“Paid? How do you know that?” her father demanded incredulously.
“He overheard them talking.”
“Who overheard them?”
“The man upstairs.”
Her father regarded her warily. “Who is he, Moira?”
She winced inwardly, but there was no help for it. She had to tell him. “Mr. McHeath.”
“McHeath?” her father repeated, aghast with both shock and dismay. “McHeath? Sir Robert’s solicitor? The one who’s suing you?”
“Sir Robert’s suing me. Mr. McHeath is only the solicitor and—”
“Only?” her father charged. “Only? You might as well say a demon is only in league with the devil!”
“Papa, it’s not as bad as that. And he tried to stop whoever set the fire. But even if he hadn’t, even if he was Sir Robert’s solicitor, surely it is good and right to offer help to anyone who needs it.”
“I am all for a kind heart in a woman, Moira,” her father retorted, “but this is too much. If he’s hurt, let him go to Sir Robert—who, you may recall, is suing you for a considerable sum of money.”
“Should that really matter if the man is injured? And isn’t it possible Robbie misled him, too, the same way he misled me? I gather it’s been a few years since Mr. McHeath has seen Robbie. A man can change a good deal in that time.”
“Or not,” her father countered.
“Whether he has or not, Mr. McHeath is still a man who’s been seriously hurt,” she replied, her frustration and desperation mounting, for the servants would obey her father’s orders over hers, “so much so that the doctor says it’s too risky to move him just yet. By letting Mr. McHeath stay here, we’re ensuring his recovery, as well we should. Dr. Campbell says—”
“Don’t quote a doctor to me! They don’t know anything! I want him gone tomorrow. I’ll have the footmen carry him out if I have to.”
“Unless you’re drunk.”
The words came out seemingly of their own volition, released like caged tigers that had been waiting, pacing, ready to pounce, for years.
As her father’s face reddened, her hand flew to her lips as if to trap them again. “Papa, I’m—”
“Is this how you repay me for all I’ve given you?” he interrupted, his face going as red as poppies. “All I’ve done for you? For indulging in these charitable whims of yours about educating the children of people who don’t want them to be educated? Did you ever stop to think how your plans affected me, Moira? Has it never occurred to you that your schemes for schools and education might be an embarrassment to me, and even cost me business?”
No, it hadn’t.
“Or that your broken engagement has forced me to listen to snide remarks about my unmarriageable daughter with her jilted fiancé and misguided charity.
“All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness, Moira. To see you married, with a good husband and children around you. Why else do you think I told you what I learned about that devil you were going to marry, while you were blinded by his looks and name and nobility? God, Moira, I could have let you marry the man and boasted of the connection—aye, and made use of it, too. But I didn’t.
“Now I fear you’re going to wind up so immersed in your good deeds you’ll never get a husband. Is that what you want, Moira? To be an old maid? To be the sort of woman everyone admires and no man will wed?”
She clasped her hands as she fought to find the words to make him understand. “Papa, can’t you see that I’m trying to make something of myself, as you did when you were a young man? I want to leave something built of hard work and effort, the same way you made your fortune.
“Yes, you gave me a fine home and good clothes, but you also gave me fear and worry and heartache. How many times have you come home stinking of drink and I had to put you to bed, Papa? How many times have you stayed out until all hours, and I never knew where you were? Or if you were well, or lying in some gutter? How many nights have I lost sleep waiting for you to come home after a night of drinking, when I didn’t know where you were or even if you would come home?
“I want to be proud of you, Papa, not ashamed, and I’ll be ashamed—and more—if you make Mr. McHeath leave before the doctor thinks it’s safe. Please don’t rob me of the pride I should feel for my father, who did work and slave and make something of himself before he fell into a title.”
Her father’s expression didn’t soften so much as alter to one that she recognized—the same one he wore when he was bargaining with a tradesman. “I’m not completely heartless, Moira. I’ll agree to let him stay until the doctor says he is well enough to be taken to Sir Robert’s—on the condition that you never again try to open a school in Dunbrachie.”
She gasped. “How can you give me such an ultimatum? I’ve only ever asked three things of you—that you stop drinking to excess, that you provide the funds to let me open a school and that Mr. McHeath stay here until he’s well. You’ve broken your promise about the first more than once, and now you ask me to give up my school or you’ll send an injured man from our home? How can you, Papa? Is that fair? Is it just? Is it kind?”
“I won’t discuss this anymore, Moira,” he said, walking to the door. “If you want Mr. McHeath to stay, he may—but you won’t get another penny for a school in Dunbrachie, or anywhere else, if he does.”
She could hardly believe her ears, but she knew him too well to doubt that he meant what he said. Yet she was also her father’s daughter, and that meant that she could be just as resolute. She must be now, for Lillibet and the other children of Dunbrachie.
“Mr. McHeath is going to stay until the doctor says he’s well enough to leave,” she said, marching to the door, “and I will build a school in Dunbrachie. If you won’t help me, I’ll find the money for it somewhere else.”
Too upset to see or speak to anyone, Moira sought sanctuary in her morning room.
What was she going to do? She had to build her school. It had been her dream for a long time, and Lillibet and all the other children deserved the opportunity of education.
