Highland Rogue

by Deborah Hale

  Her hand prickled with the urge to rise and caress his rugged cheek. Suddenly, Claire realized how close they had been standing, and for how long, with their gazes locked. Had she already let this man charm her into forgetting who he was and what he wanted?

  Heavens above, the Marlet had barely slipped its moorings! What state would she be in by the time they reached Strathandrew? Ready to stand as Tessa’s bridesmaid, perhaps, and to hand over half her shares of Brancasters to the happy couple as a wedding present?

  “I do beg your pardon.” She hoped her tone would not betray the swift reversal of her feelings. “I fear I am neglecting my duties as a hostess. We have days ahead of us to talk over old times. For now, I must show you to your cabin as I promised.”

  What could he possibly have said or done to vex Claire Talbot? Ewan pondered the matter as he followed her a short distance down the narrow, wood-paneled corridor.

  True, they’d been discussing the hostility that had once bristled between them. But they’d been doing it with tolerance and restraint born of maturity, each willing to own a share of the fault.

  Then, in less than the flicker of an eye, a change had come over Miss Talbot. A very subtle one, to be sure, but unmistakable for all that. It was as if a balmy west wind had suddenly veered, to whistle down from the north. Or some invisible door, held invitingly ajar, had been slammed shut in his face.

  If she’d been vexed with him for taking hold of her in such a bold way to keep her from pitching down those steep stairs, he could have understood it. She hadn’t turned a hair over that, though.

  Ewan wished he could forget the bewildering instant he’d pulled her close to him. The feather on her hat had tickled his nose, while the pressure of her bosom against his arm had tickled him … elsewhere. The notion that his old nemesis could affect him that way had staggered Ewan. Clearly, he’d been far too long without a woman.

  A wee rest before dinner might do him good. Or a wash up with very cold water.

  “These will be your quarters for the voyage.” Claire stopped in front of a door.

  Following so close on her heels, absorbed in his own thoughts, Ewan almost bumped into her. Quick reflexes rescued him, but only just. When his hostess turned toward him, she started and gave a little gasp to find him hovering so near.

  She took a step backward. “I hope the accommodations will suit you.”

  The unexplained stiffness of her manner rasped against his vague sense of confusion. “I made the long voyage to America in steerage, don’t forget. I reckon a guest cabin on the laird’s private yacht will do better than suit me.”

  Claire flinched at the gruffness of his tone, but otherwise ignored it.

  “Dinner will be served at seven.” She pointed down the corridor. “This opens into the dining room. In the meantime, if there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ring for one of the stewards.”

  Ewan struggled to recover his manners, for Tessa’s sake and for his own pride. “I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable, thank ye, Miss Talbot. I’ll see ye at dinner.”

  With that, he ducked into his cabin and closed the door behind him.

  He stood there for a moment, listening to her brisk footsteps continuing on down the corridor, wondering if this voyage to Scotland with her had been such a wise decision, after all. Whether it was or not, he concluded at last, there wasn’t much he could do about it now except make the best of the opportunity it presented.

  His gaze swept the generously proportioned cabin, which smelled of lemon oil. The highly polished wood and brass fittings gleamed softly in the light that filtered through a curtained porthole. The place had an air of understated masculine elegance. It would suit him very well.

  His trunk had been safely stowed on a low platform, the rim of which would keep it from sliding in heavy weather. The bed, the dressing screen, a compact wardrobe and a small writing desk had all been bolted to the cabin floor for the same reason.

  When Ewan pulled out the leather upholstered chair, he found it had been weighted in the legs. He glanced behind the screen to discover a washstand with a brass-framed shaving mirror mounted above it. Might this have been Lord Lydiard’s cabin back when the family used to take their annual late summer holiday in the Highlands?

  Tossing his top hat onto the bed, Ewan tugged off his coat and unbuttoned his high collar. He flashed a jaunty wink at the prosperous gentleman who stared out of the mirror at him. “A fancy billet for a humble gillie boy, eh? Not much question ye’ve risen in the world, laddie!”

