Highland Rogue

by Deborah Hale

“Aye, miss, I won’t be a moment.”

  Once the maid had left, Claire sat down on her bed, expelling a shaky breath. The dream made her realize that her long-ago feelings for Ewan Geddes were not entirely in the past.

  After the way he’d treated her last night, she detested him more than she ever had. Yet the power he’d once exerted over her was still as potent as ever. Could there be anything worse for a woman, particularly one who prided herself on her sense and discretion, than to harbor passionate feelings for a man who despised her?

  All the more reason she must get him out of her life … and Tessa’s.

  Perhaps she had not made herself plain enough last night. She had taken every opportunity to impress Ewan Geddes with the extent of her fortune. But had she done enough to hint that she might be ripe for seduction by a man like him?

  Today she must take a new tack and pursue it with all her energy. She could not count on Lady Lydiard to keep Tessa away from Strathandrew for long. And she had not bargained on Ewan Geddes being so resistant to her plan.

  The cabin door opened and Williams slipped back in. “Monsieur Anton says he’ll have breakfast ready by the time you’re dressed, miss. I’d be afraid to eat it, though, he’s in such a temper.”

  Claire rose from the bed with an exasperated sigh. “What about this time?”

  “On account of all the food that was sent back from dinner last night, miss. I hope you and Mr. Geddes are in better appetite today.”

  Men! If she could have managed to sail to Scotland without them, Claire would have pitched every male creature on the Marlet overboard!

  “Speaking of Mr. Geddes—” she tried to sound only mildly interested “—did you inquire about him?”

  “Didn’t have to, miss.” The maid threw open Claire’s wardrobe, which contained gowns enough for a very long stay at Strathandrew. “Just as I was heading to the galley, I saw him come out of his cabin and go up on deck.” She gestured toward the wardrobe. “Now, which of these do you fancy for this morning, miss?”

  Anything that might tempt a man to try his luck with me. Claire bit her tongue to stifle those too-frank words. “Oh, something pretty.” What did she know about dressing to attract a man?

  “They’re all pretty, miss.”

  “Something bright,” said Claire, growing more flustered by the minute. “Something that … doesn’t cover up too much of me.”

  “I see.” The maid lifted out a rose-colored gown with a great quantity of lace about it. In an innocent tone she inquired, “And I suppose you don’t care in the least whether the gentleman so much as glances at you?”

  Claire peered at the gown. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have considered it too fussy for morning wear, and pink had never been her color. But certainly it was bright, with sleeves that ended at the elbow and a neckline that dipped quite low.

  Desperate times, she told herself as she nodded her approval of Williams’s choice, called for desperate measures.

  This was desperate! Ewan squinted against the sun’s brilliant glare as he stumbled up the stairs to the deck. Hungover from three wee drams of whiskey!

  He’d known men who drank the stuff like mother’s milk and never seemed a whit the worse for it. This morning he was almost ashamed to call himself a Highlander! His temples throbbed, his tongue felt as if it could use a shave, and his belly protested even the gentle rocking of the yacht. He hoped a dose of fresh, salty air would do him some good.

  Leaning against the deck railing, he closed his eyes and drank in deep, cleansing drafts of it. The knotted flesh of his neck began to unclench … until he heard footsteps behind him.

  To his relief, the captain’s deep, resonant voice boomed forth. “A fine day, Mr. Geddes. I trust ye slept well?”

  “Oh, aye,” Ewan lied. He could not recall the last time he’d spent such a restless night.

  Provocative images of Claire Talbot had tormented him through the endless dark hours. The sensuous roll and sway of the ship had only made it worse, until he ached with sensations he was ashamed to feel. If he dreamed of any woman that way, it should be Tessa—but he could not.

  When he tried to substitute her for her sister, that felt wrong somehow, too. He kept picturing her as she’d been ten years ago, which made him feel like an old lecher … or would have if he’d been able to summon up any carnal desire.

  What could be wrong with him? Had Claire Talbot laced that whiskey with some wicked potion?

