Falling for the Highland Rogue

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘Jack and I will be ready,’ she said, giving him a sultry smile that sent heat careening straight to his groin.

  An effect she’d intended. The knowledge showed in her eyes as plain as day. He found it irksome to say the least. She was not the kind of woman he imagined ever finding attractive, though he doubted there were many men in whom she did not engender lustful thoughts. He had thought himself more in control. Forearmed, as it were, with the knowledge of the damage a woman could do to a man not on his guard.

  ‘The day after tomorrow, then,’ he said, and did not fail to catch her glance at O’Banyon. A glance seeking his approval. But for what?

  The back of his neck tightened.

  The well-being of his family hung on the success of this deal with O’Banyon. One wrong move and it could all go to hell.

  Without doubt O’Banyon’s woman was temptation incarnate. A move in her direction and he would see his negotiations fall to ruin. Still, he wasna likely to make such a stupid mistake with a woman of her ilk. He had years of practise controlling the urges that got most men into trouble.

  Chapter Three

  Mr Gilvry had been just as easy to manipulate as any other man. He had done just as she wanted and Jack had been pleased. She still didn’t understand her own sense of disappointment. Since when had she cared what sort of man she put her hooks into? Usually she felt nothing but the satisfaction of a job well done. Satisfaction that she had made a little more money to add to her hoard, which was growing, but nowhere near as much as she needed.

  The leer on Fergus McKenzie’s red-bearded face brought her wandering thoughts back to the present with a lurch. She let a small smile play across her mouth and separated the grapes on her plate with the scissors. Thank goodness they had finally reached the dessert course.

  Dinner in their private parlour with a lout like McKenzie had been as pleasant as watching a pig at the trough. Thoughts well hidden, she delicately popped the plump red globe into her mouth and cast him a come-hither glance from beneath her lashes. The crude Scot licked already too-moist lips surrounded by all that untrimmed wiry red hair.

  A small secret shudder ran down her spine at what she knew he was thinking. It shocked her, that sudden flash of fear. If Jack ordered her to his bed, she would do it. If she didn’t, she would face his wrath. A swift incapacitating punch which would keep her from the table for a week or more and no money coming in. Or a return to the brothel as a reminder of what her life would be without his support. She preferred the former. As Jack knew only too well.

  ‘Shall we get down to business?’ Jack said, drawing the man’s attention back to him with the signal she should go.

  She breathed a silent sigh of relief. ‘If you gentlemen will excuse me,’ she said, smiling at McKenzie, ‘I will leave you to your port and your discussions.’

  Jack rose with her. Clearly startled by the courtesy, the lowland Scot followed suit.

  ‘It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr McKenzie,’ she said with a graceful inclination of her head he didn’t notice, so busy was he eyeing her barely covered breasts. Men. They were just so predictable.

  Most of them.

  Knock his eyes out, Jack had requested. So she’d chosen a gown even more revealing that the one she had worn the previous evening. A celestial blue that skimmed her nipples.

  McKenzie inhaled a rasping breath as he stared at what he hoped was on offer. ‘Goo’ night, then, Mrs—er—Mrs...’

  ‘West,’ Jack supplied. ‘I’ll see you later, darlin’,’ Jack said with a leer of his own. Staking his prior claim, though he was not beyond serving her up to any man for the sake of business.

  He’d served her up to Logan Gilvry. In a manner of speaking.

  The difference, the small difference, was that Mr Gilvry was a gentleman. The squat man now lusting for her favours was as far away from a gentleman as the pig he resembled. She gave him her warmest, most seductive smile and batted her lashes. ‘I hope we meet again soon.’

  She swept out.

  ‘Now,’ Jack said as she closed the door. ‘Tell me about this trouble you are having with the Gilvry brothers and what you intend to do about it.’

  ‘Logan is the worst. He’s a thorn in my side.’

  ‘Is he, now?’ Jack replied musingly.

  She would have lingered to hear more, but the maid, a little mousy thing assigned to her by the hotel, trundled in from the bedroom next door. ‘Is there anything I can be getting you, Mrs West?’

