A quick glance proved Mrs Donaldson a miracle worker. Charity looked like every other débutante making her bows for the first time. No sign of rouge or artifice. Her luxurious amber hair was dressed in modest fashion and topped by two nodding plumes. Despite her height, and she was now taller than her escort by half a foot, she looked...regal. No duchess could look haughtier or more refined.
Or more lovely.
Yes there was definitely more to Charity West than she liked to admit. And he found himself liking her for a number of reasons. Not just because she was lovely to look at and made him feel very proud to have her on his arm. He admired her courage too. And her resilience. Odd things to admire in a woman.
O’Banyon looked thoroughly uncomfortable in his kilt. His white knees peeked from beneath drab green like shy little daisies seeing the light of day for the first time. Logan kept his face straight. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. The traffic is ridiculous. Carriages are already lined up at the Assembly Rooms.’
‘We only just came down,’ O’Banyon said. He turned to Charity. ‘I thought she’d never be ready on time.’
Logan gave her a smile. Charity looked down her nose at him. Not a hint of the softness he’d come to appreciate. No doubt she had not forgiven him for revealing he wasn’t fooled by their attempt to cheat. He flashed a smile. ‘You look positively radiant, Mrs West. You will eclipse our local ladies.’
‘I look like a horse in a circus,’ she snapped, her feathers nodding with every word.
Not angry. Terrified, he realised. Why would that be? Perhaps not as resilient as he had thought after all.
‘Shall we go and get this over with?’ O’Banyon grumbled. ‘You are sure I won’t be thrown out on my ear?’
‘I am sure. You have an invitation. They are all carefully vetted by one of Scott’s men, so no one will question it. Least of all our George.’
Jack took Charity’s arm. Logan resisted the temptation to pull her away. If there was one thing he was really good at, it was resisting temptation. He’d had years in which to practise.
Chapter Seven
Logan had been right about it being a terrible squeeze. The drawing room was also as hot as Hades. Flanked by her escorts and waiting in the line to greet the King, Charity plied her fan with vigour and regretted being tempted by such foolishness. For giving in to the longing for the way things might have been.
In their hotel room, she’d proved to Jack she’d learned her girlhood lessons well, telling him the rules, laughingly showing him she could walk backwards despite the ridiculously long train suspended from her shoulders. Things weren’t different. She’d thrown that life away
Afraid of calling attention to herself, she resisted the temptation to look about her for people she might know. There wouldn’t be any, she assured herself. She’d never been out in society. Her parents had spent most of the time in London, leaving Charity and her brothers to tutors and nannies. They had never entertained visitors of importance at their country home. Besides, even if there was someone here who had known her as a child, they would never recognise the woman. Not in a million years.
She took a deep breath to ease her rising panic and gazed at her escort.
In the teaming mass of men in kilts and the odd one or two in the court-required dress of velvet knee breeches, Logan looked gorgeous. He certainly seemed as comfortable in his kilt as he did in everyday dress. And for all his good looks, he looked as wild and rugged as the scenery she’d seen around Edinburgh. She felt proud to be at his side. And safe.
Poor Jack had a face as red as a beet. Twice she’d tapped him with her fan for pulling the kilt downwards to hide his knees.
A tall blond man detached himself from a group behind the King and headed towards them with a slightly cynical smile on his lips. Sanford. Logan’s friend. He looked perfectly as ease in his court clothes, languid, bored, but there was an intensity in his eyes as his gaze took her in that gave her a sliding sensation in her stomach. A look that said he could see right through her façade. That he knew who she was.
He could not.
And then he was bowing over her hand with courtly grace and a wry twist to his lips. ‘Mrs West,’ he murmured. ‘O’Banyon.’
Jack eyed him suspiciously.
‘Lord Sanford was kind enough to have you added to the guest list,’ Logan explained.
‘Good of you,’ Jack said grudgingly.
‘Ah,’ Sanford said. ‘I do my best to please.’