  “Whereabouts are we?” Eager for any distraction from such thoughts, Ewan nodded toward the white chalk coastline, which did not look too far distant.

  Captain MacLeod pulled the pipe from his mouth and pointed the stem northward. “That’d be Sussex there, Mr. Geddes.”

  Ewan frowned. “Only Sussex. I thought surely we’d be off the coast of Devon by now.”

  He did not want this voyage to go on a minute longer than need be. After last night, an extended rail journey with Lady Lydiard seemed almost appealing. At least he would not need to fear entertaining improper thoughts about her!

  “Not much of a wind, lad, in case ye hadn’t noticed,” the captain growled. “The Marlet ain’t a paddle steamer that can just puff along without a care for wind or seas.”

  “Odd, isn’t it?” Ewan cast a glance at the great canvas sails, trimmed to catch the fitful breezes. “Brancasters builds the most modern iron-clad steamships in the kingdom, yet its owners still travel by wood and sail.”

  Before the captain could offer his opinion, Claire Talbot spoke up from behind them.

  “Not odd, surely?” She stepped up to the railing between the two men, but closer to Ewan.

  Far closer than he would have liked.

  “I believe it is all a question of function.” Though she addressed her words to him, she fixed her gaze on the pale chalk cliffs of the coast. “Brancasters builds naval vessels and merchant ships that must be swift and reliable. The Marlet is a pleasure craft. The journey itself is at least as important as how quickly we reach our destination. I prefer to dispense with the noise and smoke of a steam engine, and the necessity of toting a load of filthy coal to fuel it.”

  Though Ewan felt a grudging agreement with those sentiments, something about Miss Talbot’s tone and manner made him bristle. No doubt his presence on the Marlet was as welcome as a noisy, smoky steam engine or a filthy load of coal.

  Without bothering to ask his opinion, she breezed on. “If it means we require an extra day or two to reach Strathandrew, that is no great hardship, in my opinion.”

  No great hardship for her, perhaps. For Ewan’s part, he wondered how he would stand another day in her company, let alone several.

  He tried to keep his gaze from straying toward her, but without much success. Why had she chosen to wear that dress for a morning aboard ship? If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she meant to taunt him.

  The ruches of lace softened the sharper angles of her figure, while the warm color made her look younger than her years. She was no longer bristling with jewelry, apart from a modest gold locket that nestled in the slender hollow of her throat. Neither had her hair been tortured into an elaborate confection of kinks and curls. A few wisps fluttered in the gentle breeze, tempting Ewan to raise his hand and smooth them back from her face. Then if his knuckles happened to graze her cheek …

  What was he thinking?

  Ewan made himself take a step away from her.

  “There’s something aristocratic about a sailing ship, isn’t there?” He addressed the question to no one in particular. “It glides along all quiet and stately, without seeming to make any effort about it. A bit capricious, but that’s all part of the charm, eh?”

  It all sounded quite innocent—even flattering. He did not mean it that way.

  “I suppose so.” Her reply had a guarded edge, as if she sensed a possible ambush, but could not tell what direction it might come from. “I had never thought of it quite that way.”

  Was it his fancy, or
did she draw closer to him? Ewan might have backed off again, but that would have felt like a retreat.

  “Aye.” He rubbed his unshaven chin. “Steam packets are the working class of the sea these days—noisy, smelly and dirty, but they get the job done.”

  “Wind and sail have served mankind well for thousands of years, Mr. Geddes. It seems rather hard to abandon them altogether for the sake of progress and efficiency.”

  Captain MacLeod must have sensed the veiled hostility of their exchange and sought to avoid it, the way he would have steered the Marlet out of the path of an oncoming storm. “I should go relieve my first mate at the helm for a spell.”

  He strode off, puffing hard on his pipe and shaking his head. Ewan would have liked an excuse to get away, too, but he feared Claire Talbot would only follow him. He was trapped with the woman on this bloody slow boat to Scotland!

  Claire let out a breath of relief as she watched the captain depart. She’d gone cold with dread when she’d overheard Ewan asking why a full night’s sailing had not brought them farther on their voyage. What if Captain MacLeod had told him of her instructions?

