Falling for the Highland Rogue

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘Not tonight. I have a meeting with McKenzie and others.’

  ‘Then I will see you in the morning. At first light.’

  ‘Don’t keep me waiting.’ He strode out.

  A duel. Over her? Surely after what had occurred today, he would have withdrawn. Even so, the thought that he had been prepared to fight for her honour made her eyes water. She blinked the foolish tears away.

  Whatever feelings Logan might have had for her, they would have turned to hatred by now. She needed a plan that would let her slip away from Jack the moment they arrived in London. Disappear. Panting with fear, she hefted the purse in her hand, felt the weight of the gold and heard the chink of metal as she let her fingers play amid the velvet folds. It might just be enough, with what she had already. Judas had nothing on her.

  And if she was going to start having regrets, she would end up driving herself mad. Slowly, painfully, she pulled cold emptiness around her. It had served to keep regrets at bay before and it would have to serve this time.

  But it didn’t. The ache in her chest worsened. If this duel went ahead and he died, she would never be able to live with it. There had to be some way to stop him from getting himself killed.

  She rose and put the pouch in the metal box on the writing table and turned the key. She had earned every coin with pieces of her soul. And possibly Logan’s life.

  Something inside her shattered.

  A small sound behind her caused her to whirl around. The maid was standing behind her in the bedroom doorway. How much had she seen? She hid the box with her body.

  ‘What do you want?’

  The girl held up the dress she’d worn to the ball. ‘It is ripped,’ the girl said, pointing to the dirty rent in the skirt. She frowned. ‘Perhaps it can be patched with a piece from the hem. Or a wee bit of embroidery.’

  Ball gowns. They would be of no use in the quiet country life she hoped to lead.

  ‘Throw it out,’ she said flatly. ‘I won’t be wearing it again.’ She didn’t want anything that reminded her of the past few days. It was too painful, the way she kept seeing his face in her mind and remembering his kisses. She’d been right about him from the start. He was a charming rogue and the very worst sort of man for her sort of woman.

  And she for him.

  She raised a brow at the girl standing before her with her jaw practically dropping on her chest. ‘You can toss out all the gowns bought here. I will never wear them again.’

  ‘They are much too good to throw away,’ the girl spluttered.

  ‘Then you keep them. Wear them. Sell them. I really have no interest.’ Jack wouldn’t care what happened to them. They weren’t purchased with his coin.

  ‘I wouldn’t want the gentleman to think I stole them.’ the girl said, all breathless and hopeful.

  Hope. It was a fine thing to have hope. She envied the girl with all her heart and managed a gentle smile. ‘I will give you a note, saying I gave them to you as a gift.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. Thank you.’

  An idea formed in her mind. A mad idea as she gazed at the girl. Sized her up. ‘Finish packing and then lend me your coat.’

  * * *

  The Reiver was more crowded than it had been last time. Charity sank deeper into the hood of her cloak, merging into the shadows around her corner table. Away from the hearth, out of the light of the nearest lantern swinging from the low ceilings, she still stood out like a sore thumb. A woman alone was a moth to a flame for men. More than one had already approached her. A cold look and a mumbled word about waiting for her man had been sufficient to send them on their way. So far.

  The wine she cradled within her palms remained untouched. A deep swallow would give her the courage she craved, a glass or two would numb the pain around her heart, but she needed all her wits. The plan she had formulated had little or no chance of success. But she could not live with herself if she didn’t try.

  How long since she’d despatched her message. Half an hour? Time seemed to crawl. The longer she remained, the greater the chance of discovery. The boy who had lost a large sum to Jack the second night they’d come here was at the tables again. His face reddened by drink. If he saw her...

  It had to work. It just had to. Logan would never forgive her for this. Good. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? A clean break. A way to make sure he got her out of his head and his heart.

  If indeed she had made a place there.

  He had certainly wormed his way into her heart. And what little shred might be left of her soul. And she had to be rid of him, once and for all.