  She wouldn’t put it past Jack to have the girl in his pay. Watching her. ‘Brandy, please, Muira.’ She needed something to take the edge off the revulsion she’d been feeling all night.

  Logan Gilvry’s innocent smile with a touch of wickedness floated across her mind. A smile she would be resisting tomorrow. Or not. She inhaled a quick breath. She’d have no difficulty keeping him at a distance, lovely as he was. Giving in to passion had served her ill in the past. A mistake she had never made again. Compared to some of the men she had dealt with, handling this young Scot should be a simple matter.

  Muira handed her the brandy and she took a sip, let the warmth slide down her throat. It did nothing for the coldness inside her. A good thing, too. It was a coldness she had cultivated and now carefully nurtured. ‘That will be all, thank you.’

  The girl bobbed a curtsy and left.

  She took another sip. And if she refused to drive out with Jack and Gilvry on the morrow? If she sent her regrets? She leaned her head back against the chair cushions, plush and soft against her head. Jack paid her because she was useful. The world was a cold hard place for women alone without family support. Unless she had money.

  She drained her glass. As usual, she would do what must be done. And to hell with green-eyed panthers.

  * * *

  An hour or so later, Jack entered without knocking, rubbing his hands together, his eyes glinting with pleasure.

  ‘What did you think?’ he asked, crossing to the console to pour a drink.

  A chance to nudge things in the direction she preferred? Perhaps. She put her book aside. ‘A man who gets the job done.’

  ‘Aye.’ Jack brought his drink and stood with one foot on the hearth. ‘But I wouldn’t trust him with a farthing.’

  True. ‘You don’t have to trust a man, if you understand him.’

  He cast her a sharp glance. ‘Throwing your weight in his direction, are ye?’

  She shrugged non-committally. ‘He’s a known quantity. He can deliver. He holds Edinburgh in his palm.’

  Jack narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Almost. We drank Gilvry’s whisky at the alehouse, don’t forget.’

  Daring. Jack was always drawn by anyone who beat the odds. His one weakness. The reason he had taken her on. She let her opposition fill the silence.

  ‘For all that McKenzie brags, the Gilvrys have him worried.’ He drained his glass in one swift swallow. ‘I don’t understand what makes them such a threat to a man like McKenzie.’

  Intelligence. ‘Ask Gilvry. He’ll probably tell you.’

  ‘Aye.’ He kicked at the grate. ‘But does he have the courage to take what he wants, no matter the cost?’

  Her, did he mean? She raised a brow. ‘He’s a boy. Really, Jack. You want me to waste my talents. For what? Assurance that he’s as reckless as you?’

  He was across the room in a trice, pulling her up from her seat. A quick ruthless twist and her arm was pressed high between her shoulder blades. Her eyes blurred from the pain.

  ‘Are you questioning me?’ His voice low and menacing in her ear.

  ‘No,’ she gasped. ‘I am just trying to understand what you want me to get from him.’

  He released her with a push that made her stumble. She rubbed at her reddened wrist. Likely she’d have a bruise there tomorrow. ‘I’ll do
whatever you want, Jack. No questions asked.’

  ‘I thought you might, colleen.’ He sipped at his drink.

  * * *

  ‘So what will you tell them?’ Sanford asked.

  Logan eyed the languid figure on the other side of the carriage. The young lord had kindly offered him the loan of his carriage, once he’d been dropped off at Holyroodhouse where he had been called on some official business. ‘I’ll tell them the truth. That King is no’ landing today because of the rain and offer to take them tomorrow.’ He looked out of the window at the torrential rain, at the bunting and soggy flags draped across the buildings to welcome King George. ‘Unless they have some other idea. Perhaps they’ll want to go stare through the mist at his ship out in the harbour.’

  ‘You could take them shopping.’

  He turned back to look at Sanford’s mocking face. ‘Why would I do that?’

  The smile broadened. ‘Since you asked me for the loan of my carriage today, I’ve been thinking. If you really want to impress this O’Banyon fellow and his lady friend, there are several events you could take them to besides the public processions. There’s a levee. A drawing room, and a couple of balls. None of which will depend on the weather.’