  Fortunately, the captain had provided a credible answer that did not betray her. Still, she had not wanted to give Ewan the opportunity to quiz him further. She had been obliged to thrust herself between them, though it threw her foolish senses all awry, standing so close to her guest.

  They could not seem to focus on anything else when he was nearby. Though she tried to keep her eyes fixed on the coastline, she could not stop herself from glancing at him far too often. A subtle tremor went through her whenever her errant gaze lingered over his chiseled jaw, shadowed with a dark stubble of whisker. Her ears seemed to shut out every sound but the mellow lilt of his voice, and her skin prickled with anticipation of his most casual touch.

  To think her stepmother had recently praised her as a sensible, detached sort of person. Claire had never felt more foolish or fanciful in her life!

  Before Ewan could further imply that she was a sentimental fool for keeping the Marlet in service, she swung about to face him. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

  “I wasn’t hungry.”

  Hard as she tried, Claire could not let it pass. “How curious. You were not hungry last night, either. I thought sea air was supposed to whet the appetite.”

  He scowled, yet still managed to look far too handsome for his own good … and hers.

  Claire tamped down her exasperation. She had so little time. If the two of them kept antagonizing one another like this, the Marlet could sail around the world before she’d entice Ewan Geddes into wooing her.

  “Seasick?” She tried to sound solicitous.

  “From this, ye mean?” He gave a snort of contempt and gestured toward the gently undulating waves. “I’ve eaten like a horse on far worse seas.”

  It was her company, then, that took his appetite away? Had he been tempted by her wealth, as she’d intended, but shrank from what he must do to get it?

  She made a stiff little bow, then turned to go. “As you wish. I could do with some breakfast.”

  In fact, it would be a miracle if she choked down more than a mouthful. But that was the most convenient excuse to get her away from Ewan Geddes before she burst into tears or pitched him overboard.

  She had almost reached the galley way when Ewan called out, “What’s yer grand cook serving up this morning? Poached peacocks’ eggs and broiled goose liver?”

  Vexing man! He had forced her into a humiliating retreat. Could he not be satisfied with that?

  “Plain hens’ eggs, I’m afraid.” She tossed the retort back over her shoulder. “Fried ham and perhaps some kippered herring. Oh, and I instructed Monsieur Anton to prepare oatmeal porridge in case you hankered after it.”

  She had not gotten halfway down the stairs when she heard his voice behind her again. “Porridge, ye say?”

  Would he plague her with his company at the moment she could not abide it? “I expect you would only find some fault with Monsieur Anton’s preparation of the dish, Mr. Geddes. So it is probably just as well if you don’t bother with breakfast, after all.”

  “Waste good oatmeal?” His footsteps followed her. “Granny Cameron would rise up from her grave and denounce me for a Sassenach.”

  That made her turn and confront him. “I know what that word means, sir. No doubt it is what all of you called me and my family.”

  She half expected him to acknowledge it with pride. Instead he cried, “Hang on to the railing, will ye? I’m not close enough to catch ye if ye take a fall.”

  “You heard Captain MacLeod. The sea is calm.” All the same, she reached for the railing.

  The last thing she wanted at that moment was for Ewan Geddes to lay hands on her, whatever the reason.

  “Come or don’t then, as you wish.” She turned and headed for the dining room, taking care to watch her step. “I will not try to persuade you either way, for you will be bound to do quite the opposite, no doubt.”

  “Are ye saying I’m contrary, Miss Talbot?”

  “If the shoe fits, Mr. Geddes …”

  Claire thought she heard him chuckle. If she needed any further proof of his contrariness, there it was. When she tried to get close to him, he went out of his way to avoid her. When she tried to avoid him, he pursued her. Flatter him and he took offense. Insult him and he laughed. Perhaps if she tried to drown the man, he would take a violent fancy to her!