Charity had the feeling he pleased no one but himself, but she smiled her appreciation and watched his eyes widen, but not with lust, with something that looked like recognition. A cold lump landed on her stomach. She swallowed, dreading what he might say next, but he turned to Logan. ‘Did you ever see such a sight?’
Logan glanced towards the throne at the end of the room where the King was greeting his subjects, brilliant in a red kilt and glittering orders.
‘There’s something odd about his legs,’ Logan said, frowning.
Sanford leaned closer. ‘Pink tights. Whatever you do, try not to look at them. You’ll go blind.’ He gave a soft laugh and walked off to greet another party in the line behind them.
The torture was almost over. They were five groups from the head of the line.
Four. Three. The King was kissing the ladies’ cheeks as if his life depended on it. He certainly wasn’t looking at them or talking to their escorts. Thank goodness.
Now it was their turn. Heavy perfume choked the air around the King and hit the back of her throat. Oh heavens, he was indeed wearing flesh-coloured tights under his red kilt and matching plaid stocking. It took all her willpower not to stare at those obscenely large pink knees. The first gentleman of Europe leaned in and bussed her cheek, or just above it. ‘So lovely,’ he murmured with a kindly smile.
And that was it. She’d been introduced at a Drawing Room. An aching hot lump filled the back of her throat and burned at the back of her eyes. Tears. For the girl who had never had a chance to live the life she’d expected.
Whose fault was that? she scolded angrily. None but her own. For being silly. For believing she was loved. The heat of anger evaporated the tears as she stepped back while the two men made their obeisance.
In what felt like a blur she realised they were backing away. All the lessons of her youth paying off as she managed her train expertly, unlike several of the other ladies who had stumbled.
When she looked at Jack his face was perspiring. ‘I need a drink,’ he gasped.
Charity met Logan’s gaze and they exchanged a look. The antechamber fell away as if they were alone, laughing at some jest only they understood. A feeling of connection she had forgotten. Something to be treasured. Yet it wasn’t possible. They could not be friends. If they weren’t enemies, they were still on opposite sides of a very high fence.
The expression on his face, a kind of bemusement, said he felt it too. He grinned. ‘There are supposed to be refreshments somewhere.’ He glanced around. ‘That way.’
‘Not for me,’ Jack said, staring at the soldiers on duty each side of the door in discomfort. ‘I’m thinking I’ve used up a week’s worth of luck in the last ten minutes, young Gilvry. It is time I was about my own business, if you don’t mind.’
The ruse they had planned that would leave her and Gilvry alone. ‘Oh, Jack, must you?’ she said.
‘I’ll have the carriage brought round,’ Logan offered.
‘No need, lad. I appreciate what you did for Char today. She might as well stay and enjoy it for a bit longer.’
‘I’d like that,’ she said, smiling at Logan who had no choice but to nod his agreement. Not that he seemed to mind. Indeed, he looked pleased as he shook hands with Jack. ‘I will call on you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I think it is time we wrapped up our business.’
‘Past time,’ Jack agreed with a broad grin and strode off.
‘Why do I get the feeling he’s not being honest with me?’ Logan said.
Charity raised a shoulder. If she obtained the necessary information today, perhaps Jack would indeed be finished with him very shortly. She just wished she knew exactly what he was up to.
Logan led her through the archway. ‘I heard they have champagne.’
‘Logan,’ a deep voice said from behind them. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
Logan turned and his face broke into a smile of real pleasure. ‘Mrs West, I’d like to introduce you to my brother and his wife. Lady Jenna and Niall, Lord Aleyne.’
Charity’s stomach knotted. He should not be introducing her to his family. She dipped a curtsy and dared a quick look at the couple standing in front of her. The tiny auburn-haired lady with emerald eyes regarded her with lively interest. Her much taller, dark-haired, dark-eyed husband had the trace of a frown between his brows. ‘Mrs West,’ he said with a brief bow as his wife inclined her head.