  A stir at the door. Slowly, she glanced across from beneath the folds of her hood. A chill filled her veins. The squat figure with its low-crowned hat was unmistakable. Growler. Chilling black eyes searched the room. Trembling, she drew deeper into the shadows. She’d chosen this table because she could observe the door while remaining unseen. With Growler standing there she felt as if she had a beacon over her head. She wanted to look away, pretend she didn’t see him, avoid his eye. But if she moved, he would notice. She sat frozen, like a sparrow in the eye of a snake.

  The man moved deeper into the room, not looking her way. Indeed, he had his gaze fixed on another table by the hearth. A breath left her lips. She stared down at her hands, not moving. Pretending to be as small as an ant. He would never notice an ant. If he was here though, was Jack close behind? Her blood ran cold. She should leave now.

  Hiding her departure from Growler would not be easy. He had a sixth sense for anything untoward. For sniffing out secrets. More than once he had seen through someone who intended her harm and saved her skin. But he was Jack’s man. Her heart thundered in her ears. She would have to leave and wait for her quarry outside in the street.

  The shadows across the back of her gloved hands darkened. She looked up. Her heart stopped. A breath caught in her throat as she stared into eyes as dark as an abyss. Growler.

  She swallowed and met his gaze squarely.

  ‘What are you doing here, Miss Charity?’

  She gave him her coldest glance. ‘If it is any of your business, I was bored. I needed some company.’

  His hard gaze swept over her. ‘I can keep you company.’

  She could scarcely hear him from the loud beat of blood in her ears. ‘Not your sort of company. I’m meeting an old friend.’ Truth made her sound convincing. ‘Promise me you won’t tell Jack.’

  His expression didn’t change, but she thought she saw a flash of sympathy in those dark eyes, where usually she saw nothing at all. ‘I won’t tell him nothing, but call out if you need me. The gov’ner’d have my guts for a necklace if anything ’appened to you on my watch. I’ll give you one hour, then I take you back to the hotel.’

  The crowds at the door shifted. Parted. And then there he was. Rawley.

  Growler must have felt her stiffen. His eyes narrowed on the blond man clearly scanning the crowds. ‘Him?’ He sounded disgusted.

  Orders. Growler understood orders. And she’d been born to give them. She glared at him. ‘Take a seat over there, out of the way.’ She flicked dismissive fingers. ‘You can stand guard, if that pleases you, but do not interrupt.’

  He hesitated.

  One brow arched, she stared him down.

  And nearly sagged with relief when he shuffled off to lean against a blackened upright supporting the low ceiling. Far enough away not to hear her words. Close enough to grab her should she try to run. Perhaps luck was with her after all. Growler’s presence would stop anything untoward. Rawley was not a man to be trusted.

  She flung back her cloak. Lifted a hand and waved. She knew the moment Rawley saw her. His eyes widened, his fair skin flushed and his jaw dropped. She was wearing her red velvet tonight. A gown that exposed more flesh than was decent, even for a member of the demi-monde. H
er favourite suit of armour.

  And judging from the way he was hurrying to her table, he hadn’t noticed Growler. His eyes were fixed on her bosom. Men. They were all the same.

  Not quite all. Logan, while he definitely appreciated her female form, had the decency to look at her face most of the time. He would make some nice Highland girl a wonderful husband.

  An ache tightened her chest and rose in a hot hard lump in her throat, making her eyes water. Smoke. Coal smoke from the hearth, smoke from pipes. The air was thick with it.

  She lounged casually against the seat back and pasted a welcoming smile on her lips. Not too welcoming. Not too eager. The kind of smile that said she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her invitation. As he drew near, she held out her hand for him to kiss and quelled her shudder of revulsion as she felt the warmth of his skin against her palm and the press of hot dry lips on her knuckles.

  She could do this. She had to.

  ‘Charlotte,’ he breathed.

