Falling for the Highland Rogue

by Ann Lethbridge

  Her heart felt like a heavy weight in her chest as she picked up her reticule and the girl placed a shawl around her shoulders.

  A quick glance in the mirror told her she looked her best. As fine as any other of the ladies who would be in attendance. Peach silk. Spangles. And waving feathers. Mrs Donaldson had provided ostrich plumes dyed to match.

  She kept wondering if he meant what he had said about not wanting another woman. The ache in her heart wanted it to be true. And it was the stupidest thing she’d ever wanted in her life. Hopefully he had come to his senses. If so, she would see it in his face and it would hurt.

  Head held proudly, she strode out of the room and down the stairs with her maid trailing behind.

  In the hotel lobby, she saw that Jack had forgone his kilt this evening, but Logan wore full Highland regalia. Her breath caught. The black and green of his kilt and the green-velvet coat sat on him easily. A born Scottish warrior. The froth of lace at throat and wrist intensified his masculinity.

  The way his face lit up when he caught sight of her made her insides hop around. Nothing had changed. The warmth in his eyes kindled a flame in her chest and she found herself pressing her hand flat on her breast to keep her racing heart from leaping out from behind her ribs.

  ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,’ she said with a smile that said she didn’t care one way or the other. A smile she could call on at will. Yet it felt terrible on her face. Stiff and awkward.

  Jack picked up his hat and set it on his head at a jaunty angle and took Charity’s arm. Logan tensed. She pretended not to notice. She and Jack swept ahead of him, out into the dusk and the waiting carriage.

  Jack settled in his seat. He stretched his neck as if he found his neckcloth too tight. A movement she’d seen him make hundreds of times when the stakes were high and the outcome uncertain. What was he up to?

  He gazed straight at Logan. ‘How long have you known Sanford?’

  He wanted Logan to know she had told him. Wanted Logan to know she was his creature.

  Logan, to his credit, looked surprised. As if he did not know she would have told Jack where he was staying. ‘He’s a family friend,’ he replied coolly and shot an annoyed glance at Charity. Playing the game.

  She hated it.

  She kept her face calm. A slight smile on her lips while inside she squirmed. Had he, after all, hoped she would not betray his whereabouts? Even after her warning?

  ‘Good to have friends at Court,’ Jack said.

  Logan raised a brow as if he sensed something behind the words. ‘That is how I got the tickets for tonight.’

  ‘Does he know who your guests are?’

  Charity frowned. What was the purpose of these questions? There was something almost gloating in Jack’s voice.

  Apparently noticing nothing, Logan flashed him a grin ‘He does. It wouldn’t do to surprise him now, would it?’

  Admiration flashed in Jack’s eyes and a shade of regret. ‘That it would not.’

  Regret? A shiver ran down her spine. As if a ghost had walked over her grave. A feeling that something bad was about to happen. Something terrible. She glanced at Jack and garnered no clues from his bland expression.

  Surely he wasn’t planning to steal something. Not in front of the King and all his soldiers on guard at every doorway.

  The noise outside on the street permeated the carriage. People shouting. She leaned forward to glance out of the window and was astonished by the crowds lining the street, held back by a line of soldiers as they had been on the day of his arrival. Once more the people of Edinburgh were waiting to see their King. George must be enjoying this attention. He certainly did not receive this sort of adulation in London.

  The coachman opened the hatch in the roof. ‘There will be quite a wait, I’m afraid, Mr Gilvry. There are a good few coaches ahead of us waiting to drop their passengers.’

  ‘Perhaps we should walk,’ Jack said.

  ‘You will be safer in the carriage, if I might say so, sir. You will never make it through these crowds.’ He grimaced. ‘The chairmen are having a hard enough time forcing their way through. I’ve already seen one gentleman take a tumble at their hands.’

  ‘Do your best.’ Logan smiled at her. ‘It is a good thing Sanford advised an early arrival.’