Did his brother know with one glance what she was? Had Logan told him? Her palms started to sweat inside her gloves. A feeling of shame twisted in her stomach. Feeling nauseous, she slanted a glance at Logan, but he seemed as he always did, cheerfully confident that whatever he did, would be all right with everyone else.
‘I had no idea you were invited,’ Logan was saying to his brother.
‘Everyone in Scotland is invited,’ Lady Aleyne said with a chuckle. ‘As long as they came in their kilts.’ She gave Logan a frown. ‘And you would have known we were invited, had you bothered to call.’
‘Leave the man alone,’ Lord Aleyne said. ‘He’s staying with Sanford. Two scapegraces together, I should think.’
‘You wrong me, Niall,’ Logan said. ‘I’m in Edinburgh on business.’
His sister-in-law’s glance flickered to Charity and back to Logan. ‘But there is time for enjoyment too, I am sure. Perhaps you would like to bring Mrs West to dinner?’
Her husband’s eyes widened a fraction, but his expression remained friendly, if a little strained. After all, she was not the sort of woman he would want hobnobbing with his wife. Clearly Lady Aleyne led a sheltered life, if she hadn’t already divined the truth.
Still, even his slight reaction stung. Charity gave her very best imitation of regret, smiling archly through the stab of rejection. ‘It is so kind of you,’ she cooed, ‘but I’m only in Edinburgh for a few days and every moment is spoken for.’ She fluttered her lashes at Logan.
Logan recoiled.
Lady Aleyne looked quite disappointed.
‘Another time, perhaps,’ Lord Aleyne said with a bow, but the look he sent Logan was one of an older brother ready to knock some sense into a younger. Defending his wife, no doubt.
Another time would never come, of course. The man would impart the necessary knowledge to his wife in private.
She smiled a seductive smile at Logan, tucked her arm through his and lowered her voice to a throaty purr. ‘If I recall correctly, you offered me something to assuage my hunger.’
Lord Aleyne stiffened. ‘Good day, Mrs West.’ He took his wife’s arm and walked swiftly away.
A faint crease between his brows, Logan’s gaze followed his brother, then he turned to her with an easy smile. ‘Come on, refreshments this way.’
The earlier glow faded, replace by a chilly draught across her skin. She wondered if at any moment someone would appear at their sides with a request that they leave. She couldn’t bear it. For herself or for Logan. ‘I would like to go back to my hotel,’ she said, keeping her voice low and her face placid.
‘Already?’ he said. ‘You don’t have to take any notice of Niall, he’s naught but a stuffed shirt.’
So he had also felt his brother’s rebuff. Aleyne was right, though, in not wanting his family tainted by her presence. ‘We did what we set out to do. I made my bows to the King and now it is time to leave.’
The irritation in his face fled, replaced by another expression. Pity? ‘Charity, you are as good as any of these people here.’
‘Stop it,’ she said through gritted. ‘Stop trying to pretend I’m something I’m not. If you don’t like me the way I am, then leave me be.’ She turned and headed for the way out.
She felt him hard on her heels, let him catch up and take her arm, because people were looking and the last thing she wanted was to create a disturbance and draw more attention.
A footman hurried off to find their carriage.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said in her ear.
Hearing the sincerity in his voice only made the ache around her heart worse. She fought against the pain and managed a brief smile. ‘No apology needed.’ He could not help being a man she liked more than she should. A man who had the power to hurt her by treating her like a lady. ‘Why don’t you stay? I am quite content to return to my hotel alone.’
He frowned at her obvious dismissal. ‘If that is your preference.’
It wasn’t her preference, but if she stayed she would be forced to find a way to get the answers to Jack’s questions. And right now, she just couldn’t bear the thought. ‘I find I have a headache.’
At once, he was the soul of solicitation. Escorting her from the room, calling for their carriage, finding her a quiet place to sit while they waited.
She felt such a fraud. But the thought of what Jack would say when she returned without answers really did make her head thump unpleasantly.
When he finally aided her into the carriage, she was very aware of his touch, his careful draping of her skirts. The gown that had cost him a fortune for two seconds with her King. He’d made an old dream come true and she had to say something. ‘Thank you, Logan. For today.’
