‘I aim to please.’
She gave him an arch look. ‘Is that what you are doing?’
The courtesan was back. His body tightened in response, but his heart seemed to swoop down and away, an unpleasant sensation. He brushed the sensation aside. It was part of who she was and he could either accept it, or leave. He leaned back against the seat and watched her face as she peered through the telescope. She handled it easily, adjusting the eyepiece, staring out to sea with parted lips. Now she looked more like a girl on an adventure. No artifice. No icy-hot stares. ‘My word, there are a lot of boats out on the water. Oh, listen. Is that bagpipes I hear?’
She looked and sounded like the sort of girl one might meet at a local assembly. The sort of girl a man might marry. If he was the marrying sort. Except that she was not at all the kind of woman a man would introduce to his mother. ‘Aye. Bagpipes.’
What game was she playing today, then? He did not trust her an inch.
His gaze drifted downwards to the neckline of her gown and he gave his head a shake. How could he think sensibly, when she wore such revealing clothes?
They settled down to await the arrival of the King. They watched the welcoming party get themselves ordered and laughed at the myriad little boats in the harbour sailing up and down sporting flags and pipers. And on the larger ships at anchor, men and women waved and cheered atop the masts and among the rigging. And all before the King was in sight.
Opposite their position, across the narrow harbour, were two platforms at the water’s edge, one floating, where the King would step off his barge, and an upper one, on dockside, where the magistrates of Leith, important merchants, in blue and white, and the royal company of archers massed on three sides to greet the royal visitor.
A gun roared, fired by one of the ships standing out in the Firth. ‘The signal that King is departing the Royal George,’ Charity said. ‘I read of it in the newspaper.’
A deafening shout went up from all around them. More guns fired, from the shore battery this time.
‘There’s the barge now,’ Charity said. ‘Heading between the piers.’ She turned to him with a smile. ‘Would you care to see?’
He was seeing everything he wanted right now. He took the telescope. Their hands brushed and, even through their gloves, he felt the tingle of awareness. Of her. Another deliberate ploy to set him off kilter? ‘Thank you.’ He peered through the glass.
It was not difficult to focus in on the royal barge and its royal occupant. The King wore the uniform of an admiral and an expression on his round face of intense satisfaction as he stared at the waiting crowds. By Jove, the man was fat. They must have needed a dozen ropes on him to get him into that boat.
All around them people were waving hats and handkerchiefs, while bands and lone pipers did their best to outdo each other with music.
He could not understand the fascination with this Royal King who had been Regent for nine years. Surely folks were used to him by now? They were acting as if the King Across the Water had finally come home.
He handed her the telescope. ‘I pity the sailors.’
The boat was close enough now to see without aid and she rested the instrument in her lap. ‘He is enormous, isn’t he?’ she said, leaning close to his ear to make herself heard. ‘He is very unpopular with the common people in London.’
‘Well, he’s getting a grand welcome here. I must have heard a dozen songs all composed in honour of his visit.’ His Majesty doffed his hat and bowed in all directions to the crowds surrounding him both at the water’s edge and on the water.
‘He is lucky to have sunshine, after yesterday’s rain,’ she observed.
Moments later, George was ascending to the upper dock to a cacophony of cheers and trumpets, surrounded by officials from the city in their robes and guarded by soldiers in their red coats and gold braid. While on the water, the sailors stood in their boats, oars in a vertical salute.
While they could hear nothing of what was being said from their vantage point, Logan was able to explain that this was the traditional ceremony welcoming the King to the capital, which went on for about fifteen minutes with much talking and bowing by the mayor and his minions.
The open carriage was brought up and the King climbed in.
‘That’s it, then,’ Logan said. ‘He’ll be off to Edinburgh in a grand procession. I think perhaps we should wait a while before following. If we drive along the shore, we might get a better look at the royal yacht at anchor. I know a snug little inn where we can stop for refreshment.’