  ‘Charity, remember,’ she said, with a nonchalant little titter, ‘or Char, if you find that easier to remember.’ It has been his pet name for her years ago.

  ‘Char.’ His gaze roved her face, and then slid down to her chest. He licked his lips. ‘You look lovelier than ever.’

  ‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ she lied. Now she looked at him more closely, she could see his fair hair was thinning on top, but he was still a handsome devil. The kind who could turn a foolish young girl’s head without trying.

  He sat, grinning with pleasure, eyeing her with lust, and tugged at his neckcloth. ‘I was astounded to get your message.’

  She leaned closer, twirling her wine glass in her fingers, knowing the valley between her breasts would deepen with the movement. He could not keep his eyes from it. ‘Were you?’

  He swallowed, still looking at her like a starving man. ‘I had been drinking the other night, I wasn’t very polite.’

  ‘I put it down to surprise,’ she said with a dismissive smile.

  He glanced up then, and there was anger in his eyes. ‘Your escort didn’t take it so kindly.’

  ‘He’s a bit of a hot head, I’m afraid.’

  A waiter raised his brow as he pushed his way through the crowds to stand at their table. ‘Brandy,’ Rawley said. ‘A large one.’ The waiter hurried off.

  Rawley put his hand over hers where it lay flat on the table. ‘Lord, Char. It is good to see you again.’

  She gave him an arch look, aware of Growler’s grim stare. Thank goodness, he made no move. He was confident he could be at her side in a second, if she needed him.

  He stroked the back of her hand, then picked it up, holding it between both of his and gazed limpidly into her eyes. Spiders crawling up her arm would not have felt more unpleasant. She contained a shiver.

  ‘I really missed you,’ he murmured.

  Anger surged hot and out of control, underpinned by all the old bitterness. The hurt. ‘You owe me for not telling the truth to my father.’

  He flinched. After all, he had seduced her, long before the night they were caught in the hayloft. She’d thought he loved her and would come for her, when she went along with his lies to her brothers.

  ‘What do you want?’ he said. ‘Money? I’ve little enough.’

  ‘I heard you gambled away a fortune since your father died.’ He’d done the round of the hells. With Jack’s permission she had stayed out of sight when he came to the Chien Rouge.

  His mouth tightened and he let her hand go when the waiter brought his drink. He took a deep swallow. When he looked back at Charity the warmth in his eyes was fading. ‘Is that what you want, Char? To ride over old turf?’

  If she didn’t stop acting like a cornered badger, he would leave. She could see the intention forming on his face.

  She let go a long sigh and smiled. ‘You are right. Water under the bridge.’ She toasted him with her wine. ‘But as I said. You owe me something. Withdraw from the duel and I will consider the debt paid.’

  He wet his lips. ‘I can’t do that,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘He hit me. I’d be a laughing stock. My honour in the dust. He is the one who must apologise.’

  Logan would never do it. He had too much pride.

  ‘I never asked you for anything, Mark. Not even marriage. And I had the right.’

  He shook his head and she wanted to scream. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked, thinking of the velvet pouch in her writing case. ‘Money?’

  Guilt crossed his face. ‘Some Irishman came to me the other night and paid me to make sure he dies on the field.’ He swallowed. ‘I lost a lot at the tables this week.’

  She stiffened. ‘What?’ Jack. It had to be. No wonder he had looked so pleased with himself. She cast a glance a Growler. He’d sat down at a table with a mug of ale before him. Watching. He would have told Jack about the altercation at the ball. And Jack had seen it as an opportunity.

  Rawley took a deep breath. ‘I’d have to wound him at the very least.’ He lifted his hands. ‘It’s the best I can do.’

  She opened her mouth to argue.

  ‘It is the best I can do, Char. You don’t understand, this Irishman is a dangerous man.’

  She understood all to well. ‘You promise? No more than a flesh wound.’ Rawley had always been an excellent shot. That was what her brothers had said.

