused Ewan’s face, right to the roots of his hair. “Of course…I should have thought…”

“Men seldom need to consider such things, Mr. Geddes.” Her brisk tone soothed his chagrin. “I often wish we women could be so fortunate.”

She nodded toward the note Ewan still clenched in his fist. “Lady Lydiard says she and Tessa will come north by train in a few days’ time. I can ask Captain MacLeod to delay our departure for them, but I doubt they would thank me for it, especially if the sea is rough at all.”

“Not good sailors, are they?” Ewan liked nothing better than the sway of the deck beneath his feet. He’d never been able to work up proper sympathy for poor souls who got seasick.

“The worst.” Claire pulled a face. “It was probably selfish of me not to arrange for us all to travel by rail in the first place. It wouldn’t be the same for me, though, going to Strathandrew without a lovely sail on the Marlet to get there.”

Ewan found himself nodding. He had been looking forward to the voyage over the Irish Sea and through the southern isles. But Tessa…

“I quite understand,” said Claire, “if you would prefer to wait and accompany Tessa and her mother.”

The prospect of a long journey in a tiny railway carriage with Lady Lydiard made Ewan shudder.

Claire strolled back toward the gangway. “Given the circumstances between you and Tessa, I understand perfectly if you would like to keep as close to her as possible until you are safely wed.”

Pride would not allow him to let that challenge pass. Hurrying to catch up with Claire Talbot, he stepped into her path. “Hold on a minute. Do ye think I’m afraid to let yer sister out of my sight for a few days in case she’ll change her mind about me?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Geddes.” She looked him up and down with a shrewd gaze. “Are you afraid?”

“Not in the least.” A faint qualm deep in his belly contradicted Ewan’s emphatic words.

“Sometimes a little fear can be prudent, you know. After all, look what happened when Tessa’s last beau had to be apart from her.”

“That was different,” Ewan insisted. “I came looking for her, to renew our…acquaintance. It wouldn’t have mattered if that Stanton fellow had been stuck to her like wallpaper paste.”

Claire Talbot arched one fine eyebrow. “Wouldn’t it?”

“No!” He felt like a lad again, chafing under her gibes. Only now he couldn’t make himself act as though it didn’t matter. “She cared something for me long ago and I for her. That never went away through all the years since. A few days apart now isn’t going to make any difference.”

Miss Talbot did not look as though she believed him. Perhaps because she sensed the doubts he tried so hard to hide from himself.

“I can prove it!” Ewan regretted those desperate words the instant they left his mouth. But pride would not let him take them back.

For he’d glimpsed a flicker of triumph in Claire Talbot’s cool eyes, mixed with vast relief. The kind he’d seen once or twice in the eyes of a gambler whose bluff had not been called. “You have nothing to prove to me, Mr. Geddes.”

But he did, though. To her. To himself. To Tessa’s mother. He had to prove the lass’s love for him was more than some whim that would go away as quickly as it had come, if he were not constantly by her side to fan the flames.

“I don’t want to impose upon yer sister while she’s feeling poorly.” Ewan dredged up every excuse he could think of to convince himself that Claire Talbot had not maneuvered him into doing what she wanted. “And I must admit, I was looking forward to sailing north on the Marlet. I’ve never much cared for trains.”

Claire’s lips twisted into a mocking grin. “Or the continuous society of Lady Lydiard in close quarters over several days?”

“Aye, perhaps.” Another worthwhile reason for making the voyage occurred to him. He would never have a better opportunity to win Claire Talbot over to the notion of him marrying her sister. “Anyway, it’s not fair ye should have to sail all the way up to Argyll without any company.”

“You needn’t feel sorry for me, Mr. Geddes.” She collapsed her parasol with swift, fierce movements. “I have never been a social creature like my sister. I enjoy my own company very well.”

