Highland Heiress (7 page)

“Very badly,” Miss Swanson breathlessly seconded, while Miss Hornby nodded so rapidly, her extravagantly decorated hat looked in immediate danger of falling off her head. The very wide, brilliantly green ribbons were doing their job of keeping it in place, although it also looked as if the huge bow was keeping her head on her neck, as well.

“That wouldn't have happened if he'd chosen a local girl,” Miss Taggart declared.

Her friends nodded enthusiastically. No doubt they were local girls, and he wondered vaguely how long their friendships would last if Robbie were to choose one of them.

“There are several suitable young women in and around Dunbrachie who would be honored to be his bride.”

“Honored!” she of the precarious bonnet echoed.

“Delighted!” cried the other young lady.

Miss Taggart glanced at her companions before continuing. “Please let him know that he has friends in the village who think what's happened to him is a terrible shame—but what else can you expect from strangers? And from Glasgow, too!”

She said “Glasgow” as if that city was a modern
Gomorrah and anybody from that location should be automatically discounted as worthy of matrimony.

“I'm sure he already knows he has friends in Dunbrachie,” Gordon replied, wondering if these women would be so enthusiastically sympathetic if they knew Robbie had just purposefully avoided them.

Or how much he drank. And his debts. And the number of women he'd seduced.

Or maybe they already did and didn't care, because Robbie was titled and handsome. As for the lawsuit, they might think that justified, too, not realizing, as Gordon unfortunately had, that it indicated a level of bitter vindictiveness no man of honor and true nobility should possess. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

Such as keeping Robbie from drinking himself into a stupor in the tavern.

“Oh, yes, of course. Good day, Mr. McHeath,” Miss Taggart said with another grimacelike smile before she took the arm of each of her friends and sauntered off as if she had just made a romantic conquest.

Nothing could be further from the truth, Gordon thought as he started toward the tavern, passing the lane between the baker's and a bookshop. The next time he and Robbie were in a similar situation, should there be a similar situation—

A hand reached out, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him backward into the lane.

G
ordon raised his hand to strike—until he realized his assailant was wearing a bonnet.

A
woman
had pulled him into the alley—a woman wearing a bonnet as prettily and expensively decorated as anything Lady Catriona McNare had ever worn, covering glossy dark hair. Her Spencer jacket was velvet, her gown of fine muslin….

He knew who it was even before the bonnet tilted back to reveal Lady Moira's face. “My lady, what—?”

She put her fingers to his lips to silence him. Although she wore gloves, her light touch was as arousing as a caress along his naked thigh. “Please, speak quietly, Mr. McHeath,” she whispered. “If I'm going to be humble and eat a little crow, I prefer to do it with as few witnesses as possible.”

He would have obeyed any order she gave when she looked at him like that and touched his mouth.

“I have decided that I should, perhaps, be more flexible in my dealings with Sir Robert.”

Why did she have to mention Robbie?

“I'm prepared to consider settling out of court, to save all of us time and expense.”

Of course. It was the lawsuit that brought them together, and the lawsuit, as well as his friendship with Robbie, would keep them apart, always.

Yet he should be glad about this latest development, and not just for Robbie's sake. His life was in Edinburgh, not here. She was a lady; he was a lawyer. Her family was rich, her father an earl; he had no family at all, or none to speak of. His parents had died when he was a clerk and no siblings had survived infancy. All his aunts or uncles were dead, and his only surviving cousin had emigrated to Canada.

Determined to remember the differences that must keep them apart, he forced himself to think and speak like the solicitor he was. “How much are you willing to offer to settle the suit?”

“What do you think Robbie will be willing to accept?”

He had learned long ago that women could be as clever or good at negotiating as men, having dealt with many wives and widows of merchants who were just as canny as their husbands when it came to business transactions, and some much more so.

Although he was well aware he had to think clearly and carefully during any negotiation, none of the other women he'd bargained with or represented had been as intriguing or interesting as Lady Moira, and he had
certainly never kissed any of them, circumstances that were making it extremely difficult for him to keep his focus strictly on the business at hand.

He was also well aware that it would be to his advantage to try to get her to make the first suggestion as to an amount. “Ladies first, as they say.”

“I suppose I should make it clear that while I'm willing to discuss a settlement, I make no admission of guilt or misconduct on my part. As for any emotional distress, I'm
quite
sure I didn't break Robbie's heart, so any offer I make is done with the sole intention of ridding my life of him once and for all.”