  The carriage lurched along inch by inch. Logan relaxed in the seat opposite Charity, but his gaze was fixed on Jack. ‘Well, O’Banyon, since we have time on our hands, we might as well get down to business. I have kept my side of the bargain. You’ve met the King and mixed with the high society and you’ve tasted our whisky and seen our terms. Now it is time to decide. Will ye do business with Gilvrys or do we find another distributor in London?’

  Charity barely held back her gasp. No one threatened Jack. Ever. Not if they didn’t want to end up dead in an alley. Beside her she felt Jack shift. Had he sensed her reaction? Sensed her fear for Logan? If he had, he would use it to his advantage. She pouted. ‘Money talk. How sordid.’

  Logan quirked a brow. ‘I apologise if my frankness offends you, Mrs West, but I have been dancing to this particular tune for too many days now.’

  If he wanted to get himself killed, who was she to prevent it? A heavy weight pressed on her chest. There was nothing she could do. She gazed at him coldly for a moment, then turned to look out of the window at the crowds. To pretend to admire the illuminations in each house’s window. A crown above the royal arms here, stars framing G IV R there, the flags and the bunting gaily fluttering while she pretended not to listen to their talk.

  ‘I’ll give you my answer tomorrow, Gilvry,’ Jack said. ‘As I promised.’

  ‘What difference will twelve hours make? You money has arrived from London along with whatever answer you expected from your partner. Why the delay?’

  Charity resisted the temptation to turn to see Jack’s reaction.

  ‘I see you have had your spies out,’ Jack said sharply.

  ‘As you have had yours.’

  Logan’s calm admission made her want to scream. The feeling that something was going terribly wrong intensified.

  ‘All right,’ Jack said, leaning forwards. ‘Here is my dilemma. McKenzie has made it clear that if you try to go around him, he’ll destroy you. If he succeeds, that leaves me with a problem.’

  ‘He has been trying for years and hasn’t managed it yet.’ The confidence in Logan’s voice startled Charity into looking his way.

  ‘And you want me to risk that he won’t in the future.’

  Logan shrugged. ‘There is no risk.’

  ‘I think there is. Deliver the whisky to London, then you’ll get your money. And not before.’

  Logan inhaled. ‘Deliver without any money up front, you mean?’

  ‘Prove you can do it.’

  Logan was silent for a moment. ‘I don’t have the authority to change the terms.’

  Jack leaned back. ‘That’s what I am talking about. Your brother sent a boy to do a man’s job.’

  If Logan was angry at the jibe, he didn’t show it. He body remained relaxed, his expression nonchalant. ‘I’ll have your answer for you tomorrow,’ he said after a brief pause.

  ‘Ah, yes. The other brother. Lord Aleyne, isn’t it? The respectable lawyer. McKenzie said he was in the thick of it. Perhaps I should have been dealing with him right from the beginning.’

  At that Logan’s shoulders did stiffen. ‘I’ll let you have my answer tomorrow.’

  Jack smiled. It was more like a baring of teeth. The wolf who had a lamb in its jaws. Inside Charity trembled. For Logan. ‘Then we will discuss it tomorrow,’ Jack said.

  The tension inside the carriage was palpable. Would they come to blows?

  Thankfully the coachman’s voice floated down from above. ‘Here we are, sir.’ A harried-look
ing footman hurried over to open the door and let down the steps.

  Jack stepped down first and turned to help Charity out. Logan followed. Here, too, a magnificent illumination stood in front of the imposing portico of pale stone. It depicted the Crown and the King’s initials arched by large thistle and two stars. The whole was surmounted by elegant festoons. They entered the building through a side door into a pale-cream marble entrance halls whose columns were twined around with flowers.

  They mounted the opulently carpeted marble stairs to the first floor, entering an antechamber, already full of men in Highland dress, military uniforms, or black evening suits. Almost all the ladies were in white, with the odd touch of gold and silver here and there. Charity wondered if Mrs Donaldson had offered her the peach colour on purpose. Well, it was too late now. She smiled as she looked around at the waving white plumes. They reminded her of sea foam on stormy beach.