“Strange, Miss Talbot. That’s the second time ye’ve told me not to take pity on ye. Is there some reason I should?”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” She looked half inclined to break her parasol over his head. “Of course there isn’t. It’s just that I get tired of hearing people say what a shame it is I’ve never found a husband. As if I couldn’t have such useless incumbrances by the hundredweight if I wanted them!”

Her vehement tone rocked Ewan back on his heels. And she wasn’t finished yet. “I run one of the most prosperous commercial enterprises in the kingdom, yet there are people who persist in thinking me a failure because I have not snared a husband to sire half-a-dozen children on me!”

Put in those terms, marriage and motherhood did not sound very appealing. Why, then, did Claire Talbot’s voice ache with longing?




Chapter Five


What had triggered that preposterous outburst? Claire would rather have sunk beneath the deck or dived into the foul waters of the Thames than continue to face Ewan Geddes. For someone who insisted she did not wish to be pitied, she certainly sounded pitiful.

Fortunately, the captain of the Marlet came to her rescue before she expired of humiliation.

“Begging yer pardon, Miss Talbot,” he called, “but the tide’s turning. Do we sit tight or do we sail?”

For a moment, Claire hesitated, stealing a fleeting glance at Ewan Geddes.

It had all been going so well. She’d taken a calculated risk in urging him to stick close to Tessa, rather than trying to entice him to come with her. From their younger years, she recalled that he had often been contrary, doing things he was forbidden, while resisting what he was urged or ordered to do.

Fortunately for her purposes, he appeared not to have changed in that regard. She had challenged his trust in Tessa’s constancy and he had taken the bait. Or rather, he had been about to take the bait. Then her pride had reared up, putting her whole plan in jeopardy.

“We sail, Captain MacLeod.” She gave the order in the decisive tone she had learned to use in business to win her way.

She had composed herself well enough by now to look Ewan Geddes in the face. “Will you sail with us, or will you disembark, sir? I beg your pardon for my outburst. It would be most kind of you to furnish me with company on the voyage. I would welcome the opportunity to observe your character at close quarters, to judge whether you might make a suitable husband for my sister, after all.”

There, she had swallowed her pride, and given Ewan Geddes a further inducement to accompany her. Claire hoped it would be enough. She also hoped she had managed to conceal how desperately she wanted him to come…for Tessa’s sake and Brancasters’.

Ewan gave a stiff bow. “I welcome the challenge of convincing ye of my worth, Miss Talbot. I always enjoyed the zest of yer company in the old days.”

“Liar!” Claire struggled to subdue the intoxicating sensation that his cordial words set bubbling inside her. “I was horrible to you and you were horrible to me.”

The captain must have been following their conversation, for he bellowed, “Raise the gangway! Weigh anchor!”

“Come.” Claire beckoned Ewan toward the galley way. “I’ll show you to your cabin. If you like, you can rest before you change for dinner.”

He followed her down the steep, narrow stairs that led below deck.

“I apologize for going so slowly,” she said. “These steps are quite treacherous to negotiate in full skirts and petticoats. I often envy men your attire. It is so practical and designed for ease of movement. Sometimes I think the design of ladies’ fashions are contrived to hobble us.”

Ewan laughed. “I wouldn’t have agreed with ye when I first went to America and had to wear trousers. For the longest time, I felt like I’d been bound—” he stumbled over his words “—down below.”

His indelicate confession sent a rush of heat through Claire even as it made her nearly double over with laughter. But corsets were not designed for doubling over.

To make matters worse, the Marlet gave a sudden lurch as it slipped from the quay. Already unbalanced, Claire might have tumbled down the last few stairs had Ewan not brought his arm around in a swift, deft movement to catch her…just below the bosom.

As he pulled her toward him, the bracing masculine scent of his shaving soap enveloped her, making her light-headed.

The instant she was no longer in danger of pitching forward, Ewan slid his arm from around her. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to take liberties with ye, Miss Talbot!”

Claire managed to right herself, though her limbs had never felt less steady.