  Folk who knew him back in America likely thought he took this kind of life for granted. They’d be wrong, though.

  There’d been a short while, as he’d first begun to amass his fortune, when he’d been tempted to spend it on luxuries. But that had only made him feel wasteful. So he’d gone back to frugal living, and invested most of his earnings in the company, which had responded by becoming even more profitable.

  That would all have to change once he married Tessa. He would buy her a fine house, or perhaps have one built, designed to accommodate her every fancy. He’d shower her with splendid clothes and jewels and every comfort she’d enjoyed in her life so far.

  Would she be willing to return to America with him? he wondered. Or would she want to settle in England to remain near her family?

  While he continued to plan his new life, he stowed his coat and hat in the wardrobe, then unpacked a few clothes from his trunk. For a while after that, he roamed the cabin, not certain what to do with himself.

  It was too early yet to dress for dinner, and he saw no reason to wash or shave again, having made an adequate job of both earlier. Sleeping during the day went too much against the grain of a man used to working from dawn till dusk and often later.

  He toyed with the notion of sitting down at the writing desk and composing a letter to Tessa. He could explain why he’d decided to go on to Strathandrew ahead of her, then he could wish her a swift recovery and safe journey on the train. How would he ever post it, though, from out at sea? And even if he managed that feat, could he trust Lady Lydiard not to keep the message from her daughter?

  Though he’d had a good solid education at the village school, writing was still enough of a chore for him that he didn’t fancy going to the trouble of it for nothing.

  When a cautious knock sounded on the cabin door, Ewan jumped to answer it, welcoming a potential distraction, even for a few moments. “Aye, what can I do for ye?”

  “That’s what I came to ask ye, sir,” replied a small wiry man a few years Ewan’s junior. “Any clothes ye need laundered or …

  The steward’s gaze rose from Ewan’s chin to look him full in the face. “Hang me! Ewan Geddes, is that ye in those toff clothes?” He thrust out his hand. “Jock McMurdo. Rosie’s nephew from Strathandrew.”

  “Wee Jockie, aye!” Ewan grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. “How’ve ye been, man? It does me good to see ye again!”

  No word of a lie, that. His restlessness had eased all at once, as if a fresh sea breeze had just blown down the galley way.

  Jockie stared at Ewan, shaking his head. “Auntie said ye’d made yer fortune in America. What brings ye back home again—as a guest of Miss Talbot, no less?”

  What would Jock and the rest of the folk at Strathandrew say when they discovered he might soon be more to Miss Talbot than a guest?

  “It’s a bit of a long tale, but I promise ye’ll hear it by and by. About what ye asked before, my gear’s all still as clean as when I left the hotel. The only thing I need is a bit of something to do. I’m not used to hanging about idle. I don’t suppose ye could put me to work?”

  Jockie laughed until he saw Ewan meant it. “Peel taties in the galley, ye mean? The captain’d have me keelhauled!”

  “Would he, now?” Ewan tried to hide his disappointment. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

  “Ye could come up and take a turn around the deck,” Jockie suggested. “I could introduce ye to the rest
of the crew. At least ye’d get a breath of air and have folks to talk to.”

  The notion tempted Ewan, but … “Miss Talbot said we should come below to get out from underfoot of the crew.”

  “The Marlet’s slipped her moorings now.” Jockie shrugged. “It’s pretty quiet on deck. Besides, ye look like a man who’s sharp enough to get out of the way when he needs to.”

  Not always, Ewan admitted to himself, even as he nodded to Jockie. He’d never been wise enough to keep out of Claire Talbot’s way when she had her temper up.

  Was it possible he hadn’t wanted to?

  “Mark me, the gentleman won’t be able to take his eyes off you at dinner, miss.” Claire’s new maid, a bouncy little Welsh girl, brushed one last curl around her forefinger.

  Claire did not need to stare at herself in the dressing table glass to know that a fierce blush burned her cheeks. “It is a matter of total indifference to me whether Mr. Geddes so much as glances in my direction.”

