Falling for the Highland Rogue

‘But she did not take it?’

The dressmaker’s face drooped. ‘Her betrothed died shortly before the wedding. She wanted none of the gowns.’

‘How sad,’ Charity said, sounding grim. She gave the woman a sharp look. ‘Then you have received some payment for these gowns?’

Was she trying to save his money? That he had not expected.

‘A deposit only,’ the seamstress was saying. ‘I will deduct it from the price, of course.’

She would now, Logan thought. He glanced at Mrs West, but she was focusing on the image in the mirror. ‘The hem must be lengthened,’ she pronounced.

Indeed it must. A good three inches of her lower legs were visible, exposing beautifully turned ankles. Fine boned like the rest of her. And long and slender feet.

‘I’m not entirely sure about the colour,’ she said.

He caught her unguarded expression in the mirror. Not coquettishness. Not looking for a fulsome compliment. She was uncertain.

‘The gown is perfect,’ he said soothingly.

Faint colour stained her cheekbones as if she had forgotten his presence. ‘An expert in fashion, Mr Gilvry?’ she said haughtily, hiding her misgivings, no doubt.

‘I have eyes in my head, Mrs West. This one will do. A court dress now, if you please, Mrs Donaldson,’ he said firmly. A man could only stand so much of this, pleasure or not.

The seamstress gestured to a white gown draped over the chaise. ‘This one is all I have, Mr Gilvry.’

‘Then we will take it. You have the measurements you need.’ He recalled Sanford’s earlier words of advice. ‘Mrs West will need ostrich feathers for the Drawing Room. And whatever else you deem is required.’

Mrs West looked startled, then gave him the smile of a cat who had trapped a bird against a window. ‘Why, how very generous, Mr Gilvry.’ She turned to the seamstress. ‘I’ll have five pairs of stockings.’ Her almond-shaped eyes scanned the room. ‘And the painted fan I saw in the case as I came in. The one with views of the city.’ She raised a questioning brow in Logan’s direction. ‘If that is all right with you, Mr Gilvry?’

It wasn’t really a question. He bowed. What else could he do? He just hoped the bargain he made with O’Banyon would make it worth the cost.

‘Then it seems we are done.’ She stepped down from the pedestal.

‘If you would care to disrobe behind the screen, Mrs West?’ the seamstress asked.

Charity gave her the most charming of smiles and disappeared behind the screen with the assistant trailing behind her.

More sounds of undressing. He forced himself not to imagine the scene.

‘This way if you please, sir,’ Mrs Donaldson said. ‘You can give me Mrs West’s direction and so forth while Aggie helps her dress.’

* * *

Trembling with shame, Charity could barely hold still while the maid fastened the buttons down the back of her gown.

Never before had a man chosen her clothes. Not even Jack. All these years, she had managed to keep her pride, and then he came along and made her see what she had become. And what on earth was she doing talking about her father, when she hadn’t thought of him in years?

And she’d thought him angelic? The man was the devil incarnate to make her feel so...so... She didn’t know how she felt. What was more, the rogue must have dressed a string of courtesans in his time to sit there with so much aplomb while she stood before him in her shift.

Fury beat a drum at her temple. Anger that she’d not seen right through him, along with the disappointment that she had let her guard down. She didn’t care that he wasn’t the man she’d thought, just that he’d fooled her. It had to be the reason for the unpleasant sensation in her stomach.

She put her hands on her hips and received a tut from the seamstress’s little assistant. She dropped her hands back to her sides. To think she’d felt sorry he found himself pitting his wits against the likes of Jack.

‘All done, ma’am,’ the girl said.

Charity gave her a sweet smile, though her teeth was gritted so hard they hurt. ‘Thank you.’

Smoothing her gloves, she strolled into the front of the shop. Mr Gilvry had a small bundle wrapped in brown paper and string hanging by a loop from a finger.

‘My purchases?’ she asked.

‘Mrs Donaldson thought you would want to take them with you.’

The older woman gave a brisk nod. ‘I will have the gowns ready for the day after tomorrow.’

‘You will find me at the White Horse.’

Mrs Donaldson looked down her thin pointy noise. ‘Aye. Mr Gilvry told me.’

Mr Gilvry put a hand in the small of her back to usher her out. A light possessive touch. And far too intimate for a gentleman with a lady. She leaned a little too close and felt the hitch in his breath with a smile as the doorbell tinkled overhead.

‘Very successful, I’m thinking,’ he said, shielding her with the umbrella and his body from the wind and the rain.

‘Mmm,’ she murmured giving him an arch sideways glance. ‘Is there a cobbler nearby?’

She could not help the little kick of triumph at the brief flash of dismay on his face. It restored her confidence no end.

* * *

Jack poured himself another coffee.

‘Where were you last night?’ Charity asked idly, trying not to look worried.

He leered at her across the congealing remains of his breakfast. ‘Sampling the local fare.’

From the look on his face he was not talking about food. So he’d not gone to the tables without her as she had suspected. She hated missing a chance to augment her funds, but she was glad he’d fed his other appetites. It made him less unpredictable.

‘You?’ he asked mildly, but his eyes were sharp and watchful.

‘Here. He dropped me off after I emptied his purse. He’d a dinner engagement with friends.’ Not surprisingly, she wasn’t invited. Nor had she asked him to come to her later. She could hardly tell Jack she hadn’t been sure he’d accept.

Jack gave her a speculative look. ‘Losing your touch, dear heart? Perhaps you’ll have better luck with McKenzie.’

Repressing the urge to shudder, she looked down her nose at him. ‘I know what I am doing. I hope to see him today.’

‘Did he say anything of interest?’

‘Interest in what regard?’ she asked cautiously.