  ‘No wonder they call this Crush Hall,’ Logan said cheerfully, his mood apparently unaffected by the confrontation with Jack.

  The ante-room was situated between two ballrooms, one larger than the other. ‘It is lovely.’

  Jack grimaced. She had never seen him look quite so uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the sight of all the dress swords and a claymore or two.

  Logan handed their cards to a footman, and after some considerable time, they heard their names announced and moved into the main ballroom where everyone was gathering to greet the King. A gilt-domed throne, lit by tall candelabra, had been set on a dais at one end. Sofas upholstered to match the rich blue drapery at the windows occupied two of the other walls. Seats for those tired from dancing, or too elderly to stand, so they could watch those on the dance floor.

  She strolled the length of the ballroom on Jack’s arm, admiring the soaring pilasters and the three huge crystal chandeliers and tried not to think about the past, not to recall that, if not for one youthful mistake, this would have been her life.

  A roar came from outside in the street and jolted her out of her reverie. ‘The King has arrived, I gather,’ Logan said.

  Charity found herself holding her breath like a child promised a treat. She laughed. Jack grumbled something under his breath about Ireland and boot licking.

  Not many minutes later, the King’s retinue entered and the band struck up ‘God Save the King’ while everyone made their obeisance. When Charity finally glimpsed King George he was bowing affably to everyone around him. Not from his throne, but to one side of the ballroom. Tonight, he had squeezed into a military uniform with orders glittering on his chest. He waved affably to the company and the band struck up a spirited reel to start the ball.

  Logan held out his hand. ‘Will you join me for this set?’

  She glanced at Jack. He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Run along. I’m going to see if I can find some refreshments and a little less racket. Perhaps there is a room with cards.’ He scanned the room as if looking for acquaintances, and not in the way of a man who would rather not meet anyone he knew. Which meant he was looking for someone in particular. Likely someone from London. Jack had many business irons in the fire.

  It should mean nothing, but that odd feeling of dread returned.

  She and Logan joined one of the lines. Some of the women wore tartan sashes over their white gowns. They made for a nice splash of colour. And her peach didn’t seem quite so obtrusive.

  The room sparkled as the ladies’ gowns and jewels glittered beneath the magnificent chandeliers. The whole effect dazzled.

  The King’s chubby face beamed and his fingers snapped in time to the music as they passed him and his hovering gentlemen attendants, including Lord Sanford, his expression as bored and cynical as always. He raised a brow as they passed him. Logan nodded.

  Charity prayed that the King would not call them over, as he had another couple. But, no, he took no notice of them and they continued down their set. They danced the next set, too, a country dance, and Charity could not remember when she had enjoyed herself so much.

  This time when the music finished, Logan walked her to stand against the wall since all of the sofas were occupied. His smile was enchantingly solicitous. ‘Can I fetch you some refreshment?’

  While no one here would recognise her, any more than they had at the King’s Drawing Room, the sense of impending doom lingered like a sour taste in her mouth. ‘I will come with you.’

  ‘Verra well.’ He held out his arm and she placed her hand on his forearm. As they passed out of the doors she glanced up at the ceiling decorated with intricately carved sweeping circles and roses. ‘I have never seen such magnificence.’

  ‘I gather it rivals the rooms in Bath,’ Logan said, following her gaze. ‘The Scots are nothing, if not combative.’

  She laughed at his dry tone and tried to relax as he expertly guided her through the crowds to a smaller room where footmen in livery guarded enormous glass punch bowls.

  And then she saw him. Growler. Dressed in livery, standing against a wall, like so many of the other servants. Her heart stopped. How? Why? She caught his eye. He stared back impassively.

  Breathless, she turned to tell Logan, but before she could speak she saw a look of shock on his face. But when she followed the direction of his gaze, she realised he was not looking at Growler. He was staring at Jack, glass in hand, in deep conversation with an older gentleman garbed in kilt and bonnet.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  His look of shock smoothed out. ‘Nothing.’