  “Just as you say, miss.” The girl chuckled to herself as if she did not believe a word of it. “Though I think he’ll be a fool if he doesn’t. I suppose you don’t care whether you look at him, either.”

  Before Claire could stammer an answer, Williams prattled on, “You’ll be missing something if you don’t. For I caught a glimpse of him and I wouldn’t mind a few more. He’s as fine looking a gentleman as ever I saw.”

  “I suppose he’s well enough looking,” said Claire, “if you like that type.”

  “And do you, miss?”

  Far too much.

  Claire shrugged. “I suppose.”

  If only she could make herself feel as calm as she sounded! Now that she was about to put her plan into action, a host of misgivings assailed her, and she began to doubt her ability to carry it off.

  Her brief encounter with Ewan in the galley way had opened her eyes to a difficulty she had not foreseen. If she hoped to lure the man to abandon Tessa in favor of her, she must pretend to put their contentious youth behind them and make a fresh, more amiable start. But she must not let herself truly fall under the spell of his charm, or he would break her heart all over again, the rogue!

  Never, since she had come of age and taken the helm of Brancasters, had Claire faced such a challenge. At least then, despite her youth and her sex, and the prejudice of the commercial world toward both, she’d felt better equipped for the task she’d set herself.

  After all she had strong organizational abilities and a head for business. Her father would have laughed himself ill at the thought of her as a seductress!

  She forced herself to look at her reflection. “You’ve done a fine job, Williams. No wonder Lady Cunningham treasures you so. It was good of her to lend me your services, and most kind of you to oblige.”

  The way in which Williams had dressed her hair looked fussier than Claire liked, but it was probably the sort of thing men admired. The maid’s artful use of cosmetics gave her face more color without looking painted.

  “I was glad to, miss, for the chance of a holiday in Scotland. I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year, but her ladyship doesn’t care to travel. It’s no great chore to make you look beautiful. You have such a lovely complexion, and fine eyes.” She hesitated. “Do you mind if I offer a suggestion, though, miss?”

  “By all means. You are the expert.”

  “Perhaps I should just hold my tongue, but I did wonder, miss, whether you needed to wear quite so many jewels?”

  Indeed she did, though Claire did not dare confess why. “Do you think they are unbecoming? There are some very valuable pieces here.”

  She had emptied her own jewelry box of many that had never been worn since her mother’s death. Lady Lydiard had contributed several more of distinguished pedigree from the family collection. “Why, this sapphire necklace alone is worth thousands of pounds.”

  “And lovely it is, miss. It goes well with your eyes. But the earrings are a newer style. Do you think they go together? And the bracelets—do you need them on both wrists?”

  Claire would have preferred none at all, and a plainer gown, come to that. Heavy with diamonds and pearls, the bracelets were awkward things. And the weight of the earrings was already challenging the tightness of her corset to see which could inflict the most discomfort upon her. She hoped one day Tessa would appreciate the sacrifices she had made!

  She was not so far gone in taste as to dispute Williams’s opinion about the necklace and the earrings, either. But the point of wearing these jewels was not to enhance her questionable beauty, but to advertise her unquestioned wealth.

  “I appreciate your interest and your suggestions, Williams.” Claire rose from the dressing table. “But I get so few opportunities to wear my jewels, I hate to forgo one when it arises.”

  “I understand, miss.” The Welsh girl bobbed a curtsy. Servants knew better than to contradict their masters, no matter how foolish their actions.

  Claire held out her hand. “Now, if I might have my fan, please?”

  It was a costly item as well, each delicate slat of ivory elaborately carved in an identical pattern. And it might well prove useful for more than impressing the extent of her fortune upon Ewan Geddes.

  “There you go, miss.”

  Claire snapped it open, then gave a practice flutter to cool the tingling warmth that swept through her whenever she contemplated what she was about to do.

  Chapter Six

  Blast it all, he was going to be late! And not just fashionably so.

  Racing down the galley way steps at a dangerous speed, Ewan yanked out his pocket watch and peered at its bland, accusing face.

  “Past seven already,” he muttered, “and I still have to change clothes!”