  “Ye know, this oatmeal isn’t bad,” said Ewan a short while later, after he had eaten rather a large bowl of it. He sounded surprised, as though he’d expected it to be laced with poison. “This may be just what I needed after all that rich food last night.”

  “And the whiskey,” Claire muttered under her breath.

  “Aye, that, too,” he admitted with irritating good cheer.

  Then he glanced at her plate. “Where’s your appetite gone all of a sudden?”

  You took it away!

  When she did not dignify his question with an answer, he provided one of his own. “Is this fare too simple for ye?”

  This time she could not stifle a sharp retort. “Perhaps it’s the company!”

  “Now who’s being contrary?” Ewan took a sip of his tea. “Last night, ye didn’t want me to leave. Just a wee while ago ye invited me for breakfast, and yesterday ye pulled every string possible to make me come with ye on this damn slow boat.”

  Claire rose from her chair and threw down her napkin. “I most certainly did not! That was your own decision entirely.”

  “Bollocks! Ye tricked me into it … ye dared me. Said ye wanted to get to know me better, to judge if I’d make a suitable husband for yer sister.”

  “And you claimed to welcome the challenge,” Claire retorted. “Is this your idea of making an agreeable impression upon your future relations?”

  She almost choked on those words. The prospect of attending Ewan and Tessa’s wedding, celebrating holidays with them, perhaps being godmother to their children …

  Ewan rose to his feet, but slowly. It had been most rude of him to remain seated after she’d stood up. “I was a fool for thinking ye meant to give me a fair chance! But then, ye’re used to playing me for a fool, aren’t ye, Miss Talbot?”

  Did he know? Claire’s stomach gave such an alarming lurch she feared she might retch up what little breakfast she’d eaten. She must get a breath of air!

  “I have no idea what you are talking about, Ewan Geddes.” She strode toward the door. “I doubt if you do, either!”

  “Ye know well enough.” He was following her—the rogue! “Don’t try to pretend ye don’t.”

  Claire considered ducking into her cabin. But in his present mood, she feared Ewan Geddes would have no scruples about pursuing her. If that happened, who knew what a pathetic fool she might make of herself? She still desired the man as much as she detested him. Laws, she must be mad!

  Instead, she charged back up toward the deck, hoping he would not come afte
r her. Or if he did, that the presence of the crew might shame him into minding his manners.

  He quashed her first hope under his forceful tread as he followed her along the galley way. “Ye never had any intention of giving me a chance, did ye?”

  The volume of his voice told Claire her second hope had also been in vain.

  Once the deck was securely beneath her feet, she spun about to confront him. She had not dared risk being pitched into his arms again. “I beg your pardon?”

  He had followed so close on her heels that when Claire turned, she found herself staring up into his blazing eyes, almost as close as they had been during their waltz at the Fortescues’ ball. She tried to back away, only to find the unyielding barrier of the mainmast behind her.

  “Ye can’t have it.” Ewan Geddes loomed over her, tall, menacing and devilishly attractive—damn him! In reply to her puzzled look he added, “My pardon—ye can’t have it. It was a low trick, luring me aboard by acting sweet as pie. Then the minute we weighed anchor ye started goading me at every chance, so ye’d have plenty of tales to tell yer sister about what a lout I acted.”

  Claire would have laughed in his face if she hadn’t feared he might strangle her in his present rage. Was that what he thought she’d been trying to do? If only he knew the truth!

  “I made every effort to see to your comfort and offer you my best hospitality!” she protested, with a clear conscience.

  “By talking on and on about yer blasted fortune? Rubbing it in my face? Well, let me tell ye something, Claire Talbot—”

  She refused to let him bully her with his bluster or his magnetic presence. “I have no doubt you will tell me, sir, whether I give you leave or not.”

  To her surprise, that seemed to take the wind out of his sails. His mouth opened, then closed again. Fell open a second time, though no sound came out.

  “Well?” she demanded. “Do you mean to tell me or not?”

  “Aye.” He seemed to force the word out, and Claire had a bewildering certainty that whatever he was about to say would not be what he’d originally intended. “I’m telling ye I’ve had enough and I want off.”