Highland Heiress

by Margaret Moore

  Gordon McHeath, Solicitor, Edinburgh.

  Robbie McStuart’s friend was a solicitor? Even so, what could he possibly want with her? It couldn’t be because of that kiss…could it? That hadn’t violated any law that she was aware of.

  Perhaps it had something to do with the dog that had chased her. “Show him in, please.”

  Smoothing down her skirt and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, determined to keep the conversation coolly business-like, she perched primly on an armchair covered in emerald-green damask near the hearth.

  Mr. McHeath appeared on the threshold. He wasn’t dressed in his caped greatcoat and hat; otherwise, his clothing was similar, down to his riding boots. Without his hat, his tawny hair waved like ripples on a lake, and he was definitely as handsome and well built as she remembered.

  He hesitated, and a look passed over his face that made her think he was about to leave just as abruptly.

  He didn’t. His visage slightly flushed, as she suspected hers must be, he came farther into the room, his expression solemn to the point of grimness.

  Commanding herself to be calm and detached, and above all to forget she had ever kissed him, she said, “So, Mr. McHeath, what is this legal matter that has brought you here today?”

  His gaze swept over the room and furnishings, lingering for a moment at the pedestal table with the drawings still on top before he came to a halt and pulled a folded document from the pocket of his navy blue jacket.

  “I’ve come on behalf of Sir Robert McStuart regarding the matter of your broken engagement,” he said, his voice just as coldly formal as hers had been. “He’s bringing an action against you for breach of promise.”

  Moira stared at him in stunned disbelief. “Breach of…? He’s suing me?”

  “Yes.” McHeath took a deep breath, like a man about to dive into frigid water. “He’s seeking damages in the amount of five thousand pounds.”

  With a gasp as if she’d landed in that frigid water, Moira jumped to her feet. “I don’t believe it! Five thousand pounds? Five thousand pounds?”

  “I agree it’s a considerable sum, but you must be aware of the damage your change of mind has done to his reputation. He feels he should be duly compensated.”

  “His reputation?” she repeated, her hands balling into fists, her whole body shaking with righteous indignation. “What was his reputation, that he should set such store on it? And what about mine? Don’t you think mine has suffered just as much, if not more?”

  The solicitor didn’t seem the least nonplussed. “Then perhaps, my lady, you should offer a sum to settle before the matter goes before a judge.”

  “You want me to pay him off? Are you mad?” she demanded, appalled as well as angry. “I’m not going to give that libertine a ha’penny. If there’s anyone at fault for what happened, it’s him. Didn’t he tell you why I broke the engagement?”

  “He told me that you informed him that you no longer loved him,” the solicitor replied, still standing as stiff and straight as a soldier on a parade square. “He said that you were angry about his dalliance with a maid, and because he refused to assure you he would be faithful in the future.”

  All that was true and yet…” A dalliance? Only one?”

  Finally, something seemed to bring a spark of passionate life back to Gordon McHeath’s eyes. Unfortunately, the change lasted only an instant before he resumed that statuelike demeanor. “Yes, only one.”

  “In addition to the chambermaid at McStuart House, there were three girls at his family’s weaving mill and the scullery maid in his town house in Edinburgh that I know about,” she informed him. “There may very well be more. He also drinks, Mr. McHeath, far too much. He managed to keep that hidden from me for quite some time, but fortunately not long enough for me to go through with the marriage. I have long vowed that I would never marry a sot.”

  McHeath glanced down at the toes of his boots, so she couldn’t see his face. When he raised his eyes to her, his expression was again that blank mask, as if they’d never even met, let alone kissed. Indeed, she could hardly believe this was the same man who’d come rushing so gallantly to her rescue and who’d kissed her with such fervent passion.

  “It was your duty to find out about the man proposing marriage before you accepted him, my lady,” he said. “Apparently you did not. You could have asked for more time to consider. You did not. You also said that you no longer loved him. This suggests you not only felt a moral indignation when you learned of his liaisons, you experienced an inner revelation concerning the depth of your own feelings. That is something over which my friend had absolutely no control. You alone are responsible for that and as such, Sir Robert has some justification for his claim.