  At least Lady Lydiard was not on board. Claire Talbot had the look of a woman who prized punctuality, though. Was he a fool to believe he had any chance of making a good impression upon her. no matter how well he behaved himself on the voyage?

  Remembering her sudden coolness toward him, and the fine time he’d been having up on deck with the crew of the Marlet, made him wonder if he would ever feel at ease in Miss Talbot’s world. And did he want to?

  He stumbled on the last couple of stairs, but managed to stagger the few steps to his cabin. He flung open the door and raced inside, stubbing his foot with violent force into one of the bedposts. With a bellow of pain and rage at himself for not watching his step, he commenced to jump around the room on his sound foot, growling a litany of foul Gaelic curses he’d learned in his youth from Fergus Gowrie, the gamekeeper at Strathandrew.

  Ewan did not realize the cabin door was still open until he heard a high-pitched giggle. He glanced up to see a tiny dark-haired lass scooting by, one hand clamped over her mouth in a vain effort to stifle her mirth. Whoever she was, Ewan had no doubt she’d understood every coarse oath that had left his lips.

  Would she repeat them to Claire Talbot? Ewan slammed the cabin door and began tearing off his shirt, popping a collar button in the process.

  When someone knocked on the door, he barked, “What do ye want? Tell Miss Talbot I’ll be along directly!”

  The door eased open and Jock popped his head in. “It’s only me with a kettle of hot water for ye, if ye fancy a washup?”

  “I reckon I could stand one—” Ewan nodded toward the washstand “—though it’ll have to be quick.”

  “Can I give ye a hand?” asked Jock as he poured the steaming water into the basin.

  Be waited on by one of his old mates? The notion made Ewan squirm, though he probably could get ready quicker with some help.

  “Don’t trouble yerself, laddie.” He rummaged in the wardrobe for a clean shirt, pulling on the first one that came to hand. “I’m used to managing on my own. Thanks for the water, though.”

  “Just as ye like, then,” said Jock. “If ye change yer mind, ye’ve only to ring the bell.”

  Once Jock had closed the cabin door behind him, Ewan glanced down at his shirt to find i
t misbuttoned. He cursed again.

  By the time he fumbled his way through a quick wash, finished dressing and pulled a comb through his hair, he was in a vile temper.

  Miss Talbot’s greeting, when he finally reached the dining room, did not improve it.

  “There you are.” She fluttered a very elegant fan in front of her face. “I was afraid you had decided to jump ship.”

  Ewan almost wished he had. Late as he was, he still had a long evening ahead of him. What did he have to talk about with this woman, anyway, besides how much she used to vex him? Despite his promise to make a fresh start, he was beginning to remember why they’d never gotten on.

  “I was busy with something,” he muttered. “I didn’t notice the time.” Belatedly and grudgingly, he added, “I apologize for keeping ye waiting.”

  “Pray, what kept you so occupied?” Though Claire Talbot’s tone sounded polite enough, a steely light in those blue-gray eyes of hers made him feel as if he were being interrogated. “I feared you might be restless and anxious for some diversion.”

  “I was at first.” Ewan circled the dining table, eyeing the settings of china, crystal and silver even more elaborate than those at Lydiard House. “Then I met up with one of my old mates from Strathandrew who introduced me ’round to the crew. We got talking and the time just … went.”

  “Did it?” Her fingers appeared to clench the fan harder.

  Perhaps she took it as an insult that a bunch of common sailors had made him late to dine with her. Ewan wondered what she would say if she knew he’d rather be eating in the crew’s mess this very minute than in her too-quiet, too-lavish dining room.

  She drew in a long, slow breath through her nose. “You’re here now. That’s the important thing. Would you care for a drink before dinner?”

  A dram sounded like a fine idea, to settle him down after the fuss of being late. “Aye, I’ll have a whiskey, thank ye.”

  Claire nodded to a young man in uniform stationed by a small sideboard.

  He poured Ewan a liberal measure of amber liquid from a heavy, cut-glass decanter. “Water with that, sir?”