Falling for the Highland Rogue

by Ann Lethbridge

  Sanford smiled and moved away.

  ‘Thank you,’ Charity said, looking up at Logan, her heart still beating a little to fast.

  ‘For supper? You haven’t had it yet.’

  She tapped his arm with her fan. ‘For Scott. It was your doing, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure Sanford would pull it off. But, aye, I did ask him to see if he might.’

  An urge to kiss his cheek took her by surprise. To do so here would invite scandal, but she tried to put her feelings in the look she gave him. ‘It means a great deal to me, Logan. I will remember it always.’

  A faint colour touched his cheekbones. ‘I am very glad you are pleased,’ he murmured. ‘Now, how about supper?’

  Once more she took his arm. The strength of him seemed to curl around as if she was wearing a suit of armour. And people seemed to move out of the way. Perhaps his height gave him the advantage. Many of the women they passed watched him with parted lips. As if they wanted to eat him up. Disappointment filled their eyes when they realised he was not alone. She wanted to stick her tongue out at them. Instead, she moved closer to him and staked her claim. Even if it was only for tonight.

  As if he sensed her thoughts, his gaze met hers and his sweet smile stole her breath.

  After passing around the outside edge of the smaller ballroom where a quadrille was in progress, they moved into the room decorated like a sumptuous tent which looked over a view of the Scottish Highland. But how could that be? ‘Oh, how clever,’ she said. ‘It is a painting. It looks so real.’

  He chuckled softly. ‘It does. Still, it is better in real life.’

  She would never see it in real life, though, so this was almost as good. She would always be able to think of him in the midst of this dramatic scenery. If she dared let herself think of him at all.

  Beneath a semi-circular arrangement of columns, tables were tastefully arranged to allow the servants access to serve, as well as providing a view of the painted scenery in one direction and the ballrooms in the other.

  With Logan at her side, she could almost believe she had discovered a place where she belonged. She found herself walking taller, looking around her with confident ease. It was his strength that gave her courage. The feeling that he believed in her.

  Her heart gave a funny little lurch. A warm little sensation of something tender.

  And she knew she would have to tell him about Jack’s plans as far as she knew them. Warn him away. But not yet. Not until the ball was over.

  She smiled at him with her heart in her eyes. She just couldn’t help it. ‘Sanford was right,’ she said, sitting in the chair he pulled out for her at an empty table. ‘It is a sight to behold.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve.’ The warmth of his smile in response made her heart stumble. ‘Wait here and I’ll will get us a drink. Wine for you, or ratafia?’

  ‘Ratafia.’ Only fast women drank wine in public. She did not want to put him to shame. Not when he had been so good to her. So kind.

  He strolled away.

  ‘Charlotte,’ an incredulous male voice said from behind her. ‘Lady Charlotte,’ he amended swiftly.

  Chill filled her veins as the blood drained from her head. Her stomach fell away in a sickening rush. Viscount Rawley. The man who had beguiled her with sensual pleasures and left her in ruins. Cold as ice, she turned to face him. ‘Charity West now, Rawley. Mrs Charity West.’

  He looked surprised. As well he might. ‘Congratulations. I had no idea you had married.’

  ‘I am a widow,’ she said baldly and comprehension filled his eyes. And a predator’s heat.

  ‘What a pleasure it is to see you again after so many years.’ He gestured to the chair. ‘May I sit down?’

  She kept her expression cool despite the roiling in her stomach. She had to be rid of him, and quickly. ‘I would prefer it if you did not. My escort will return at any moment.’

  ‘I thought I was imagining things when I saw you in the ballroom.’

  Why couldn’t he take a hint? ‘Perhaps it would be better if you pretended you had.’ Now, if he would just go.

  It was too late. At that moment Logan brought their drinks and set them on the table, all the while eyeing Mark with suspicion. Mark grimaced as he took in Logan’s Highland garb.

  Blast it all. ‘Mr Logan Gilvry, this is Rawley.’

