Highland Rogue

by Deborah Hale

  “Oh, muirneach!” He gathered her into his arms, glad of a chance to marshal his self-control. “I’ll let ye in on a wee secret.”

  “What secret?” Her tone sounded doubtful, but she nestled into his embrace clad only in her petticoats and other underclothes. “And what does that word mean—mor-nuck?”

  “It means darling one, or favorite or beloved. Ye can also use it to mean a loving touch.” He demonstrated by cupping her breast in his palm. “And this is the secret. When a man loves a woman, however she looks—tall, tiny, slender, stout, dark, fair—that becomes the yardstick he measures beauty by from then on.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Claire searched his gaze, perhaps seeking to weigh the truth of what he’d told her.

  Ewan was able to stand her scrutiny with perfect assurance. Where he had once reckoned golden curls the height of perfection, they now seemed a bit too obvious for his taste. The soft, tawny hue of a fawn suited him much better these days.

  “Now that you mention it, though—” Claire raised one long, slender forefinger and traced the tip over his full, brooding brows, a feature he’d never been particularly proud of “—I’ve often thought certain gentlemen of my acquaintance needed a stronger brow to be truly handsome.”

  “There, ye see?” Ewan caught her finger and lowered it to his lips, planting a kiss upon the tip. “Ye knew that in yer heart, even before I told ye. I promise ye, I will like what I find. And I’ll leave ye in no doubt of it.”

  “Now …” In a sudden movement, he sat up and tossed her across his lap, reaching for the laces of her petticoats and corset. “Are ye going to let me finish unwrapping my parcel?”

  Perhaps the way he handled her tickled. Or perhaps his reassurance had sunk in, freeing her to become playful again.

  She twisted toward him until her hand could reach the buttons of his shirt. “I have some unwrapping of my own I’d like to do, and I’m rather impatient about it.”

  Ewan laughed as he untied her petticoats and she fumbled with his buttons. A woman like Claire would make every day and every activity a fresh, zesty challenge. He only wished he’d been wise enough to recognize it years ago.

  “Hold still now!” he said when he’d shed his shirt and she her petticoats. “I don’t need any distractions while I figure out how to unlace this corset of yers.”

  The sensation of her wriggling over the lap of his trousers was a potent distraction, indeed!

  He wrestled for several minutes with the intractable undergarment until the laces gave way at last.

  “There!” He pulled it off her, then threw it with some force toward the hearth. “Remind me to light a fire and burn the fool thing, will ye?”

  “So you conquered it, after all.” Claire threw her arms around his neck and rewarded him with a firm, confident kiss. “Resourcefulness is a fine quality in a lover!”

  Ewan savored the intoxicating sensation of her breasts against his bare chest, with only a flimsy barrier of linen and lace covering them. “Aye, and in a husband, too. I warn ye, Claire, I want ye for my wife. But I’m willing to wait until ye’re convinced I really do love ye.”

  The news of his fortune would surely convince her, as it had dissuaded Tessa from her misplaced fancy for him. He didn’t want to get into all that now, though. He just wanted to bring Claire the pleasure she’d denied herself for so long. And to satisfy the desire that had been building within him over the past several days.

  Before his mention of marriage could alarm her, Ewan sought to divert her by fondling her breast through the fine linen of her undergarment. “What do they call this thing yer wearing?”

  Claire did not answer for a moment, her eyes closed, relishing the sensation of his intimate touch. When she finally heeded his words enough to reply, her voice was husky with desire. “A chemise, I think … or a camisole.”

  “It’s very pretty,” Ewan murmured. “Almost worth the bother of shifting that miserable corset. It’s a shame ye have to cover it up with outer clothes.”

  A look of disappointment twisted Claire’s delicate features when he lowered his hand from her breast. When he slipped his fingers beneath her chemise and began again without even that delicate fabric to muffle his touch, she wriggled and heaved a long, rippling sigh.

  “Ye like that, do ye?” As if he needed to ask.

  “Mmm.” She nodded, and the strong, steadfast blue of her eyes seemed to shimmer with heat.

  He dropped a soft kiss on her neck, then nuzzled her ear. “I’ll let ye in on another secret.”