  Logan glowered at the smirking fop. ‘None of which I’ve been invited to.’

  ‘Ah, but you see, I happen to be friends with Sir Walter Scott, the man in charge.’

  ‘Oh, aye. And you think we wouldna’ stick out like sore thumbs at the King’s Drawing Room? You are daft in the head.’

  ‘As long as you wear your kilt, my dear boy, you will fit right in. But as for the lady, well, she would need something a little more...well, something different from what she was wearing at the Reiver the other night.’

  He frowned. ‘I liked what she wore.’

  ‘So did every other man in the place. She needs a proper court dress. With ostrich plumes. And a ball gown for the Peers’ Ball. That is, if you really do want to take her and her friend.’

  ‘I would like to see O’Banyon wearing a kilt.’

  ‘The Irish wear kilts, I’m told.’

  They did, but somehow he couldn’t quite picture one on this particular Irishman.

  ‘Have you ever had the pleasure of clothing a woman?’ Sanford asked idly, but there was a sharpness in the look he shot Logan’s way.

  The man was making it sound as if it was the sort of thing a man of his age should have done hundreds of times. ‘Any woman worth her salt knows what to wear.’

  Sanford grinned.

  The young lord was having altogether too much fun with this new idea of his. And yet if O’Banyon liked the idea of mingling with the cream of Edinburgh’s society, it might help him decide in Dunross’s favour. ‘I’ll ask if they have any interest.’

  ‘Let me know by tonight.’

  Would they want to be introduced to the King at a drawing room and go to a ball? It was hard to imagine, but Mrs West had been pretty keen to see him from a distance, so it stood to reason this would be even better. ‘All right.’

  The carriage pulled to a halt. Sanford reached for the door handle. ‘You can drop the carriage back at my lodgings. I’ll get a ride back.’ He waited for one of the grooms to arrive with an umbrella before descending into the street. Afraid he might melt in a wee bit o’ rain. Or perhaps ruin his carefully ordered fair locks.

  As the coach moved off, Logan peered out of the window to watch Sanford head into the Palace. He couldn’t imagine why he liked the languid dandy. But he did.

  It was only a few moments before the carriage was stopping in Abbey Hill. He hopped out and gestured for the coachman to wait. The man nodded and a torrent of water rushed off his hat and landed in his lap.

  Hell, it was raining harder than ever.

  He found O’Banyon and Mrs West waiting in the lobby.

  She offered him that practised sultry smile, when all of yesterday he had remembered the one that had lit her face when he had talked about taking her to see the King. He’d labelled it her real smile, though he had no way of knowing for sure.

  O’Banyon shook his hand. ‘Gilvry. Not exactly the best of days to view a parade, is it? I am glad you arrived on time. I have an appointment with a banker in a few minutes and cannot join you as planned.’

  Logan masked his surprise. ‘It doesna’ matter. The King’s disembarkation has been postposed until the weather improves.’

  Mrs West rose to her feet and once more he was surprised at her height and elegance. Today she was wearing a dark greenish-blue spencer over a yellow gown. A flower-decorated straw bonnet covered all but a few curls artfully arranged about her angular face. A perfect frame for a work of art. Her smile was calmly accepting. ‘Thank you for coming to tell us.’

  Her manners were faultless. Dressed as she was, it would be easy to mistake her for a gently-bred lady. It would have fooled him. And anyone else.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But perhaps I can offer something better. The King is to hold a Drawing Room at Holyroodhouse Tuesday next and a ball at the Assembly Rooms on Friday. You are invited to both.’

  Her rosy lips parted in a gasp of surprise. Then her expression turned icy. ‘You are joking, naturally.’

  He looked at O’Banyon.

  ‘Is this a jest, Gilvry?’ the Irishman asked.

  He didn’t look at Mrs West. ‘No, indeed it is not, sir. I am invited to represent my family and you would go as my guests.’ It was stretching the truth a bit, but Ian was a Laird and no doubt he would have been invited, had he been in Edinburgh. Though it was more likely that Niall, as the next eldest brother, would have been sent as his representative.