  The two men eyed each other like dogs over a bone. How could this be happening? What was wrong with Mark? Approaching her as if he expected her to be glad to see him.

  Mark’s top lip curled as his gaze returned to Charity. ‘How on earth did you manage an invitation to this affair? I was told it was to be pretty exclusive.’

  Logan’s rigid expression pierced right through her chest to her heart. The blood in her veins went from icy to boiling in what felt like seconds. He had no right to look embarrassed. He knew the kind of woman she was.

  ‘Mr Gilvry is my host.’

  Mark grinned the charmingly sly grin that used to make her stupid heart flutter. Made her forget the rules. Not any more though. Not even a little. ‘Well if you want to renew our acquaintance, I am staying at the Crown.’

  Mark knew what had become of her, of course. What she’d made of her life. Everyone who had known her did, though they would pretend they didn’t. He made the word ‘acquaintance’ sound sordid. The flicker of Logan’s jaw said he had heard the implication.

  She let anger go and drew coldness around her like a wall. She smiled seductively and leaned closer. ‘I wouldn’t lower myself.’

  He flinched, then shook his hand as if he had touched something hot. He glowered at Logan. ‘Watch out she doesn’t burn you.’ He turned and walked away.

  Logan’s face expressed shock and perhaps even a touch of horror. The reaction felt like a knife in her chest. And she couldn’t bear to stay and face it. It didn’t matter. Their evening was over.

  She rose and headed for Growler, who had drawn closer. ‘Take me home.’

  He glanced over his shoulder at Logan, who was still staring at Rawley’s back.

  ‘Now, Growler,’ she said.

  He swung around and she followed him out of the room.

  They were on the stairs when she heard the sound of a crash, as if someone had dropped a tray full of dishes. She kept walking, ignoring the stares and the whispers. Ignoring the way the ladies drew their skirts back as she passed as if she could infect them with a touch.

  She’d been fooling herself, thinking Logan’s presence could protect her. Instead, she’d made him look a fool. She had taken his innocence and ground it beneath her heel. The pain delivered by that look on his face was enough to send her to her knees, if she let it.

  But one thing was certain. Whatever Jack was up to, her part in his plan was done.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sanford lounged at the breakfast table in a vivid silk dressing gown, newspaper in hand, long legs stretched out to one side. For once, rather than bored, he looked annoyed. ‘You were lucky they did not lock you up on the spot. And me with you for brawling in the King’s presence, let alone challenging a man to a duel. There are rules about these things.’

  Logan, seated opposite him, had been up and dressed for hours. He had barely slept. He’d been too restless, too full of energy. Anger remained like a red haze at the edge of his vision. Never had he felt such fury searing his brain. ‘It has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘You were there at my invitation.’

  Logan stared at his hand on the pristine white tablecloth, stretching and bunching his fingers against the stiffening ache in his bruised and bloody knuckles. ‘If you won’t serve as my second, I’ll find someone else.’ Niall was the obvious answer. Damn it. He didn’t want to involve his older brother. Duels were illegal and he’d be in for a bear-garden jaw. A
nd besides, if they were caught by the authorities, it would ruin Niall’s career.

  ‘You are determined to get me hung,’ Sanford said wearily, the cynicism returning to his face and voice. ‘I’ll go after breakfast.’ He quirked a brow. ‘I don’t suppose you would consider apologising?’

  A growl filled Logan’s throat. He swallowed it. ‘You didna’ hear the way he spoke to her. I had no choice but to shove the words down his throat.’

  ‘Such brutality. The madness of youth. And on behalf of a woman who...’

  Logan glared at him.

  Sanford sighed. ‘Well, if you think she is worth getting killed for, who am I to object?’

  ‘I’ll no’ be the one to die.’

  Sanford lost his air of dissipation and leaned forwards. ‘Don’t be a fool and underestimate Rawley. He’s a crack shot. I’ve seen him culp wafers in his cups at White’s. Sober he’s deadly.’ He leaned back and assumed his indolent position. ‘I don’t know why I bother. Get yourself killed, if that is your wish.’

