Highland Heiress (3 page)

Robbie's brows lowered and his mouth got that stubborn set Gordon well remembered. “She said she could
never
love a man like me.”

A man like Robbie, who was handsome and charming
and a good friend? “What on earth did she mean by that?”

Robbie jumped to his feet and strode to the window. “It means she doesn't understand how the upper class lives. I haven't committed any crime. I haven't done anything every nobleman in Scotland or England and certainly France hasn't done before me. She claims to be a lady, yet she broke the engagement over a trifle.”

If he had done something to cause her to change her mind, that made a difference. “I think you'd better tell me what exactly this ‘trifle' was.”

Robbie didn't answer right away. First he marched to the cabinet and poured himself another drink, making Gordon wonder if too much drink was the trifle, and if so, it was indeed no trifle. No woman of sense wanted to marry a drunkard.

“If I'm to act as your solicitor in this matter, Robbie, I have to know all the details,” Gordon said quietly, beginning to feel a bit sorry that he'd accepted Robbie's invitation.

He thought his friend had asked him there because they were friends and it had been a long time since they'd seen each other, not because he needed legal advice, yet now there was a possibility he was going to get embroiled in a case he'd prefer to avoid.

Robbie gulped down his whiskey and when he looked at Gordon again, he appeared even more haggard, as if telling the truth was physically painful. Nevertheless, he smiled his merry, charming smile—only this time, it seemed more like a death's-head grin to Gordon.

“No need to look so stern, Gordo. It was only a
dalliance with one of the maids, the sort of thing that goes on all the time.”

He should have guessed it would be something like this. Robbie had always had “high spirits,” as their headmaster had called it when Robbie had been discovered with one of the maids at school. Indeed, he'd been famous for his liaisons and the envy of every boy in school.

But that was in the world of males. He could easily imagine—and sympathize with—a potential bride's dismay at learning of her future husband's lustful activities with a servant. “Did you assure her you'd be faithful once you were married?”

Robbie looked at Gordon as if he'd suggested giving up food and drink. “No. Why would I? Why should I?”

Gordon's heart sank. “Because you were going to make such a promise when you said your marriage vows.”

“Gad, Gordo, don't tell me you, with your profession, are naive enough to think any man's really going to be faithful to his wife?”

“I've met several who are,” Gordon replied, recalling some of the happily married clients who'd passed through his offices.

Robbie slouched onto an armchair near the sofa and frowned like a petulant child. “Sometimes I forget you're…” He fell silent and picked at a bit of lint on his lapel with his slender fingers that had never done a day's work.

“Not of your class?” Gordon finished for him.

His friend blushed, the fire of his anger apparently quenched as he regarded Gordon with dismay, and the first sign of genuine remorse. “I'm sorry, Gordon.” He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I'll be perfectly honest with you. Yes, I dallied with one of the maids, but I never thought a fiancée or even a wife would really mind. I mean, you were at school. You heard the other boys talking about their fathers' and brothers' mistresses and lovers. It's accepted in our world, or at least condoned. It was just a maid, after all. It's not like I was keeping a mistress in the house. And I turned her out as soon as Moira learned about her.”

While Gordon was certainly well aware that many rich and titled men treated women like their personal toys to be used or discarded at will, he didn't approve of that selfish behavior. And if Robbie thought hearing that the maid had lost her place because of their liaison was going to increase Gordon's sympathy for his cause, he was even more mistaken. Gordon had helped too many servants who'd been seduced and cast out by their employers, suing for back wages at the very least, to have any sympathy for a master who took advantage of one.

In spite of his efforts to keep a blank countenance, his face must have betrayed something of his feelings, for Robbie's next words had more than a tinge of self-defence. “It's not as if the maid wasn't willing. She was, I assure you.
Very
willing. Indeed, I think
she
seduced
me.
”

Gordon had heard this sort of excuse many times,
too. “You were her master, Robbie. She might have felt she couldn't refuse.”

“Of course she could!” Robbie retorted, hoisting himself to his feet. “I'm hardly some kind of brutal ogre.”

No, he wasn't. Nevertheless…

“And I was honest enough not to make a promise to Moira that I wasn't going to keep. But did she appreciate that? No, she looked at me as if I'd committed murder.”

Robbie ran his hand through his hair before starting for the cabinet again. “Maybe if she hadn't been so angry…” Wrapping his hand around the decanter, he shook his head. “Oh, I don't know what I would have done if she'd been calmer.” He walked away without pouring another drink and went to the fireplace. He picked up the poker and vigorously stirred the coals, sending ash swirling upward.