Surely she could raise the money herself…in Glasgow, where she had so many friends. Not Edinburgh, where she didn’t know a soul except Robbie and Gordon McHeath. She really would have no reason to go there….
A shadow fell across the carpet and she swiped at her tear-filled eyes before she turned to find Walters on the threshold.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” the butler said, “but the earl has asked me to inform you that he’s left for Glasgow.”
She shouldn’t be surprised he hadn’t stayed, not after that quarrel and their mutual accusations. “Did he say when he would return?”
“No, my lady. He merely left orders that Mr. McHeath was to leave as soon as the doctor said he could.”
Her father had left no word for her? Given how they’d parted, perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised by that, either. “I see. Thank you.”
The butler nodded and she walked toward the window that overlooked the garden.
Another shadow fell upon the wall beside her. Perhaps her father had left some word for her with the footman or another servant, she thought, turning.
It wasn’t a servant. It was Gordon McHeath.
Chapter Sixteen
He was dressed in his trousers that had been cleaned and pressed, his polished boots and a plain shirt that must belong to one of the servants. It looked as if he were leaving.
But he shouldn’t even be on his feet.
“Mr. McHeath!” she cried, hurrying to him. “You shouldn’t be out of bed! Please, sit down. I’m shocked Mrs. McAlvey let you come downstairs.”
“I wanted to make sure you’re all right—and Mrs. McAlvey doesn’t know I’m not in bed.” He flushed as he gave her a little smile and she helped him to the sofa. “She’s getting me some biscuits and tea. I told her I was famished. Never mind how I’m feeling. How are you?”
“I’m all right.” Since he already knew about her father’s drinking, she could meet his steadfast gaze as
she sat beside him. In spite of her shame over her father’s reaction to his presence, it was a relief not to have to prevaricate. “I think Papa’s been drinking again. He worries about me, so when he found out about the fire and that you were here…”
“He was justifiably upset that the solicitor who was helping Sir Robert to sue you has been your guest,” he said with both acceptance and resignation. “Regardless of what Dr. Campbell says, it would probably be best if I left today, if I may borrow a carriage. I can stay in the village for a night or two, and Mrs. McAlvey can come with me.”
She wanted to go with him, but of course that was impossible. Equally impossible, however, was letting him leave before the doctor said he should. “My father will get over his anger.” Eventually. “So you mustn’t even think of leaving until Dr. Campbell says you may.”
“I don’t want to make things worse for you than I already have. Your father was angry enough to shout, Moira. My presence will cause trouble for you if I stay, so I won’t.”
Toying with the cuff of the narrow sleeve of her gown, Moira looked up into his face. “If my life is troubled now, it’s not your fault. You were just the catalyst that led to revelations of things I should know. Now that I’m aware of how vindictive Robert McStuart is, I can take precautions to avoid him, and men like him, in the future. It’s also better that I discover my father’s true feelings about my plans and goals. He’s never been overjoyed by my endeavors, but I didn’t realize how much he was against the school. When he found out I planned to rebuild, he withdrew his support. If I wish to build the school again, I shall have to find the money myself—and I shall.”
Gordon had been dazzled by her beauty and impressed by her bravery the first day he met her. He’d come to respect her kindness and generosity. But never had he admired her more than when she spoke of rebuilding the school with such heartfelt resolve. “I’m so sorry, Moira,” he said softly. “I should have insisted on leaving at once.”
“And put yourself at even more risk? No, Mr. McHeath, you suffered enough. It’s not your fault Papa doesn’t approve of the school, and if anyone is responsible for the withdrawal of his support, it’s whoever set the fire. I shall simply have to solicit donations from my friends. There are many in Glasgow who will surely contribute. I shall go there immediately, and begin.”
Glasgow. On the other side of Scotland from Edinburgh. “Have you no friends in Edinburgh?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Except me,” he offered, his voice hushed. “I’d be happy to help.”
“I should have guessed you would offer,” she said. She reached up to cup his cheek, her palm warm and soft against his skin. “You’ve proven to me that there are good, decent, honorable men in the world.”
“Then your experience with Robbie hasn’t soured you on men entirely?” he asked, his mind filling with a vision of the future that had been dancing on the edge of his consciousness, yet kept firmly on the fringes.
“Not entirely,” she said, lowering her hand, her eyes downcast, her cheeks pink with a blush.
Once before he had kept his feelings to himself, only to discover that he’d been harboring hopes that should never have been allowed to develop. If that was so this time, he had to find out. “Although these are hardly the circumstances I would have wished for, I cannot remain silent any longer about…”
In spite of his determination, his voice faltered. Yet if he were wrong, it would be worse than foolish to remain in ignorance. “About what is happening between us.”
She flushed and although she didn’t speak, he found her silence encouraging. If he were completely wrong, surely she would say something. “I hope I’m not wrong and that you do feel something more than affection for me,” he ventured.
Still she remained silent, red-faced, not meeting his gaze.
His former confidence in her silent response began to ebb away, replaced by dread. Was he wrong again? Perhaps, despite her response to his kisses and embraces, she didn’t feel as he did. Maybe his confession was even…embarrassing…to her?
