Highland Heiress

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.”

There it was again—the excuse that the upper class lived by different rules. Different needs. Different choices.

Not better, Gordon noted. Just different. “I can appreciate that you take financial matters into account when you marry, Robbie.” Indeed, he’d written enough marriage settlements to know that he certainly wasn’t alone in that. “But what I don’t understand is why a man as wealthy as you feels the need to get more money by such means.”

Robbie’s shoulders slumped as he let out his breath in a long sigh and sank wearily onto the sofa.

“Then I’ll explain so that you can,” he said, all pretence of pride or vanity gone. He was much more like the Robbie Gordon remembered as he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I’m not rich. My family hasn’t been rich for years and I’m in debt up to my ears.”

Gordon simply couldn’t believe it. “But your family…this house… How is that possible?”

“I wasted my fair share of the family purse in my youth,” Robbie admitted, “because like you and everybody else, I thought my family had plenty of money. Then my father died and I discovered he’d lost most of our family fortune gambling—cards and investments that were bound to fail. The pater clearly had no head for business and could be talked into almost anything. While my mother was alive, she managed to save him from total ruin, but after her death…” He shrugged. “My father had no one to stop him, so this estate and all our other property is mortgaged to the hilt, and we owe a fortune in other debts, too.”

This wasn’t the first time Gordon had heard of a family discovering that they’d been left deeply in debt. Widows especially were often shocked and dismayed to learn the extent of their husband’s debts and financial obligations.

And when he considered how freely Robbie had spent money in their youth, it became easier to believe that things could be as grim as he described.

Gordon got up and walked to the window. Out in the garden, three men were trimming a hedge. Another was weeding one of the beds.

This huge house, the town houses, the servants, Robbie’s clothes, food and drink… “How are you paying for everything now?” he asked as he turned toward his friend again.

“Credit. Most of my creditors think they’re the only one I’ve borrowed from.” His elbows on his knees, he covered his face with his hands. “It’s a nightmare keeping everything straight in my head because I don’t dare write it down. How much I’ve borrowed from this one, how much from another. And when, and when they’re due.” He raised haunted eyes to look at Gordon. “I can’t sleep, can barely eat. I’m desperate, Gordo—so desperate I’ve even thought of running off to America.”

“Instead you decided to marry Lady Moira?”

Despite Robbie’s obvious distress, it shouldn’t have fallen to Lady Moira or her father or anyone else to repay the debts of the McStuarts, even if marrying for money wasn’t exactly a new or innovative way for men of any class to recover from a financial loss.

His head hanging like that of a defeated general who sees his troops marching to slaughter, Robbie clasped his hands. “God, no. Not exactly, or I would have proposed to that horse-faced daughter of Lord Renfield after my father died.”

He rose and came to stand in front of Gordon. “While I don’t deny I was pleased Moira’s dowry was considerable, that wasn’t the only reason I wanted to marry her. I truly cared for her, Gordon. She’s a rather remarkable woman—but stubborn and biased and too straitlaced, obviously. If only she’d been born into the title, instead of having it thrust upon her when she was already grown, she wouldn’t have been so upset when she heard about those girls and we’d still be getting married and all my problems would be solved.”

While Lady Moira’s would be just beginning.

“There must be something else you can do,” Gordon said, trying to come up with solutions that didn’t involve the sacrifice of a woman’s happiness.

“If there is, I’m damned if I know what it might be,” Robbie replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “The only people who will make a loan to me now are the kind who charge exorbitant rates and hurt you if you miss a payment.”

“I have some money put away that I could—” Gordon began.

“I’d rather marry an actual horse than take your money,” Robbie interrupted. “I know how hard you work for it.”

“I’m your friend, Rob, and friends help each other.”

Robbie went back to the whiskey decanter and poured himself another drink. “You are helping, by representing me.” He glanced sharply at Gordon as he lifted the glass. “Or are you saying you won’t do that anymore?”

“No, that’s not what I’m proposing,” Gordon swiftly replied. Not exactly. Even though he would rather not take on such a suit as this, he wasn’t going to abandon his friend. “Given that Lady Moira isn’t willing to settle, this case could drag on for quite some time. We can continue the suit if you like, but surely it would be better to find another way to raise the necessary funds in a swifter fashion.”

“I suppose I could propose to Lord Renfield’s daughter,” Robbie said with a frown after taking a sip of whiskey. “She’d accept, I’m sure, in spite of the fact that Moira jilted me.” He gave Gordon a sardonic grin. “The last time her family visited here, when my father was still alive and I was a mere stripling of seventeen, I found her waiting in my bed, naked.” He gave a dramatic shiver. “I’ve never been less tempted by a woman in my life. I covered her up in a blanket and sent her back to her room.”

He owed it to Robbie as a client, as well as a friend, to give him the best advice he could. “Marrying for money is never wise. In my experience, a man or woman pays a steep price in misery and unhappiness if they do.”

“Then I have no choice but to sue and hope Lady Moira’s very wealthy father is forced to pay, or settle out of court for a substantial amount. I don’t want to, Gordon, but…”

Robbie’s gaze faltered and when he next raised his eyes, Gordon saw a vestige of the boy he’d known, or thought he had. “I’m not proud of having to resort to such measures, but what else can I do? Sir Robert Mc Stuart can hardly advertise for a job.”

“There’s the law,” Gordon suggested, glad he had broached the subject. “You could be a barrister.”

“Are you forgetting I was never much for study? Besides, that would take more time than I have. I need money now, not years from now, or I’ll have already lost the estate and town houses and what would be the point?”

Gordon surveyed the walls of the drawing room. “You could sell some of the art.”

“I’ve borrowed against most of the good pieces,” Robbie replied, “and if I were to try to sell all the rest, I might as well advertise in the Times that I’m bankrupt. I can just imagine what my creditors will do then.”

“Perhaps I could contact your creditors on your behalf—discreetly, of course—and try to negotiate different terms for repayment or an extension. In my experience, lenders are often willing to receive something rather than nothing.”

Robbie’s face brightened, and he looked better than he had since Gordon had arrived. “Do you really think they’d do that?”

“It’s certainly worth pursuing,” Gordon assured him.

“That would be a damn sight better than asking Horse-face to marry me,” Robbie said as he grinned and walked toward Gordon to shake his hand. “I swear, Gordo, inviting you here is one of the best ideas I’ve ever had in my life!”

Perhaps it was, but Gordon wished he’d never had it.

“Ouch!”

Sticking her index finger in her mouth before she bled on her embroidery, Moira pushed the frame away with her other hand. This was the third time she’d jabbed herself with the needle since she’d started.