“You have nothing to reproach yourself for.” She hoped he would attribute her breathless tone to the shock of almost falling, and the pressure of his arm around her chest. “In such a situation, one must act decisively, not dither about propriety. You saved me from a nasty spill and I am grateful.”

“Then ye have changed a good deal in ten years, Miss Talbot.”

Claire fixed all her concentration on descending the rest of the stairs without another mishap. Once she had reached the bottom, she risked a glance back at Ewan. “I beg your pardon?”

His wide, mobile mouth crinkled at one corner and in the shaft of sunlight streaming down the galley way, his eyes twinkled. “I recollect one time I took yer arm when we were walking over some rough ground. Ye yanked it away as though ye’d touched a red-hot stove. Then ye said, ‘Unhand me, lout! I’m quite capable of making my own way.’”

Her proud, foolish words, parroted back to her in his exaggerated falsetto, left Claire torn between laughter and cringing. How he must have detested her to have remembered the incident and her exact words after all these years!

She longed to offer him a belated apology and some excuse for her conduct. But what could she say? Admit she’d burned for him with the fierce desire of youth? Confess that the sudden touch of his hand had made her fear she would burst into flames?

Thank heaven she had outgrown such passionate nonsense!

“As I recall…” Claire savored the tart tone of her voice, which had always served to keep Ewan Geddes at arm’s length and prevent him from guessing her true feelings. “…you came back with some sort of pithy reply to knock me flat. You always did.”

“Me!” He affected a look of comic outrage. “Sass his lairdship’s daughter? I’d have been skinned alive for it!”

Seen from his side, it must have felt like a very unfair fight. Claire had known the opposite was true. Her secret feelings for him had always given Ewan Geddes the advantage.

“Oh, you never did trespass into outright insolence,” she reminded him. “But you always managed to get the upper hand, somehow. Your answer would have a double meaning, or it would sound so horribly polite, when all the time it was obvious you were mocking me.”

Ewan mulled over what she had said for a moment. “Perhaps I did come off best now and then. I reckon ye put me in my place often enough, though. Ye had a tongue like a wasp in those days, lass.”

“And you had a hide as thick as a Highland steer,” Claire countered, “or pretended to.”

Her words made her think of something she’d never considered before. Was it possible Ewan had only pretended not to care what she’d said to him back then? Might he have taken her barbs to heart, nursing a deep resentment over the years? Now he gave every appearance of looking back on their old squabbles with wry amusement. Could that be only a pretense, too?

“Do ye reckon we’ll be able to get all the way to Scotland without tearing one another to pieces?” he asked.

Claire gave a little shrug. “Anything is possible. We aren’t a pair of beastly youngsters anymore, though time has not blunted my waspish tongue as much as I would like.”

Not that she had wished it to, especially. Her tart tongue and pose of cool indifference had been her only weapons against Max Hamilton-Smythe and men of his ilk.

Ewan did not look as though he grudged her that. His forceful features seemed to soften in a most appealing way. “Aye, well, I’ve been told I haven’t lost the chip off my shoulder. So I reckon that sets us even.”

Her hand prickled with the urge to rise and caress his rugged cheek. Suddenly, Claire realized how close they had been standing, and for how long, with their gazes locked. Had she already let this man charm her into forgetting who he was and what he wanted?

Heavens above, the Marlet had barely slipped its moorings! What state would she be in by the time they reached Strathandrew? Ready to stand as Tessa’s bridesmaid, perhaps, and to hand over half her shares of Brancasters to the happy couple as a wedding present?

“I do beg your pardon.” She hoped her tone would not betray the swift reversal of her feelings. “I fear I am neglecting my duties as a hostess. We have days ahead of us to talk over old times. For now, I must show you to your cabin as I promised.”

What could he possibly have said or done to vex Claire Talbot? Ewan pondered the matter as he followed her a short distance down the narrow, wood-paneled corridor.