She gave him a considering glance as if weighing up his true intentions. Did she think he would ravish her at some lonely out-of-the-way place? Did she hope he would? Hot blood coursed in his veins. Anger. And, yes, damn it, the sharp edge of lust.
She clutched at his arm. ‘Who is that?’
He looked over the heads of the milling people. A mounted man, in full Highland dress, was galloping along the dockside towards the royal carriage from which the King beamed and waved at the people lining the road.
None of the soldiers had seen him.
The King’s equerry put a hand to his holster as the Scot pulled his horse up hard and swept off his bonnet with a courtly bow from the back of his horse. Logan laughed. ‘It’s Glengarry. Giving him a proper Highland welcome. I gather his nose is out of joint because his True Highlanders were nae invited to make part of the honour guard. Got a lot of pride, the Glengarry.’
The King bowed affably and his carriage moved on.
‘So if true Highlanders weren’t invited, who were?’ Charity asked.
‘The Celtic Society. A group invented by Scott.’
‘He’s a talented man. I loved Waverly,’ she said. ‘It was one of the reasons I decided to come with Jack on this trip.’
Now how many lightskirts were avid readers? Och, now that was pure prejudice. She was clearly an educated woman who likely had more time for reading that he did.
He helped her down from the stands. ‘So what is it to be, Charity? A drive up the Firth before we head back to Edinburgh, or a drive through the countryside to avoid the traffic on the roads?’
‘We can’t watch him receive the keys to the city?’
‘We’d never get ahead of him. Not in these crowds.’
She arched a brow. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
They strolled through the crowds milling around the docks back to the carriage. Her hand on his sleeve barely registered, she touched him so lightly. Yet he was aware of it as he would have been of the heat of a branding iron. Aware, too, of the sway of her hips that caused her skirts to brush against his leg at ever other step and the graceful carriage of her head beneath its flower-decorated hat brim. And the occasional whiff of her floral scent over the tang of the sea and the more earthy scent of the people around them. Not that he would ever let her see his awareness.
A gentleman didn’t.
He handed her up and ascended on his side. ‘What did you decide?’ he asked.
‘The coast road.’
No hesitation there. She’d made up her mind a long time ago. No doubt she’d been teasing him. Something women seemed to do as a matter of course. He gave the coachman the instructions.
‘I haven’t been to the seaside since...for ages,’ she said. ‘I love the wildness of the winds and the waves.’
So that was the reason for the longing he had seen on her face when she had looked out beyond the pier to the rough North Sea. Her expression softened to one of recollection and he was loath to break into her reverie, so he remained silent, watching her lovely face.
‘We swam and we sailed, my brothers and I,’ she murmured her voice low and achingly sweet as she gazed at the horizon. Slowly, she turned to look at him, looking younger and for once vulnerable. As if she had let down her guard in order to
share this moment with him alone. ‘Have you ever played cricket on the sand?’
‘I can’t say as I have.’ He kept his voice low so as to preserve the rare sense of intimacy.
To no avail. Her eyes sharpened as if she had only just recalled his presence, her expression turning wary. The moment was gone and he grieved its loss.
‘Which part of Britain’s coast did you visit?’ he asked, hoping to recapture her attention.
She made a dismissive gesture. ‘The South-west. Dorset. Cornwall.’
‘Nowhere near as wild as here.’
‘There are terrible storms there in the winter.’
‘Is that where you lived, before—?’
She froze, her eyes chips of smoky glass, and her face cold and distant. She smiled a hard brittle smile. ‘Before what?’
No sense in beating around the bush. She’d see it in a heartbeat. And she didn’t deserve to be taken for a fool. ‘Before you lived in London with Jack O’Banyon.’
She gave him a sugary-sweet smile. ‘Before then I lived with someone else.’
‘Dunross is near the sea, in what Glengarry would call the True Highlands.’