  “More importantly from a legal point of view, you entered into a verbal contract that was publicly announced, and you broke that contract.”

  “Good God,” she gasped, aghast at his cool and condemning response and backing away from him as if he held a loaded pistol. “You’re absolutely serious about this!”

  “I assure you, my lady, I would never jest about a lawsuit.”

  That she could well believe. Indeed, at this moment, she could well believe he never made a jest or joke about anything. But he was the man who had saved her from that dog, so surely he could have some sympathy for her feelings, and her decision. “Whatever I thought I felt, I realized I was wrong and acted accordingly. Would you really have me marry a man I no longer cared for and could no longer even respect? Would you really want me—or any woman—to tie herself to such a man under those conditions?”

  The attorney had the grace to blush as he steadily met her gaze. “No, I wouldn’t, but again I remind you, my lady, that whatever Sir Robert’s faults, it was your responsibility to discover them before you accepted his proposal.”

  Was the man made of marble? Had he no heart? “Surely a judge will side with me and agree that I was right to end the engagement.”

  “Judges are men, my lady. He may well agree that Sir Robert deserves to be compensated.”

  Unfortunately, he had a point. Men made the laws, and men upheld them.

  And what about Gordon McHeath, who had seemed so kind and chivalrous? “Do you condone his behavior, Mr. McHeath?”

  He didn’t look away. “Condone? No, I do not. But I was not raised as he was, by parents who believed their birth and station meant certain social mores didn’t apply to them.”

  “So even if you don’t agree with what he’s doing, you would defend him?”

  “I represent him.”

  With a horrible sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she thought of another reason he might believe a judge would side with Robbie. “Did you tell him that we kissed?”

  Although Mr. McHeath continued to regard her dispassionately, his cheeks reddened a little more. “I saw no need to mention that particular act to Sir Robert, or anyone else. I hope you have been similarly reticent. It does neither of us credit.”

  Her heart began to beat again, albeit erratically, for despite his explanation for his reticence, she sensed he wasn’t as sorry or ashamed as he claimed to be.

  Neither, she realized, was she—even now. Wanting to see if she was right, she pressed him for more of an explanation. “It would help your case, would it not?”

  “I saw no need to provide more evidence when I had hoped you would be reasonable and offer a sum in settlement so that the case need not proceed.”

  In spite of his evenly spoken reply, she sidled a little closer, so that she could see into his eyes, the better to gauge his true response. “Given that Sir Robert seems to be selective with the facts, are you aware that five thousand pounds was to be the amount of my dowry?”

  No, he hadn’t known that. She could see the surprise he tried to hide. “Obviously he wants the dowry he didn’t get,” she observed.

  Mr. McHeath swiftly recovered from his surprise. “Whatever his reasons, that is the sum he feels is appropriate compensation.”
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  “I feel he’s not entitled to anything, and nothing you say will ever make me change my mind.”

  Mr. McHeath inclined his head. “Very well, my lady, and since we seem to be unable to come to any agreement, I shall bid you good day.”

  She shouldn’t feel any regret when he said those words. She shouldn’t be sorry he was leaving. After all, she barely knew him, and he was working for Robbie.

  “You may also tell Sir Robert that I do not and never will regret breaking our engagement. If anything, his petty, vindictive action further convinces me that I was right to do so,” she said as she went to the hearth and tugged the bellpull beside it. “Good day, Mr. McHeath. Walters will show you out.”

  When Gordon returned to McStuart House, he immediately went in search of his host, although every step seemed an effort. He wasn’t looking forward to having to relay Lady Moira’s response any more than he’d been to confront her. Indeed, he’d been seriously tempted to leave without revealing the purpose of his visit when he saw that Lady Moira was the woman he’d helped and kissed, but gratitude and duty demanded that he do what he’d been asked to do. Now Robbie would want to know what had happened.