True, they’d been discussing the hostility that had once bristled between them. But they’d been doing it with tolerance and restraint born of maturity, each willing to own a share of the fault.

Then, in less than the flicker of an eye, a change had come over Miss Talbot. A very subtle one, to be sure, but unmistakable for all that. It was as if a balmy west wind had suddenly veered, to whistle down from the north. Or some invisible door, held invitingly ajar, had been slammed shut in his face.

If she’d been vexed with him for taking hold of her in such a bold way to keep her from pitching down those steep stairs, he could have understood it. She hadn’t turned a hair over that, though.

Ewan wished he could forget the bewildering instant he’d pulled her close to him. The feather on her hat had tickled his nose, while the pressure of her bosom against his arm had tickled him…elsewhere. The notion that his old nemesis could affect him that way had staggered Ewan. Clearly, he’d been far too long without a woman.

A wee rest before dinner might do him good. Or a wash up with very cold water.

“These will be your quarters for the voyage.” Claire stopped in front of a door.

Following so close on her heels, absorbed in his own thoughts, Ewan almost bumped into her. Quick reflexes rescued him, but only just. When his hostess turned toward him, she started and gave a little gasp to find him hovering so near.

She took a step backward. “I hope the accommodations will suit you.”

The unexplained stiffness of her manner rasped against his vague sense of confusion. “I made the long voyage to America in steerage, don’t forget. I reckon a guest cabin on the laird’s private yacht will do better than suit me.”

Claire flinched at the gruffness of his tone, but otherwise ignored it.

“Dinner will be served at seven.” She pointed down the corridor. “This opens into the dining room. In the meantime, if there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ring for one of the stewards.”

Ewan struggled to recover his manners, for Tessa’s sake and for his own pride. “I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable, thank ye, Miss Talbot. I’ll see ye at dinner.”

With that, he ducked into his cabin and closed the door behind him.

He stood there for a moment, listening to her brisk footsteps continuing on down the corridor, wondering if this voyage to Scotland with her had been such a wise decision, after all. Whether it was or not, he concluded at last, there wasn’t much he could do about it now except make the best of the opportunity it presented.

His gaze swept the generously proportioned cabin, which smelled of lemon oil. The highly polished wood and brass fittings gleamed softly in the light that filtered through a curtained porthole. The place had an air of understated masculine elegance. It would suit him very well.

His trunk had been safely stowed on a low platform, the rim of which would keep it from sliding in heavy weather. The bed, the dressing screen, a compact wardrobe and a small writing desk had all been bolted to the cabin floor for the same reason.

When Ewan pulled out the leather upholstered chair, he found it had been weighted in the legs. He glanced behind the screen to discover a washstand with a brass-framed shaving mirror mounted above it. Might this have been Lord Lydiard’s cabin back when the family used to take their annual late summer holiday in the Highlands?

Tossing his top hat onto the bed, Ewan tugged off his coat and unbuttoned his high collar. He flashed a jaunty wink at the prosperous gentleman who stared out of the mirror at him. “A fancy billet for a humble gillie boy, eh? Not much question ye’ve risen in the world, laddie!”

Folk who knew him back in America likely thought he took this kind of life for granted. They’d be wrong, though.

There’d been a short while, as he’d first begun to amass his fortune, when he’d been tempted to spend it on luxuries. But that had only made him feel wasteful. So he’d gone back to frugal living, and invested most of his earnings in the company, which had responded by becoming even more profitable.

That would all have to change once he married Tessa. He would buy her a fine house, or perhaps have one built, designed to accommodate her every fancy. He’d shower her with splendid clothes and jewels and every comfort she’d enjoyed in her life so far.

Would she be willing to return to America with him? he wondered. Or would she want to settle in England to remain near her family?

While he continued to plan his new life, he stowed his coat and hat in the wardrobe, then unpacked a few clothes from his trunk. For a while after that, he roamed the cabin, not certain what to do with himself.