  It was as if the man didn’t want to care about anything or anyone. Logan shook his head against the stray thought. It wasn’t important. ‘So are ye saying you will be my second?’

  The nobleman picked up his paper. ‘Yes. That is what I am saying, for my sins.’ He disappeared behind the pages of the Scotsman.

  A knock at the door and the porter stuck his head inside. He did not look happy. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord, but there’s a woman at the door, asking for admittance.’

  A woman? It had to be— ‘Let her up, man.’

  The porter continued to look at Sanford, who had lowered his paper just enough for a raised eyebrow above one blue eye to be visible. ‘What name did she give?’

  At Logan’s stare, Sanford shrugged. ‘You aren’t the only one with females clamouring at your door. And I don’t want any of mine let in.’

  ‘She didna give a name, my lord,’ the porter said. ‘Rules say no women allowed.’

  ‘What does she look like?’ Logan asked.

  ‘As to that, I couldn’t say, sir. She’s veiled. I’d say she was young. And English.’

  ‘I’ll go down,’ Logan said. If it was Charity, he was not going to have her turned away.

  ‘Show her up, Balfour,’ Sanford said. ‘Whoever she is, she is not going away before one of us sees her.’

  The teasing note in his voice made Logan want to punch him in his cynical mouth. He knew it had to be Charity.

  The porter retreated. Logan got to his feet, preparing to go down, but he hadn’t reached the door when the veiled woman stepped inside. She must have followed the porter up the stairs. Her cloak hid her figure from view and the veil shrouded her face, but he had no doubt about her identity. ‘Charity.’ He reached out to take her hands.

  She whipped them behind her back and looked over at Sanford. ‘If you would excuse us, my lord, I would like a few moments alone with Mr Gilvry.’

  Sanford’s eyes narrowed, but he folded his paper, rose, gave her a sharp bow and strolled to his chamber.

  ‘You won’t forget our little piece of business,’ Logan said before he closed the door.

  ‘I’ll go the moment I am dressed, as I promised.’ He disappeared inside his room, where his man would be waiting to dress him. The sound of their muffled voices came through the heavy wood door.

  Logan eyed Charity warily. She looked rigid, as if here was the last place she wanted to be. If that was so, why had she come? Had she heard about the duel? It seemed unlikely. She’d fled with O’Banyon’s ruffian. By the time he was finished with Rawley there had been no sign of her or the carriage. ‘May I take your cloak?’

  She shook her head, but sat down on the chair he offered, her gloved hands clenched in her lap.

  His gut tightened. ‘What is it? What has happened?’

  ‘Listen, you fool,’ she said, her voice low and fierce. ‘You toyed with Jack and now he is going to finish the game.’

  Not here about the duel, then. Or to tell him what Rawley had implied wasn’t true. The fact that she said nothing about it made his stomach clench. ‘Then let O’Banyon speak to me.’

  She shook her head. ‘I am as much Jack’s creature as Growler. You knew that. And now you will listen. Either you give Jack what he wants or Rabbie will not survive the day.’

  ‘What?’ He leaped to his feet and pulled her up to face him.

  A bitter laugh disturbed the folds of fabric covering her face as she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. Infuriatingly, he could not see her expression. ‘Did you think I would not tell him how fond you are of the child?’ she said. ‘Or how your brother dotes on him. You took me home to your family. You gave me the weapon. Did you think I would not use it?’

  His hands were shaking. Yes, he had been a fool. Trusting her not to involve his family. And damn it, it hurt. But that didn’t matter right now. He had to get to Niall. Warn him.

  He let her go and went for his coat.

  ‘You’ll be too late,’ she said.

  He spun around, coat in hand.

  ‘There is a woman with the child, waiting for a signal from one of Jack’s men. If I do not walk out of here with you prepared to give Jack the information he wants, she will leave with Rabbie and it will be your brother who will give us what we need.’ She shook her head. ‘If that happens, I can’t guarantee the child will be safe. No matter what Jack promises.’