  “I like your secrets,” she replied in a breathless whisper. “Tell me.”

  He nudged the bottom of her chemise up with his wrist, to bare her bosom for the attention of his lips and tongue. “I’m just getting started.”

  “Oh, my. I don’t know how much more of this I can stand.”

  Ewan lowered his head and swiped his tongue over the firm, roused flesh of her nipple. “I have great faith in yer powers of endurance, muirneach.”

  He only hoped his own endurance could match hers, long enough to bring her the pleasure she deserved.

  Ewan loved her and wanted to marry her. Like seeds sown on parched, stony soil, those ideas refused to penetrate and take root, at first. Gradually, however, the warm rain of his kisses and the tender harrow of his touch began to make Claire’s doubtful heart more receptive.

  Step by sweet, seductive step, he coaxed her to abandon any lingering doubts she might harbor about her appeal as a woman—discarding them like pieces of clothing tossed onto the floor. And for each garment he removed, he gave something else to take its place—special kisses, caresses and whispered endearments, tokens of his desire for her.

  How glad she was that he had not made love to her last night, after all, when her senses might have been muddled and her memory clouded by a haze of cider fumes. Now she savored each sensation, feeling beautiful and desirable and cherished for the first time in her life. His muirneach.

  She eased her tight control of the yearning that had simmered within her from the moment she’d glimpsed Ewan Geddes again. Kindled by his ardent attentions, that yearning swiftly gathered power and heat, until it consumed her in a brilliant blaze of rapture.

  When Ewan hovered over her, she opened herself and welcomed him inside her. She found fresh delight in the swift hiss of his breath and the tightening clench of his muscles with every fevered thrust. Until a great shudder went through him and he quenched his cry of release in a long, deep kiss.

  Ewan had not gotten any sleep the previous night, and Claire very little. Now, with desires sated and happiness finally within their grasp, they sank into deep, untroubled slumber.

  A frenzied rapping on the door brought them both awake again, disoriented and alarmed by the racket. In the first confusion of waking, Claire groped for the edge of the bedspread, to cover herself. Then she glimpsed Ewan’s bare chest and hard, lean thighs in the falling darkness and her flesh tingled with an aftertaste of ecstasy.

  “Aye,” Ewan called in a hoarse, impatient voice to whoever was on the other side of the door, “what is it?”

  “Mr. Geddes,” answered the young footman, “sorry to bother ye, sir. Would ye by any chance know where we might find Miss Talbot? Lady Lydiard is anxious to speak to her. We’ve looked high and low, but we can’t find her anywhere.”

  Ewan rubbed his eyes as his lips stretched into a broad grin. Claire jammed her hand over her mouth to keep from betraying her presence with a burst of giggles.

  “I reckon I know where I can find her.” Ewan’s tone sounded perfectly innocent. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll fetch her for ye.”

  “Thank ye, sir. I’ll tell her ladyship. We were getting worried something might have happened to Miss Talbot.”

  As the footman’s muted footsteps retreated down the gallery, Ewan turned toward Claire, pressing her down onto the bed again.

  “Something did happen to Miss Talbot,” he whispered, then gave her a deep
, luscious kiss that made Claire squirm with eagerness to take him inside her again. “I hope she isn’t sorry it happened.”

  Even in the dim light of evening, she could make out the anxious set of Ewan’s bold features. She could not bear to leave him in any doubt

  “Do I look sorry?” She ran one hand through his crisp dark hair, while the other skimmed over the firm, spare flesh of his flank in an admiring caress.

  His body roused to her touch at once.

  He brought the tip of his nose to rest against hers. “Ye look tempting as sin. But I reckon we’ll get no peace until ye go find out what her ladyship wants. I wonder how she got here.”

  “Rode her broomstick?” suggested Claire, setting her pent-up laughter free.

  More laughter sputtered out of Ewan until the bed trembled with their fruitless efforts to contain it.

  “Hush, now!” said Ewan with a final chuckle. “Or somebody’s going to figure out ye’re here. Then ye’d have no choice but to marry me unless ye want yerself and Brancasters caught in a scandal.”

