Falling for the Highland Rogue

‘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.

‘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.

Though why that should be, she did not understand. And not understanding increased her anger.

It would cost him dear to parade her about like a prize. To a ball, no less. And worse yet, a Drawing Room. Something five years ago she would have taken as her due. Would have revelled in. Now she could only think of it with dread. But that wasn’t the reason for the knot in her stomach. It was the knowledge of the price he would expect her to pay for his generosity. He would expect to take her into his bed.

Her stomach gave an odd little flutter of excitement.