  At that moment, the Highland gentleman saw Logan and, bowing farewell to Jack, he strolled towards them. When his gaze met Charity’s he bowed and stuck his hand out to Logan. ‘Gilvry,’ he said. ‘I had not thought to see you here. Is your brother here?’

  Logan shook his hand. ‘Neither of them, my lord. Mrs West, may I introduce you to Lord Carrick. My clan’s chieftain.’

  ‘My very great pleasure, Mrs West.’

  His chieftain talking to Jack. No wonder he looked shocked. Charity dipped a curtsy. ‘And mine, Lord Carrick.’

  ‘Ah, an Englishwoman from your accent.’

  ‘I hope you won’t hold that against me, my lord?’ Charity said, smiling into those assessing eyes.

  Carrick gave her a vague smile. ‘Not at all. That fellow I was just talking to was Irish. It seems that all the world has come to Scotland to see the King.’

  ‘Aye, so it would seem,’ Logan said. ‘An Irishman, you say?’

  Charity blinked at Logan’s pretence.

  ‘I bumped into him at the refreshment table. We had a few words about whisky. I am surprised not to find Ian here. Or Niall.’

  Logan seemed to take his chieftain’s disappointment in his stride. ‘As far as I know, neither Ian nor Niall received an invitation.’

  Aha. That sounded like a dig. Charity was getting a sense of an undercurrent between the two men. And not a good one. Perhaps it was Carrick who should have seen that the Gilvry brothers were invited.

  But why had he been talking to Jack? Their heads had been awfully close together for casual conversation. Their expressions too intent. Yet...it was noisy in here. She had to lean in close to hear what either man was saying. It was probably nothing.

  Right. Nothing. Jack never did anything without purpose. And why was Growler here? Likely to make sure she didn’t disappear again. That would be very much like Jack. She would let Logan know of his presence the moment she had a chance. Thank goodness she hadn’t said anything within Jack’s line of sight. She shivered inwardly.

  Carrick’s face brightened. ‘Ah, there is my wife. I promised her a dance. You will excuse me, I believe, Gilvry, Mrs West.’ Without waiting for an answer he bustled away, leaving Logan looking thoughtful and his gaze scanning the room.

  Charity glanced over her shoulder. Growler was gone. She looked this way and that, but he was not
where she had seen him last. Nor could she see Jack in the press of people. Perhaps there was no point in getting Logan upset. He clearly didn’t like to be spied on by Jack’s men and she did not want to spoil their last evening together. At least not now. Later would be a different story, no doubt.

  Her heart sank at the thought of what she must do and how he was going to despise her.

  And then the opportunity to tell him about Growler was lost. Sanford was strolling towards them, a gentleman with a slight limp in tow. He was undoubtedly making for her and Logan. For a moment, Charity didn’t quite believe her eyes, but a glance at Logan’s dancing eyes and slight smile let her know this was something he had planned.

  Sanford made an elegant bow. ‘Sir Walter, may I introduce you to Mrs West, and my good friend, Logan Gilvry.’

  Round faced, his fair hair thinning, the gentleman smiled and bowed benignly.

  Logan returned the bow and Charity dipped a curtsy. ‘Sir Walter,’ she said breathlessly, ‘I am a great admirer of your writing.’ His penning of the novels Waverly and Ivanhoe among others was an open, if not acknowledged, secret.

  ‘You are too kind, my dear lady. And have you enjoyed our little spectacle these past few days?’

  ‘I have been truly amazed,’ Charity said.

  ‘The whole of Scotland has been pleased,’ Logan said. ‘And they are all in Edinburgh, I am thinking.’

  Scott looked pleased. ‘The King has been most gracious with regard to my efforts. It has been a pleasure to meet you.’ He bowed again and strolled away.

  ‘Have you been to the supper room?’ Sanford asked. ‘It is a thing of beauty. Well worth a visit.’

  ‘Would you like something to eat, Mrs West?’ Logan asked

  Perhaps Growler would be there and Logan would spot him for himself. But if he wasn’t, and he didn’t, then she would say something. ‘If Lord Sanford says it is worth a visit, then I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’