  ‘I can be there as fast as any message from you.’ He’d go over the roof to avoid Jack’s men.

  She shook her head. ‘There is no way into that house without being seen. And Jack expects me to bring you to him.’

  Logan cursed. ‘You thought of everything, didn’t you?’

  ‘You gave me everything I needed to do so.’ Her voice was like a cold wind across a glacier.

  He thought of little Rabbie and what his loss would do to Jenna and Niall and the breath left his body. He let his coat fall to the floor. ‘What is it Jack wants to know?’

  She glanced at Sanford’s chamber door and moved closer, lowering her voice. ‘He wants the location of your brother’s store of whisky.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s not my business to know why.’

  The hands clasped at her chest were shaking. Her voice was calm, almost too calm, but no matter how hard she tried to hide it, her hands were trembling. She was terrified. Of what? Him? Hardly. Her partner in crime, then. But why?

  ‘Charity—’

  She turned away from him. ‘Come. Now. If you and I do not leave your door together within a minute or two, a runner will go to Jack with the news that you have decided not to help us.’ She headed for the door.

  And he had no choice but to follow her down the stairs.

  But he didn’t understand. Why did Jack need to know the whisky’s location when Ian had been more than willing to sell him all they had? At a fair price, too. There was certainly no way to steal it. Not from a keep that had withstood centuries of armies at its gates. Which meant there was something else going on.

  If he could just figure out what it was. And Charity’s part in it.

  Outside, a carriage waited at the kerb. Charity got in. Logan joined her, risking a glance up at the window of his apartments as he ducked inside. He was sure he saw the curtain move a fraction. Had Sanford overhead their conversation? It was possible. The trouble was, any interference from that quarter was likely to make things worse.

  Sanford wasn’t a fool. If he had heard, he wouldn’t risk the child’s life. Would he?

  He sat back against the squabs, trying to maintain an outer appearance of calm. He flexed his hand in his lap, feeling the sting of broken skin.

  ‘What happened to your hand?’ she asked from the other side of the carriage.

  ‘Why would you c
are?’

  She shrugged and caused the fabric of her veil to flutter. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘And I’m not in the mood for idle conversation.’

  He stared at her. At the shadowy outline of her face, the cloak wrapped so tight about her as to hide her delectable shape. She was no different to Maggie. Another woman who had proved she would do anything to get what she wanted. Not that he regretted their time together. He would not have missed making love to her, not even if he had known how things would end. Which showed just how much of an idiot he was.

  He really had been a fool to think of her as anything but Jack’s willing tool. If she hadn’t been willing, she would have come to him and asked for help. Wouldn’t she?

  The pity of it was, he likely would have done anything at all to set her free. Except betray his family.

  Clearly she had not seen it. Or had not cared. The realisation was a bitter taste in his mouth.

  ‘Charity, you don’t want to do this. If we—’

  She turned her face away to look out of the window. ‘Do not say another word.’

  A trick of the light outlined her profile beneath the white muslin. And there were shadows that— He dived across the carriage and lifted the filmy fabric. A red mark already turning the purple of a bruise ran from cheekbone to jaw. ‘Who did this? Growler?’

  She shoved at him with her hands. ‘Get away from me.’

  ‘Who was it, Charity?’

  Her heather-coloured eyes flashed defiance. ‘Jack. If not for Growler, it would have been a lot worse, I can assure you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I was not supposed to leave last night without the information he wanted.’

  ‘I would never have told you.’

  Her mouth twisted in a bitter line. ‘That was what I told him.’

  He traced the line of the bruise, the marks of Jack’s knuckles on her beautiful fragile skin. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She looked at him steadily. ‘I’m not.’ She touched her cheek. ‘Or I wasn’t. I was glad you wouldn’t betray your family.’ Her eyes shimmered and she blinked the moisture away. ‘But I was stupid enough to say so.’