  He rolled off the bed and began to collect his clothes.

  “What makes you think I’d mind having to marry you?” Claire caught her chemise when he tossed it to her, then slipped it on.

  Ewan perched on the edge of the bed and began to pull on his own underclothes. “If ye decide to marry me, I want it to be yer choice. Not something ye were forced into, by me or anybody else.”

  To think she’d assumed he must be a fortune hunter! The lump of shame that swelled in Claire’s throat almost gagged her. She knelt behind Ewan, wrapped her arms around his chest and lowered her head to rest on his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He reached back and ruffled her hair. “I’ve got a lot to make up, not paying ye any mind when we were young.”

  Before Claire could reply, he bent forward to scoop her gown off the floor. He examined the tear that ran from the neckline halfway down the bodice. “I owe ye a new dress, too.”

  “I am at least as much to blame for that as you are.” She snatched the gown from him and began to pull it on. “If you can lend me one of your coats to throw around my shoulders, and check the gallery to see if the coast is clear, I might get back to my room and change clothes without anyone being the wiser.”

  “Let’s be quick about it, then.” Ewan climbed into his trousers. “Before her ladyship gets tired of waiting and comes looking for you.”

  Claire shuddered to think of it.

  By the time she had put on enough clothes to cover herself decently, Ewan was fully dressed and had a coat all ready to wrap around her.

  “I’ll go check out the hall.” He gave her a last quick kiss, then slipped through the door, which Claire held slightly ajar behind him.

  “All clear,” he whispered, beckoning to her. “I’ll go stand guard at the back stairs until ye get safely to yer room.”

  Pressing her fingers to her lips to hold in nervous laughter, Claire clutched Ewan’s coat around her and bolted for her bedchamber.

  Just as she was closing the door behind her, she heard Ewan’s voice boom out. “Aye, I found her. She’ll be along in a minute or two. How did her ladyship get here, anyway?”

  She didn’t have time to stand and eavesdrop, Claire reminded herself. Pulling off Ewan’s coat, and her torn gown, she bundled them into the deepest corner of her wardrobe. Then she grabbed a shirtwaist she could wear without the aid of a corset, and dressed as quickly as possible.

  After pinning her tumbled hair into a proper looking coiffure, she fortified herself with a deep breath and stepped back out into the gallery, where she found Ewan waiting for her. He looked her up and down with a gaze of blatant admiration—the kind that would have kindled only suspicion in her if any other man had stared at her that way.

  He offered her his arm. “Ye’re looking very well, Miss Talbot. Not a hair out of place. Nobody would suspect what mischief ye’ve been up to.”

  No doubt he was right. Anyone looking at her would see no change in sensible, businesslike Miss Talbot. Yet she felt like a new person, with a changed attitude toward herself and the whole world.

  “I doubt anyone would be surprised to discover you’d been up to mischief.” A tone of fond flirtation sweetened her old tart banter.

  Ewan greeted her words with a hearty laugh and an affectionate squeeze of her arm. “Aye, ye skewered me proper, lass! I should know better than to match wits with ye, but I can’t help myself.”

  She tilted her head to rest against his shoulder. “I hope you’ll never try.”

  A beguiling image rose in her mind of the two of them, years in the future, bantering over the breakfast table while several dark-browed, merry-eyed youngsters laughed at their silly mama and papa.

  “Only, please don’t make me laugh in front of my stepmother,” she begged him. “Lady Lydiard may think I’ve gone off my head, and try to have me committed to Bedlam.”

  Claire made a wry face, though she was not entirely in jest. Her stepmother was liable to take almost as dim a view of Claire’s courtship with Ewan Geddes as she had of her own daughter’s. She’d been counting on Claire to remain unmarried, eventually passing her vast fortune along to Tessa’s children.

  Halfway down the front staircase, Claire could hear the sound of voices from the parlor.

  “In that case,” said Ewan as he tried to disengage his arm, “maybe we ought to—”

  “No.” She clung to him tighter than ever. “I happen to be in love with you, and I don’t care who knows it.”