She meant it. She really did. Even if she had been terrified out of her skin.
He grinned then, the charming boyish smile that lit his eyes and turned her limbs to molten liquid. ‘My pleasure, leannan.’ He took her hand, turned it over and pressed his lips to the palm of the same hand he’d kissed at the inn. ‘Feel better soon.’
He closed the door.
Betrayed by the race of her pulse, her fingers curled inwards. As if she could keep and hold on to the lingering sensation of his touch. And what had he said? Lee—something? And in such seductive tones.
Really, she had to put a stop to this foolish mooning. Right now. Immediately. Yet she could not keep from watching him, as the carriage pulled away.
How would she ever explain her weakness to Jack?
* * *
‘What’s this, then?’ Jack’s tone was harsh with disapproval.
Reclining on the sofa, Charity lifted one end of the soothing cold cloth covering her eyes and temples and turned her gaze on Jack, hoping he could not see guilt in her expression. ‘What is what?’
He waved a disgusted hand. ‘You. Lying there. Have you got my information so quickly then?’
‘I have the megrims.’ She swung her feet to the floor.
‘Damn it, Char. What did ye learn?’
‘I know he is staying with Sanford,’ she snapped. She pressed her fingers to the ache above her eyes. ‘I do not yet have the address.’
‘You were supposed to discover the route he takes to cross the border. One village, one crossroad was all I asked. It is little enough. Why are you here if you have nothing of value?’
‘What has happened?’
He glared at her. ‘Nothing has happened. That’s the trouble, isn’t it? You are no help. Growler lost track of him after that thrice-cursed nonsense you dragged me to and now I hear his men have slipped away.’
‘Oh.’ No wonder he was angry. Clearly it did not do to underestimate the young Scot. A dark suspicion entered her mind. Perhaps Logan was toying with her, just as h
e seemed to be toying with Jack. A small pang squeezed her heart. Hurt, when she ought to be glad he had more sense than to trust her.
‘Why is the route he takes so important?’ she asked ‘Isn’t it enough to know he can supply what you want?’
He put one hand on the arm of the sofa, the other he wrapped around her throat. He squeezed. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make breathing difficult. Blood rushed loudly in her ears. She clawed at his hand, gasping. ‘Stop,’ she croaked.
He released her. ‘Do you see how easy it would be to part you from your breath when you deliberately defy me?’
She rubbed at her neck. ‘I could do nothing when I could scarcely see from the pain behind my eyes. I will get your information.’
‘My head aches,’ he mimicked. ‘And what use are ye to me, if you are going to have a headache.’
People were either of use to Jack, or they were not. Her aching throat dried. A panicked tremble in her hands made her clench them together in her lap. She forced a lazy smile. ‘Be reasonable, Jack. If I question him too closely, he’ll either lie or he’ll avoid me. You know he will. And if you think he was going to discuss his smuggling in Holyrood Palace surrounded by the King’s men, you’ve gone daft.’
‘Daft, is it? He raised a fist, looming over her.
Instinctively, she flinched. And cursed her weakness when his lips curled in a grim smile.
‘You had your orders,’ he said in a low menacing voice. ‘You failed. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take my fist to you.’
His temper was hanging by a thread. She could see it in his bloodshot eyes. Her heart raced uncomfortably fast with fear, but if she showed it, he’d carry out his threat. She lifted her chin and gave him a scornful stare. ‘Because each time we meet, he tells me a little bit more. You will ruin my hard work with your impatience.’
He stepped back. ‘Get it done, Char. Do it and I’ll forgive you the debt from the other night.’
Blankly she stared at him, her blood running colder than ice. If he was prepared to pay so much for this information, then there was more going on here than he had told her. And it boded ill for the Gilvrys. But she knew better than to ask any more questions. It would just make him suspicious. She smiled slowly. ‘Now that is an offer I cannot refuse.’
Falling for the Highland Rogue Page 11