She spoke in such a calm and cool manner, he could well believe she had forgotten their kiss. Or—almost worse—that it had not been the mind-shattering, heart-stopping experience for her that it had been for him.

“You sound very certain of my friend's feelings, or lack of them,” he noted. “You can't see into a man's heart, can you?”

Or what would she see in his?

“You can't see into his heart, either,” she returned. “I realize you're his friend, but as a lawyer, you must also be aware that people lie.”

She tilted her head to study him, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that she understood him, and all men, too well. “If he ever truly loved me, why does he want to hurt me now? Why not simply let us go our separate ways? After all, his reputation will recover much sooner than mine.”

She was right, and yet he had a job to do, whether he wanted to or not. He had told Robbie he'd represent
him, so represent him he must. “Do you not consider that his anger could be proof of his pain? If he cared less, it would be easier for him to let the matter drop.”

She was clearly not at all convinced by his argument. “Then what about his actions after I told him I couldn't and wouldn't marry him? I have it on good authority that he was with another woman that very same night.”

Unfortunately, Gordon could easily believe that Robbie had indeed sought either comfort or oblivion in the arms of a woman as soon as possible. Nevertheless, if he'd done so that same night, Robbie should have told him that, because she was right to think it would make his case weaker.

“So, he's not been completely honest with you, either,” she observed.

Somewhere between Edinburgh and Dunbrachie he'd obviously lost the ability to maintain an attorney's dispassionate mask, at least when speaking to Lady Moira MacMurdaugh.

He also seemed to be taking everything Lady Moira said at face value, which he really ought not to do. She did, after all, have a reason to discredit his friend. “How do you know this?”

“My father had it from the innkeeper where Sir Robert met the woman.”

“In other words,” he began, determined to do his best for Robbie as well as remain as cool and composed as she and reveal nothing more of his feelings, “your source is gossip.”

“Do you really think my father would have told me that if it wasn't true?”

“I have no idea what your father might say,” Gordon replied, “and he is hardly in a neutral position. As for whether or not I was informed of Sir Robert's activities on the night in question, if a man seeks solace with a woman, he need not confide that to a friend, or his lawyer, or anyone. Nor does that mean his pain is any the less.”

“Nevertheless it suggests that he was consolable, and if so, the pain of our broken engagement was not so severe that he should receive five thousand pounds in reparation. I would think five hundred would be more than sufficient,” she finished, her eyes shining with what looked like a combination of delight and excitement, as if this was some sort of competition she was determined to win. In a way, of course, it was—but while he'd seen that reaction from some lawyers and merchants in similar circumstances, he'd never encountered it in a woman before.

Another example, should he require one, of what made this particular woman so different. And so fascinating.

And why he had to fight to keep his mind on the business at hand, as well as remembering he represented Robbie, not her.

“There is also the matter of his wounded pride,” he pointed out. “He may think settling for such a small sum is another wound.”

“I agree Robbie has a great deal of pride—much more than he deserves, so I don't intend to reward him for it.”

“Whether you think his pride is justified or not, it
is something that must be taken into account. He is a titled man, after all. I doubt he'll settle for less than four thousand.”

“Perhaps he should remember his pride and his title the next time he starts drinking,” she countered.

Gordon couldn't disagree, so he turned the subject back to the financial. “If you offer too small a sum, he may consider that as much of an insult as breaking your engagement,” he warned.

“I will not pay more than eight hundred pounds, and I consider that a gift.”

Robbie would surely consider that a pittance, take umbrage, lose his temper and drink even more. “Eight hundred pounds will surely not be enough. Indeed, it may make him think you aren't taking this suit seriously.”

“I assure you, I do. It's Sir Robert I don't take seriously.”

“You should, my lady. He's very determined in this matter. I think you should offer at least three thousand.”

“I am determined, too, Mr. McHeath—determined that he won't get more than a thousand pounds, and that's a thousand pounds more than he should. He should be delighted I'm willing to consider paying him anything at all.”

“My lady, I fear that won't be enough to satisfy him.”

He saw the change come over her, and knew that she would go no higher even before she said, “We have haggled enough, Mr. McHeath. If he'd rather take this
case to court than be reasonable and grateful for my offer, so be it. Good day.”