“I had assumed you felt somewhat more,” he said. “Apparently, I was mistaken.”
She raised her eyes to look at him and in that instant, he knew, to the core of his heart and with the rekindling of all his self-suppressed hopes, that she hadn’t been toying with him, or leading him on. “No, Mr. McHeath, you are not mistaken,” she said. “Affection is much too weak a word for what I feel for you.”
“Not Mr. McHeath. Gordon,” he whispered, his heart soaring as he gently took her face between his hands and brought her close to kiss. Lightly, tenderly, he brushed his lips over hers as she closed her eyes and put her arms around him.
“Gordon,” she sighed before she kissed him with more fervor, angling her body closer.
Passion leaped into searing, vibrant life within him. His desire liberated, he held her in his arms, where she belonged. Where she would always belong. Where no other woman would have belonged in quite the same perfect way.
She was his equal, in intelligence, in drive, in desire. Having met her, he was completely certain he would never have been happy with a more soft-spoken, timid woman like Catriona McNare.
As if to confirm his thoughts, she parted her lips and his tongue slid between them into her warm, willing mouth. With a low, eager moan, she slid her hands up his back.
He moved to bring himself even closer, ignoring the growing pain in his side from his wound. It was healing, after all. He wouldn’t bleed again. Not now, when he had Moira in his arms. Beautiful, determined, passionate Moira.
Warm, wonderful, softly curved Moira.
His hand slowly glided up her side and around to her breast. He could feel the taut tip beneath his fingers and her growing excitement as he brushed the pad of his thumb across it, a match for his own burgeoning need. He shifted and moved her backward, until she was reclining on the sofa and he was half-atop her.
With more of their bodies closer, their kisses grew less tender and more ardent, less gentle and more passionate, as their need increased. He was hard and anxious, his body urging him to take her then and there.
She would let him, he was sure. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, his physical instincts argued. Yet another part of him, the one that was well aware of society’s rules, held him in check.
That restraining conscience grew weaker and weaker the more she held and kissed him. The more she moved and arched, as if her body was ordering him to make love with her.
And oh, how much he wanted to! Never had he wanted a woman as much as Moira.
But not like this. Not like some lascivious Casanova, without words of promise and commitment, no matter how difficult it was to stop. To move back. To look down at her flushed face, her desire-darkened eyes, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing, and let go.
She sat up at once, dread in her lovely eyes. “Are you bleeding again?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s not that. This isn’t…right,” he said, the words so difficult to say, but necessary.
Her brows contracting with a frown, she straightened and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I realize this sort of thing is highly inappropriate.”
Oh, God, he’d offended her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He reached out and took hold of her hand. “Moira, I’m not sorry I kissed you, here or any other time. And I want to be with you, intimately and every other way. But we have to stop, or we are going to make love right here on this sofa. As delightful as making love with you would be, I won’t take you like some lascivious Lothario, the way Robbie—”
“He didn’t.”
The words burst out of her like cannon fire as she swiftly rose. “We didn’t. Never. I’ve never behaved like this with any man. I don’t know what comes over me when I’m with you!”
She was upset, and yet she had no reason to be. Putting a hand on the back of the sofa, he hoisted himself to his feet. “I wasn’t accusing you of an
ything. As for what comes over you when we’re together, it’s the same thing that comes over me, because I assure you, Moira, I have never been so presumptuous in my life.”
“Presumptuous?” she repeated, and he was glad to see the spark of anger shift to a sparkle of amusement. “Is that what you call it?”
He put his arms about her waist and smiled. “I suppose I could call it brazen desire. Audacious need. Bold passion.”
She raised herself on her toes and lightly touched her lips to his. “I call it daring. Passionate. Exciting.”
“Quite the last words one expects to hear used to describe a solicitor.”
“Yet appropriate in this case.” She ran her fingertip along the bandage that covered the gash over his eye. “Mrs. McAlvey thinks you’re going to have a scar. You’ll look even more daring then. I daresay you’ll have widows flocking to your office.”
“There’s only one person I want anxious to see me,” he murmured as he bent his head to kiss her again. “The same woman who would climb on a rooftop to watch a prizefight.”
“You saw me?”
“Aye. I was quite astonished.”
“You weren’t distracted?”
“Only for a moment—and I’m not sorry a bit. However did you get up there?”
“I told you—I used to climb in my father’s warehouses. I wanted to watch, but of course a lady shouldn’t, so…”
“So you found a way, despite society’s conventions.”
“The way I disobey society’s conventions when I’m with you,” she said with a disarming smile.
How could he resist? He had to bring her back into the circle of his arms. He had to kiss her again and was leaning down to do so when Mrs. McAlvey charged into the room.
“What on earth?!” the nurse cried as they jumped apart like guilty children caught stealing cake. “Tea and scones my right hind foot!”
Mrs. McAlvey came to a halt and waggled her finger. “I trusted you, Mr. McHeath, but when I go back upstairs, what do I find? Or not find? You’re down here! I thought you’d have more sense! If that wound’s opened again, I’ve a good mind to let you bleed to death!”
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