  Another reason she was loathe to let him go, Claire could scarcely admit to herself, let alone Ewan. She had wanted him so long and with so little hope, she could scarcely bring herself to trust this sudden taste of happiness.

  Would she wake up in her own bed, alone, to find it had all been a dream? Would Ewan come to his senses and realize it was her beautiful, high-spirited sister he truly cared for, after all? The solid substance of his arm provided a source of reassurance she could cling to when those kinds of doubts assailed her.

  The low rumble of a man’s voice carried from the sitting room. Claire glanced toward Ewan, her brow raised. “Who could that be?”

  “I reckon it’s that Stanton chap. Glenna told me he and Lady Lydiard caught the train as far as Lyonsay, across the loch to the west. Then they hired a boat to bring them here. Her ladyship is an aye resourceful woman. I’ll give her that.”

  They hurried toward the sitting room door, then stood for a moment, staring.

  Lady Lydiard had, indeed, arrived.

  She sat on the sofa, staring toward the big bay window, where Spencer Stanton was laying down the law to Tessa in a firmer tone than Claire had ever heard him use before. Tessa appeared to be taking his lecture with a surprising air of meekness.

  “Have you any idea what could have happened to you?” Spencer plowed a hand through his hair. “Or how worried we were for your safety? I was quite frantic and so was your mother. You must promise me you’ll never do anything like this again.”

  Tessa opened her mouth to reply, but before she could get the words out, Spencer spotted Claire and Ewan.

  “Is this the scoundrel who had the gall to court you behind my back?” he demanded, striding toward them at a pace that alarmed Claire. “The one who sent you flying the length of the country all on your own, into heaven knows what kind of danger?”

  Ewan raised his hand and answered in a peaceable tone. “Aye, I’m the scoundrel. But if ye’ll just give me a minute to explain …”

  Spencer must have decided the time for explanations had long passed. As he charged the length of the room, he’d pulled a glove from his pocket. Now he struck Ewan with it. “I demand satisfaction, sir!”

  Ewan flinched from the blow. His hand closed over the glove and he tore it out of Spencer’s hand. “Ye arrogant English ass! I’m the one who’ll have the satisfaction of trouncing ye!”

  “Ewan, no! Spencer, please!”

&n
bsp; Claire tried to come between the two men as Tessa exclaimed, “A duel, over me? How romantic!”

  A duel? How idiotic! Surely they wouldn’t.

  “Claire?” Spencer stared at her as if she had gone mad. “Don’t tell me this blackguard has got his hooks into you, as well?”

  “Watch who ye’re calling a blackguard, Sassenach!” Ewan gave Spencer a shove.

  “Do you know who this man is?” Spencer asked Claire, his finger pointed at Ewan.

  Were people always going to harp on the fact that Ewan Geddes had once worked for her family? Claire began to understand her sister’s impatience with such prejudices.

  “Of course I know,” she snapped. “Our acquaintance goes back a great many years.”

  “Then it doesn’t bother you that he owns Liberty Marine Works, one of Brancasters’ biggest rivals?”

  “I know he works for—”

  “Not works for, Claire—owns! When I returned to London, your Mr. Catchpole brought me a message from that investigator you’d hired. He had managed to delve a little deeper into this fellow’s background.”

  “Ewan?” Claire drooped into a nearby armchair. “Is this true?”

  “It is.” Tessa piped up. “He told me so before I went to lie down. Not which company, just that he had an enormous fortune. He said he wanted me to come to America with him, because I’d be a perfect hostess and win all the grand society folk over, on account of my being the daughter of a peer.”

  She sounded altogether disgusted by the prospect.

  Suddenly Claire’s old doubts and suspicions returned to bedevil her—all the stronger for her fleeting glimpse of love and happiness. Had Ewan wooed her as part of some underhanded business dealing, to revenge himself upon Brancasters for her father’s treatment of him? Had he wanted her as an entrée into American society when her sister had proven unwilling? Or was there some other inscrutable reason, far easier to believe than the preposterous possibility that he loved her?

  “Claire.” Ewan knelt beside her and tried to take her hand, but she pulled it back. “I’m sorry ye had to hear like this, muirneach. I was going to tell ye, I swear!”