  O’Banyon raised his brows at Mrs West.

  She shook her head. ‘No. It wouldn’t be right.’

  The Irishman frowned. ‘What is not right about it? Gilvry here has invited you.’

  ‘Us, Jack,’ she said with almost a note of desperation. ‘You invited both of us, did you not, Mr Gilvry?’

  ‘You are correct, Mrs West. Both of you.’

  ‘Pshaw,’ O’Banyon said. He made a sweeping gesture with one arm. ‘If you think I want to lick the boots of the fat flawn who calls himself King of Ireland, you can think again. You Scots can bow and scrape before him if you like.’

  Some heads turned in their direction.

  ‘Jack,’ she said. ‘Hush.’

  He grinned. ‘You go. And tell me all about it after.’

  She stiffened slightly. ‘Jack, you know I can’t.’

  ‘I know nothing of the sort.’

  Well, here was the part he’d really been dreading. ‘Mrs West will need the appropriate attire, of course, if she is to be introduced to the King. And a ball gown.’

  ‘So this invitation of yours is going to cost me a pretty penny, is it, Gilvry?’

  Colour touched those high elegant cheekbones. Chill filled her gaze. ‘Jack. I do not wish to put you to such an expense.’

  It was a rare bird of paradise who cared how much she cost her keeper. ‘Please, allow me to take care of it,’ Logan said. And wished he’d bitten off his tongue when she looked startled and none too pleased. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

  O’Banyon jabbed him in the ribs. ‘I’m sure you’ll find the colleen here suitably grateful.’

  The words made him feel like a lecher. And was it a flash of anger in her eyes he saw, or a flash of some other emotion? Since she was now smiling calmly, he could only guess that she was pleased with the idea. ‘It seems the matter is settled,’ she said briskly. ‘Do you happen to know of a seamstress who can meet my needs at such short notice, Mr Gilvry?’

  ‘As it happens, I do.’ There was the mantua maker his sister-in-law used. He’d occasionally picked things up there for Selina when she hadn’t been able to come to town.
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br />   ‘Naturally, you do,’ she said with a look that he did not comprehend. ‘Shall we go now?’

  He looked at O’Banyon. ‘If you have no objection.’

  The other man grinned widely. ‘None at all. Just don’t let her completely empty your pockets.’ He chucked her under the chin. ‘Eh, puss?’

  She arched a quizzical brow.

  Logan wanted to swallow the dryness in his mouth. He hadn’t felt this nervous since the gaugers had almost trapped the clan in Balnaen Cove with a shipload of brandy. God help him if after all this expense the Irishman did not come through with a large order.

  He’d be up to his ears in debt to Ian. But the compensation of squiring Mrs West around might just be worth it. Enough. He was her escort and nothing else. He wasn’t a fool. He had no illusions about the sort of traps a woman could lay for an unwary man.

  * * *

  While rain streamed down the outside of the windows and drummed on the roof, drowning out the noise from the streets, Charity observed her escort discreetly. He was far too handsome for a male of the species. Chiselled perfection, that face of his. A temptation for most women, But more attractive to her was his pleasant smile, his gentlemanly demeanour and his aura of innocent pleasure in the day.

  Innocent? He was no better than Jack. A smuggler. A man wanted by the law. Yet so confident in his ability to charm, he sat opposite her in the carriage, his long legs stretched out before him as if he had not a care in the world.

  She, who had thought she was dead to all emotion, fairly seethed with irritation.

  Did he have no idea the danger she presented? The knot of guilt in her stomach pulled tighter. Guilt. She had no reason in the world to feel guilty. He knew she was Jack’s creature. His tool. If he did not, then he was a fool and he deserved all he got. She clenched her hands in her lap and cast him a look from beneath her lashes that hinted at erotic desires.

  It gave her some satisfaction to see his gaze drop to her mouth, to see the movement of his strong throat as he swallowed, to know she had not lost her touch. Even as it galled her to know he was no different to the rest of them.