  It would be far better for all concerned if they each simply went their own way, and let the past stay in the past. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, Robbie was determined to have his day in court, and be compensated for the blow to his pride.

  Even more unfortunately, Lady Moira wasn’t the only person in Dunbrachie who could be faulted for not knowing more about a man before entering into an agreement with him. He should have been much more wary of agreeing to represent Robbie in a legal matter, especially after he’d noticed how much Robbie drank that first afternoon.

  He finally found Robbie in the last room he thought to look—the library. Unlike the earl’s library, this one had an air of musty neglect, and many of the volumes weren’t even real books. In fact, Gordon was rather sure neither Robbie nor his father had read a book in its entirety after they left school.

  The dark draperies added to a sense of genteel decay, and the portraits in this room all seemed to be of people in a state of chronic indigestion.

  Its only saving grace—and perhaps its appeal for Robbie—was the large windows opening to the terrace. Or maybe its isolation from the other rooms, and thus its silence, explained why he had gone there.

  Naturally Robbie wasn’t reading a book. He wasn’t even awake. He lay sprawled on his back on one of the worn, silk-covered sofas, his right arm thrown over his face, his left crossed over his chest and an empty bottle of port on the floor beside him.

  Chapter Four

  Gordon sighed heavily and leaned back against one of the shelves. Whatever Robbie thought, Lady Moira was right to be wary of marrying a man who drank so much. In his practice he’d seen too many marriages fall into bitter ruin and too many families destroyed because of drink.

  Robbie’s blue eyes flickered open. “Gordo! You’re back!” he muttered as he lurched to a sitting position. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I’m only just returned,” he replied. He came farther into the room and sat in a wing chair opposite Robbie. He nodded at the bottle on the floor. “Isn’t it a little early for that?”

  Robbie sighed and rubbed his temples as he hunched over. “My head ached, so I had a little drink for medicinal purposes.”

  “A little drink?”

  “Aye, just enough to put me to sleep.”

  “Perhaps your head ached from imbibing too much last night,” Gordon suggested, trying to keep his tone nonjudgmental.

  Robbie frowned. “You’re not my nursemaid.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m your friend, and I’m worried about you.”

  Robbie slid down until he was lying on his back, his head resting on the arm of the sofa. “If I’m drinking a little more than usual, it’s because that’s the only way I can sleep most nights.”

  Gordon wondered what his “usual” amount of drinks per day would be, then decided that really didn’t matter. What mattered was Robbie’s current condition, which was obviously far from healthy. He was still too thin and pale, with dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. “Maybe we should send for the doctor.”

  Robbie shook his head as he closed his eyes. “No doctor. It’s this business with Moira that has me out of sorts, that’s all. I’ll be fine when it’s over.”

  “Perhaps if we went riding, or walked up the hills, that would help you sleep.”

  Robbie turned his head to look out the long mullioned windows. “Not today,” he said with a weary sigh. “It’s going to rain.”

  He was, unfortunately, right. The sky was a dull slate gray that foretold a downpour before the afternoon was over.

  Robbie suddenly seemed to remember where Gordon had been. “So what happened?” he demanded as he squirmed to a sitting position, his feet on the floor. “What did my former fiancée say when you told her I was suing her for breach of promise?”

  Not wanting to inflame the situation even more, Gordon tried to choose his words wisely. “Naturally she was upset.”

  That was true, although not in the way Robbie seemed to interpret his response, judging by the gleam of triumph that came to his red-rimmed eyes. “As well she should be! Was she willing to settle out of court?”

  Gordon had done his best to talk Robbie out of naming such a huge sum in damages; the best he’d been able to do was suggest that he be willing to compromise and eventually settle for a lesser amount in order to save time and expenses. After much persuading, Robbie had finally agreed. Regrettably, Lady Moira had rendered his victory moot. “No, she did not.”

  Robbie’s expression dulled, but only for a moment. “Well then, she’ll have to pay the whole amount when we win—plus expenses!”