Whether he represented Robbie or not, he couldn't let her go, not like that, so as she turned to leave the lane, he put a detaining hand on her arm. “Lady Moira, I appreciate your willingness to compromise and perhaps I'm wrong to say what Sir Robert will or will not accept. I'll take your offer to him and inform you of the outcome.”

He couldn't help it. He had to tell her how he really felt about the suit. “I regret my friend's action in this matter, but I owe him too much to refuse to represent him.”

Her steadfast gaze held him as if there was a web binding them together. “What do you owe him?” she asked softly.

He wanted her to know. He needed her to know, to understand. “My reputation. My education. My career. When we were at school together, I stole some money to buy sweets. Not much, but it would have seen me disgraced and expelled. Robbie told the headmaster he did it. If he hadn't, I would have had to go to a less prestigious school, wouldn't have gotten the job clerking for as fine and reputable solicitor as I did, and likely wouldn't be a solicitor myself. That is what I owe Robbie—certainly far too much to turn my back on him now, even though he's…changed.”

She took hold of the lapels of Gordon's jacket as if he was falling away from her, and her increasingly intense scrutiny seemed to bore into his soul. “Even if he helped you years ago, how can you represent him
now? He's a cad who seduces and abandons vulnerable young women.”

“Robbie's been raised to believe that, as a nobleman, it is his right.”

“It's not!”

“No, it isn't,” he agreed. “He should have resisted temptation.”

As he should be resisting temptation now. As he must, even though he gently cupped her shoulders. “You should go, Lady Moira,” he said softly.

Lady Moira nodded, but she didn't move. Her whole body flushed with warmth beneath his steadfast, yearning gaze.

“Or I should go,” he murmured. “
Somebody
should go before…”

“Yes, before…” she whispered as he drew her into his arms.

 

This was a mistake, Moira told herself as he put his arms around her. In spite of the passion smoldering in his eyes and the heat of her own longing, despite the memory of his lips against hers and masculine strength of his body, she should push him away and flee.

She didn't. She couldn't.

She stepped closer, yielding to her desire as she raised herself on her toes and lifted her face for his kiss. Her fingers stopped clutching the cloth of his jacket to lie flat against his rapidly rising and falling chest.

This time, it was no gentle, seeking, tender brushing of lips. The moment their mouths met, it was as if
they were torches bursting into flame, to be consumed completely.

With a low moan of surrender, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body against his. She forgot everything and everybody, where she was, who he was. She was aware only of the need to be in this man's arms, to taste his kiss and feel the caress of his hands.

And caress her he did with his free hand as, with the other arm around her, he guided her back until she was against the wall of the bakery. While his tongue thrust into her open and willing mouth, he stroked her cheek, her shoulder, her arm. Her ribs and, finally, her breast.

She groaned at the pleasure his touch aroused, the sound muffled by his mouth. He braced himself with his left hand against the wall, and his right hand continued to entice her to new heights of need, his lips and tongue promising yet more excitement.

She, too, stroked and caressed, her passionate fervor growing as she ran her hands over the powerful muscles of his arms and back and shoulders. Emboldened by the craving rushing through her, she slipped her hand inside his vest to feel the heat of his skin through his linen shirt.

One of the shirt buttons gave way, and she instinctively slid her hand inside to glide over his naked chest, the hairs around his nipple coarse compared to the silk of his skin.

With greater urgency he angled himself closer, his knee sliding between hers, the hardness of his limb at
the junction of her thighs increasing the already-ardent demand within her.

His lips slipped from her mouth, moving down the throbbing pulse of her neck. Panting, she arched and pushed her body against his thigh. His hand went to her breast again, kneading, as his mouth glided toward her collarbone and the edge of her bodice.

He tugged her forward against his half-raised thigh, pushing and almost instantly releasing. She had no idea why he did that, only that she didn't want him to stop. The pressure was too exhilarating, while a tension of a sort she had never experienced before began to build.

He cradled her breast with his free hand, whisking the pad of his thumb across the tip of her bodice where her nipple pebbled beneath the fabric. Again he pulled her forward against the hard strength of his thigh. Then she pushed against him herself, over and over, as the thrilling, breathtaking tension built and built.

Then the tension shattered, like a pane of brittle glass. He muffled her cries of release by covering her mouth with his, in another searing kiss.

She had no words, no real thoughts beyond amazement, too shocked and benumbed by what had just happened to utter a sound.