It was too early yet to dress for dinner, and he saw no reason to wash or shave again, having made an adequate job of both earlier. Sleeping during the day went too much against the grain of a man used to working from dawn till dusk and often later.

He toyed with the notion of sitting down at the writing desk and composing a letter to Tessa. He could explain why he’d decided to go on to Strathandrew ahead of her, then he could wish her a swift recovery and safe journey on the train. How would he ever post it, though, from out at sea? And even if he managed that feat, could he trust Lady Lydiard not to keep the message from her daughter?

Though he’d had a good solid education at the village school, writing was still enough of a chore for him that he didn’t fancy going to the trouble of it for nothing.

When a cautious knock sounded on the cabin door, Ewan jumped to answer it, welcoming a potential distraction, even for a few moments. “Aye, what can I do for ye?”

“That’s what I came to ask ye, sir,” replied a small wiry man a few years Ewan’s junior. “Any clothes ye need laundered or…”

The steward’s gaze rose from Ewan’s chin to look him full in the face. “Hang me! Ewan Geddes, is that ye in those toff clothes?” He thrust out his hand. “Jock McMurdo. Rosie’s nephew from Strathandrew.”

“Wee Jockie, aye!” Ewan grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. “How’ve ye been, man? It does me good to see ye again!”

No word of a lie, that. His restlessness had eased all at once, as if a fresh sea breeze had just blown down the galley way.

Jockie stared at Ewan, shaking his head. “Auntie said ye’d made yer fortune in America. What brings ye back home again—as a guest of Miss Talbot, no less?”

What would Jock and the rest of the folk at Strathandrew say when they discovered he might soon be more to Miss Talbot than a guest?

“It’s a bit of a long tale, but I promise ye’ll hear it by and by. About what ye asked before, my gear’s all still as clean as when I left the hotel. The only thing I need is a bit of something to do. I’m not used to hanging about idle. I don’t suppose ye could put me to work?”

Jockie laughed until he saw Ewan meant it. “Peel taties in the galley, ye mean? The captain’d have me keelhauled!”

“Would he, now?” Ewan tried to hide his disappointment. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

“Ye could come up and take a turn around the deck,” Jockie suggested. “I could introduce ye to the rest of the crew. At least ye’d get a breath of air and have folks to talk to.”

The notion tempted Ewan, but…“Miss Talbot said we should come below to get out from underfoot of the crew.”

“The Marlet’s slipped her moorings now.” Jockie shrugged. “It’s pretty quiet on deck. Besides, ye look like a man who’s sharp enough to get out of the way when he needs to.”

Not always, Ewan admitted to himself, even as he nodded to Jockie. He’d never been wise enough to keep out of Claire Talbot’s way when she had her temper up.

Was it possible he hadn’t wanted to?

“Mark me, the gentleman won’t be able to take his eyes off you at dinner, miss.” Claire’s new maid, a bouncy little Welsh girl, brushed one last curl around her forefinger.

Claire did not need to stare at herself in the dressing table glass to know that a fierce blush burned her cheeks. “It is a matter of total indifference to me whether Mr. Geddes so much as glances in my direction.”

“Just as you say, miss.” The girl chuckled to herself as if she did not believe a word of it. “Though I think he’ll be a fool if he doesn’t. I suppose you don’t care whether you look at him, either.”

Before Claire could stammer an answer, Williams prattled on, “You’ll be missing something if you don’t. For I caught a glimpse of him and I wouldn’t mind a few more. He’s as fine looking a gentleman as ever I saw.”

“I suppose he’s well enough looking,” said Claire, “if you like that type.”

“And do you, miss?”

Far too much.

Claire shrugged. “I suppose.”

If only she could make herself feel as calm as she sounded! Now that she was about to put her plan into action, a host of misgivings assailed her, and she began to doubt her ability to carry it off.




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