  Robbie had always been a confident fellow and clearly nothing that had happened to him had altered that. “She believes she will not lose.”

  “Ha!” Robbie snorted as he got to his feet, kicking over the bottle and paying it no heed as it rolled across the Aubusson carpet and came to a halt at the edge of the marble hearth. “Of course she will! Everybody in Dunbrachie knew we were engaged. Everybody knows she broke it off. How did you put it? Ah, yes—she breached a verbal contract. And I’ve got the best solicitor in Scotland and England, too, to represent me.”

  This was no time to prevaricate. “I’m flattered by your compliments, Robbie, but she feels that given some of your less-than-exemplary behavior, a judge will be sympathetic to her.”

  Robbie laughed, although not with his usual merry mirth. This laugh was cold and harsh and ugly. “A female judge might take her side, but since there are no lady judges and never will be, I’ll win and Moira will have to pay. And then I…”

  He didn’t finish as he went to what looked like a row of books, pulled one half out of its slot, and revealed another liquor cabinet.

  Though Gordon didn’t think Robbie should have another drink, that wasn’t what bothered him most now. “And then you…what?”

  “And then I’ll be finished with her once and for all.”

  There was more to it than that, or Robbie wouldn’t be suing her. He would simply leave her alone. And he’d sounded almost…desperate.

  “You need the money!” Gordon blurted as an explanation for that desperation burst into his mind.

  “No. That is, not exactly,” Robbie said, blushing as he poured some whiskey from a Waterford decanter into a crystal glass that looked nearly as dusty as the books.

  Did the man have alcohol squirreled away in every room of his house? Was that where his money was going?

  But the McStuarts had been rich for generations, with more wealth than any one man could possibly drink away.

  “The money would come in handy, that’s all,” Robbie said as the distinct scent of whiskey reached Gordon’s nostrils. “I have a few debts I’d like to get rid of sooner rather than later.

  “Besides, it’s the principle of the thing. She broke a
contract and she ought to pay a penalty,” he finished before he downed his whiskey in a gulp.

  “Was that why you were going to marry her? Because her father is rich?” Gordon asked, hoping he was wrong. Silently praying that he was.

  “Of course not!” Robbie retorted as he whirled around, his chest heaving with what Gordon believed—to his relief—was genuine dismay. “I loved her! You saw her—you’ve seen how beautiful she is. She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Aye, very beautiful,” Gordon agreed. And strong willed. And resolute. And brave and passionate and desirable.

  “Who wouldn’t fall in love with a woman like her? Well, maybe you wouldn’t,” he amended, swinging his glass around to point at Gordon and spilling a third of its contents. As with the port bottle, Robbie ignored the spill, even though the carpet had to be worth several thousand pounds. “You’re far too serious and studious to fall in love, I think. Not for Gordo the insanity of Eros, eh?”

  Gordon silently begged to differ. He’d been in love—or thought he was—so he knew exactly what Robbie was talking about. “But I was in love,” his friend continued with a dramatic flourish as, still holding the glass, he pointed to his own chest.

  His declaration might have fooled somebody who didn’t know Robbie well, but Gordon did, and what he saw beneath the colorful words and dramatic gestures was need. Not for Lady Moira, or her love, or even happiness, but money—and badly.

  As if to prove his observation, Robbie muttered half under his breath, “It was just a bonus that her father was rich and could help me with some financial reversals I’ve suffered recently.”

  Disappointment, dismay, disgust—Gordon felt them all. And something else. Something that felt like…liberation.

  Suddenly Robbie threw his glass at the hearth, shattering it into a thousand little shards. “Don’t look at me like that, Gordo! Not you! It was bad enough that she looked at me as if I were a worm or some other loathsome creature. You’re a man—aye and an attorney, too—so you should understand that sometimes men have to make rational decisions, even when it comes to marriage. Especially when it comes to marriage and especially if you have a title. We don’t have the luxury of marrying solely for love.”