  ‘I swear it on my honour.’ His mouth twisted. ‘And I hope to hell this Scot of yours misses his target. This is going to ruin my reputation.’ He tossed off his brandy and looked at her. ‘Can I hope to meet you in London?’

  She smiled sweetly and leaned closer. ‘Not a chance.’

  He laughed and got up. ‘You always were a wild one, Charlotte.’ He strolled across the room to a table with a card game in progress.

  She glanced at Growler and pushed to her feet. His face held an expression of worry, but he was not looking at her. He was staring at the door. She followed his gaze, thinking Jack must have arrived.

  And saw Logan.

  Her stomach roiled. This she had not expected. Behind her Growler signalled to a waiter for his reckoning.

  Keeping her gaze fixed on Logan, she strolled to the door and started when their gazes met, as if in surprise.

  A tug pulled at her heart as she gazed at his beautiful face. How could she have ever thought she could have him? This beautiful pure young man.

  It had been a lovely dream. Magical. But Logan needed a different woman. An honest girl. Not a soiled dove.

  She could not, would not, drag him down into the sewers. It would ruin what she loved about him. Love. Had she really fallen in love? If so, it was nothing like what she had felt for Rawley all those years ago. And if she had fallen in love, which she very much doubted, it was a cruel jest on the part of Eros.

  She breathed through the tears filling her throat and blinked back those burning her eyes as she pasted a cold smile on her lips and hoped he’d not seen her with Rawley.

  Chapter Twelve

  In three swift strides, he reached her, but he was looking over her shoulder. ‘What are you doing here?’ he growled.

  ‘Business for Jack. I thought you had left for Dunross to protect your precious whisky.’

  A barmaid passed them and her gaze lingered on Logan’s face as if Charity didn’t exist. A stab of jealousy twisted sharply in her chest. She had no reason to be jealous.

  ‘I leave tomorrow morning,’ he said.

  After the duel. ‘Well, I am sure you do not wish to spend your last few hours in Edinburgh talking to me, so if you will excuse me...’

  The expression on his face didn’t change. Indeed, he looked as if it had been carved from marble. By a master sculptor. She steeled herself for what she must do next.

  Sh
e lifted her hand and placed it flat on his heart. Through the layers of cloth she felt its steady rhythm and his tension. A weapon about to go off half-cocked. ‘You have no need for concern, Growler is with me.’ Then she gave him a coquettish sidelong glance. ‘Surely you were not hoping for another round between the sheets before I go?’

  His eyes heated. He glanced at Growler standing a little distance off and turned his shoulder with a charming smile. ‘That is exactly how I would like to spend the next few hours.’

  The words seared her, made her melt inside when she had intended to be unbending. ‘Sadly, it isn’t possible.’ She hoped her voice didn’t show how breathless she felt. ‘If you will excuse me.’ She made to dodge around him.

  ‘Charity,’ he said softly, shifting to block her path.

  As well as desire, there was another expression in his eyes. Wariness. As if he had done something he thought she would not like.

  ‘Can’t you get it through your thick Scottish head that I have had enough of you?’ Firmly, she stepped around him, knowing Growler would be right on her heels.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said.

  She continued on past him and heard a low rumbling rising from his chest like distant thunder. The man was about to explode. She ran up the stairs to the street, leaving Growler to follow as best he could, and stepped out into the alley to the sound of a chorus of chirps and whistles, as if a flock of small birds were flying overhead. She looked up. It was night. Then—

  A pair of strong arms went around her waist. Rough fabric brushed her face, a sack. Someone had put her in a sack. In the distance, she heard Growler yell. And then a thump, like wood hitting wood at the same moment she was tossed into a vehicle. A lurch, the sound of horses’ hooves and wheels grinding over the cobbles and the carriage moved off.

  Was this Jack’s work? Had he guessed she might try to stop the duel? Or was Logan trying to get back at Jack for what had been done to his nephew? Whichever one of those two idiots it was, she was going to make them pay. She gritted her teeth and let her anger burn.