Highland Rogue (7 page)

“We sail, Captain MacLeod.” She gave the order in the decisive tone she had learned to use in business to win her way.

She had composed herself well enough by now to look Ewan Geddes in the face. “Will you sail with us, or will you disembark, sir? I beg your pardon for my outburst. It would be most kind of you to furnish me with company on the voyage. I would welcome the opportunity to observe your character at close quarters, to judge whether you might make a suitable husband for my sister, after all.”

There, she had swallowed her pride, and given Ewan Geddes a further inducement to accompany her. Claire hoped it would be enough. She also hoped she had managed to conceal how desperately she wanted him to come … for Tessa’s sake and Brancasters’.

Ewan gave a stiff bow. “I welcome the challenge of convincing ye of my worth, Miss Talbot. I always enjoyed the zest of yer company in the old days.”

“Liar!” Claire struggled to subdue the intoxicating sensation that his cordial words set bubbling inside her. “I was horrible to you and you were horrible to me.”

The captain must have been following their conversation, for he bellowed, “Raise the gangway! Weigh anchor!”

“Come.” Claire beckoned Ewan toward the galley way. “I’ll show you to your cabin. If you like, you can rest before you change for dinner.”

He followed her down the steep, narrow stairs that led below deck.

“I apologize for going so slowly,” she said. “These steps are quite treacherous to negotiate in full skirts and petticoats. I often envy men your attire. It is so practical and designed for ease of movement. Sometimes I think the design of ladies’ fashions are contrived to hobble us.”

Ewan laughed. “I wouldn’t have agreed with ye when I first went to America and had to wear trousers. For the longest time, I felt like I’d been bound—” he stumbled over his words “—down below.”

His indelicate confession sent a rush of heat through Claire even as it made her nearly double over with laughter. But corsets were not designed for doubling over.

To make matters worse, the
Marlet
gave a sudden lurch as it slipped from the quay. Already unbalanced, Claire might have tumbled down the last few stairs had Ewan not brought his arm around in a swift, deft movement to catch her … just below the bosom.

As he pulled her toward him, the bracing masculine scent of his shaving soap enveloped her, making her light-headed.

The instant she was no longer in danger of pitching forward, Ewan slid his arm from around her. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to take liberties with ye, Miss Talbot!”

Claire managed to right herself, though her limbs had never felt less steady.

“You have nothing to reproach yourself for.” She hoped he would attribute her breathless tone to the shock of almost falling, and the pressure of his arm around her chest. “In such a situation, one must act decisively, not dither about propriety. You saved me from a nasty spill and I am grateful.”

“Then ye have changed a good deal in ten years, Miss Talbot.”

Claire fixed all her concentration on descending the rest of the stairs without another mishap. Once she had reached the bottom, she risked a glance back at Ewan. “I beg your pardon?”

His wide, mobile mouth crinkled at one corner and in the shaft of sunlight streaming down the galley way, his eyes twinkled. “I recollect one time I took yer arm when we were walking over some rough ground. Ye yanked it away as though ye’d touched a red-hot stove. Then ye said, ‘Unhand me, lout! I’m quite capable of making my own way.’ ”

Her proud, foolish words, parroted back to her in his exaggerated falsetto, left Claire torn between laughter and cringing. How he must have detested her to have remembered the incident and her exact words after all these years!

She longed to offer him a belated apology and some excuse for her conduct. But what could she say? Admit she’d burned for him with the fierce desire of youth? Confess that the sudden touch of his hand had made her fear she would burst into flames?

Thank heaven she had outgrown such passionate nonsense!

“As I recall …” Claire savored the tart tone of her voice, which had always served to keep Ewan Geddes at arm’s length and prevent him from guessing her true feelings. “… you came back with some sort of pithy reply to knock me flat. You always did.”

“Me!” He affected a look of comic outrage. “Sass his lairdship’s daughter? I’d have been skinned alive for it!”

Seen from his side, it must have felt like a very unfair fight. Claire had known the opposite was true. Her secret feelings for him had always given Ewan Geddes the advantage.

“Oh, you never did trespass into outright insolence,” she reminded him. “But you always managed to get the upper hand, somehow. Your answer would have a double meaning, or it would sound so horribly polite, when all the time it was obvious you were mocking me.”

Ewan mulled over what she had said for a moment. “Perhaps I did come off best now and then. I reckon ye put me in my place often enough, though. Ye had a tongue like a wasp in those days, lass.”

“And you had a hide as thick as a Highland steer,” Claire countered, “or pretended to.”

Her words made her think of something she’d never considered before. Was it possible Ewan had only
pretended
not to care what she’d said to him back then? Might he have taken her barbs to heart, nursing a deep resentment over the years? Now he gave every appearance of looking back on their old squabbles with wry amusement. Could that be only a pretense, too?

“Do ye reckon we’ll be able to get all the way to Scotland without tearing one another to pieces?” he asked.

Claire gave a little shrug. “Anything is possible. We aren’t a pair of beastly youngsters anymore, though time has not blunted my waspish tongue as much as I would like.”

Not that she had wished it to, especially. Her tart tongue and pose of cool indifference had been her only weapons against Max Hamilton-Smythe and men of his ilk.

Ewan did not look as though he grudged her that. His forceful features seemed to soften in a most appealing way. “Aye, well, I’ve been told I haven’t lost the chip off my shoulder. So I reckon that sets us even.”

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?”