Her shoulders relaxed. Her easy smile returned. ‘What a wild man Glengarry looked riding up to the King. I half-expected him to make use of his broadsword.’
‘What a sight it would have been. Revenge of the Scots on the Hanovers at long last.’
‘Would you like a Stuart back on the throne?’
He chuckled at the question. It was one often raised behind closed doors in Scotland even yet. ‘What, commit treason? And besides, there are no real Stuarts left. It is better left as it is.’
And as they discussed Scotland’s past, they were back on neutral ground. For now. But if he could, he was going to find a way to break down her walls and find out what lay behind the mystery in her eyes. To discover what had brought a woman of obviously gentle birth into the arms of a man like O’Banyon. Was she as willing an accomplice as she appeared?
For some reason, he did not believe it. And that gave him a bad taste in his mouth.
Chapter Five
She was enjoying herself far too much. The sea breezes off the widening Firth of Forth, the cry of the gulls overhead. The occasional bright warm flashes of sunlight sparkling on the choppy waves in the long narrow bay.
And his company.
As if it was he who made her feel happy. The thought of going back to Jack was a nagging ache in the back of her mind. Something she didn’t want to think about at this moment.
Logan had been right about Scotland being wilder than Dorset, but she couldn’t quite believe she had actually told him from whence she hailed. She made a point never to tell anyone anything about her past. For a moment, she had forgotten and had talked to him as if they were friends.
Too quickly, he had picked up on her careless words, proving again he was no slow-top. She would be wise to be wary. More on her guard than usual. For no matter how hard she tried not to, she kept finding herself liking him as a person and forgetting he was a man. It was a long time since she had engaged in anything so risky as friendship. Besides, she had no illusions. A man might profess friendship, or even love, but only in aid of getting what he wanted.
And once he had it, he lost interest.
She must take care when alone with him at this inn he had mentioned. She really did not want to go down that path, if it could be avoided. Flirtation was one thing, a challenge to her wits. Bedsport for money, on the other hand, left her cold. And men did not like a cold woman in their bed. No matter how she tried, she could never quite work up the required enthusiasm.
A pang of longing hit her hard. A longing to be herself. To have what should have been her rightful future. What she would have had, if she had not let a girlish desire to please overcome good sense.
Pushing such a lowering thought aside, she tied the ribbons on her bonnet tighter against the breeze and looked up at the sky. Some of the clouds lowered darkly. ‘Do you think it will rain again?’ A downpour while they were so far from her hotel would be a very bad thing if it forced them to seek shelter. A shiver ran down her back at the vision of them together alone.
She stilled. Inside. Caught without air to fill her lungs.
He shook his head. ‘It won’t dare, not while the King is travelling in an open carriage.’ At her wry look, he shrugged. ‘I really don’t think so. But we can turn back if you wish.’
Did she wish?
And if she went back, what would there be for her at the hotel? Jack was off on business of his own. She would be left sitting in her parlour. Alone. Thinking. She did not want time to think. ‘How far is it to this inn of yours?’
‘A scant three miles, I would say. Just beyond the Seafield Toll. It has a good view of the Firth from its windows and we can walk along the sand if you wish.’
A walk along the sands sounded a little too intimate. And was likely to bring back memories of happier times. ‘A cup of tea would be welcome before we head back.’
Because they were heading away from the King and his procession, traffic remained light. He pointed out several glassworks on the seaward side and a ropeworks on the other, and then they were clear of the town. The open fields with the hills in the distance made a pretty view on one side and the wide Firth a wild one on the other. The clouds seemed less black than they had earlier and the sun appeared for longer intervals. She carefully shaded her face from its rays. Milk-white skin was her stock in trade, one of her attractions, and it would be a fatal mistake to take it for granted.
When she had her own cottage, and a garden, well, then she wouldn’t care if she got freckles, or a little colour, when she worked outside. When. Or, perhaps, if. It might be years before she had enough money. So right now, living as she did, it was vital that she keep every scrap of advantage.
‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked in that lovely, dark, lilting voice that made her toes curl in her shoes and her insides flutter.
How could she be attracted to him? To that false air of purity. The open face designed to send the most careful female to her knees. But not her. She knew all the pitfalls of letting the hot desires of her body rule a rational mind. Not even this angel sent to bedevil women everywhere could make her forget the lessons of the past.
‘I am quite comfortable, thank you.’
‘And what do you think of this part of Scotland?’
Polite conversation. What a gentleman he was to treat her to such niceties. That was what made her like him more than she should. She looked about her at the rugged hills and the white-flecked waves racing towards land. ‘It is a very fierce land, I think.’
He shot her a sideways glance. ‘Like its people, you are thinking.’
‘I wasn’t thinking about its inhabitants at all.’
‘Really,’ he said in a low seductive murmur. ‘And here I was believing you were thinking about me.’
He looked so very pleased with himself, she laughed. A real laugh that broke free from somewhere deep down. He was an unashamed rogue, for all her thoughts of angels and purity. And a charming one to boot. She relaxed against the seat back, closed her eyes and inhaled a breeze heavy with the tang of salt. Such a long time since she had breathed sea air.
Her old life seemed decades behind her. A life of privilege tossed away for the sake of a man who in the end hadn’t cared. Was it really only four years since her father had cast her from her family home in disgust? And why think of that now? When she had sworn never to think of it, of her family, again.
The breeze turned cold as the sun faded behind another bank of black-lined clouds. Chilled to the bone as much by her thoughts as by the wind, she straightened. Perhaps it would rain and he would turn back. Perhaps she would prefer to be alone at the hotel, after all. He had her thinking things t
hat hadn’t crossed her mind in ages.
‘Are you cold?’ he asked, reaching under the seat. He pulled out a blanket. ‘Use this.’ He spread it across her lap. ‘It is not far now. The tollgate is just ahead.’
‘There isn’t much here,’ she said, looking about her.
‘Mostly farms,’ he agreed. The carriage halted beside the tollgate. The keeper shambled out and took money for both directions.
‘We will be coming back this way in an hour or so,’ Logan said. ‘Be sure to have the gate open for us.’
The man touched his cap and opened the gate. ‘Aye. I’ll keep watch.’
They went through the gate at a smart clip and it wasn’t long before they arrived at the inn. A snug little place indeed. It faced the sea and had an air of comfortable well-being.
An ostler appeared the moment they pulled into the yard and grabbed the horses’ heads. Logan leaped clear and came around to lift her down. As he reached up to grasp her around the waist, he smiled and she found herself entranced by those direct green eyes all over again. They danced with mischief of the purest kind.
Whichever woman lost her heart to him would never get it back again.
A pang squeezed somewhere in her chest, a painful awareness, like numbed fingers coming to life. She gritted her teeth against the unwanted sensation and smiled her sultry smile, letting it play over her lips as she gazed down at his handsome face.
‘I vow you are quite spoiling me, Logan. And so I shall tell Jack.’
The subtle shift in his expression was not lost to her. The slight withdrawal. The recollection of who and what she was. He lifted her down, keeping careful distance between their bodies, when hers craved the feel of his, like a harlot.
She picked up her skirts and tripped into the establishment with his hand light at the small of her back. Still possessive. But a little withdrawn. Good.
Then why did she suddenly feel so lonely?
A few words from Logan to the innkeeper bespoke a private parlour with a view of the sea. He seated her at the table by the window, took her gloves and saw to her comfort like a gentleman should, but not many would. Not knowing what she was. And if he hadn’t been the man she knew him to be, an honourable man, she would never have risked letting him bring her here. She gazed out of the window at the rough sea and the waves rolling up the sand and felt an odd rush of gratitude. A feeling that life was not so bad after all.
Falling for the Highland Rogue Page 7