“Maybe instead of suing her, you should be grateful,” Gordon said quietly. “If you'd married her and strayed, and then she found out—”

“We would have been married and there would have been nothing she could do about it. She would have learned to accept that it's a nobleman's privilege, as my mother did and her mother before her.”

Gordon didn't like what he was hearing. It smacked of brutal arrogance, of utter selfishness and a complete disregard for the feelings of another human being, the sort of attitude that spurred him to find justice for the weak and abused and cheated, and especially for women, who had so few rights under the law.

Rising, he went to face his friend, the better to see
his face and read his expression, for eyes often said what words did not.

As a certain young lady's eyes had spoken of desire before they'd kissed.

“What if your wife took a lover? Would you say then it was simply what people of your class do?”

Robbie clenched his jaw for the briefest of moments before he answered. “Of course. As long as I had an heir and a spare, my wife could take as many lovers as she liked.”

Robbie marched across the room to the cabinet, then turned to face his friend. “Obviously, I should have lied to you, and her. I should have said that of course I would be faithful. That I'd never even look at another woman.

“But I didn't. So if you'd rather not represent me in this, I'll find another solicitor who will. With you or without you, Gordo, I'm suing Moira McMurdaugh for breaking our engagement.”

Gordon regarded Robbie steadily. While Robbie never made any reference to what had happened at school, Gordon could never forget what he owed Robbie McStuart.

And if it was the same woman he'd rescued from the tree and kissed?

He still owed Robbie his career. “Of course I'll represent you, Robbie.”

T
hree days later, Moira leaned over the pedestal table in the book-lined library, studying the builder's drawings of the future school, as well as his notations. She wanted to be sure that she was right before she addressed the prosperous middle-aged man standing before her with his thumbs in his vest pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

She was, but having dealt with tradesmen for many years, she didn't begin with a direct accusation. That would only lead to confrontation, arguments, denials and, eventually, the pronouncement that women couldn't be expected to understand business or the arithmetic that went with it.

“Mr. Stamford,” she began, “I must confess that I find your estimates rather…excessive.”

The plump man merely smiled with frustrating condescension. “Perhaps, my lady, we should wait for your
father's return from Glasgow. He'd due back today, is he not?”

“Yes, he is,” she replied, hoping with all her heart he would return as promised and hadn't met any of his friends who had, in the past, led him astray. “However, the school is my responsibility, not his.”

Her statement didn't appear to make any difference to the builder, for the man continued to regard her as if she were merely an overgrown child, and one incapable of understanding simple addition and multiplication, too. “I'm sure, as a former man of business, your father will be able to comprehend the figures better than a young lady. You mustn't trouble your pretty head with such things as measurements and structure, square feet and raw materials,” Mr. Stamford continued with that same insufferable patronage. “Perhaps
you
don't understand, Mr. Stamford, that as the daughter of a man of business who's been keeping household accounts for ten years, ever since my mother died, I'm not incapable of calculating totals and expenditures,” she said, determined not to let this man think he could flatter her into believing that his estimates of the costs of materials were reasonable when they were so obviously not. “Nor, having had considerable work done on this house, am I ignorant of the costs involved when refurbishing a building. I find your estimate of the price for the necessary materials for the school and labor excessive. You're building a school, after all, not a manor house.”

The man's cheeks puffed out with an annoyed huff. “Far be it from me to contradict a lady. However, if
one wishes to use the best materials—and I was under the impression you did—then one has to pay accordingly.”

“I want the best for the purpose,” she clarified. “The prices you're quoting would seem to indicate you're using wood and stone more suitable for a cathedral than a village school. We recently had the dining room of this house panelled in mahogany brought especially from Jamaica, Mr. Stamford, and the price of that mahogany was less than this quotation for the oak ceiling beams of the main schoolroom. I fail to see how that is possible, unless the oak is gilded.”

The builder's face turned as red as lip rouge. He reached for the plans spread on the table and began to roll them up, the pages crackling and crinkling with his swift action. “If you don't like the plans or the cost, my lady, you can always hire another man!”

“Unless you can provide me with a more reasonable quote, I may have to,” Moira replied, not a whit disturbed or intimidated by his bluster, “although I'd hate to think you've done so much work for nothing.”

“Nothing?” the man almost shrieked. “I expect to be paid for the time and effort I've already—!”

“Of course,” she smoothly interrupted, “it would be a pity to have this assignment come to a premature end.”

“Like some women's engagements?” he retorted.

Moira managed to control the rage that spiralled through her. She wanted to dismiss him on the spot, but that would lead to a delay, which would surely upset
her father. That was always something to be avoided, lest he be tempted to break his vow.

“It would also be unfortunate that you wouldn't be able to brag about working for the Earl of Dunbrachie's daughter anymore, as I believe you already have.”

Or so the butler had informed her, having had it from the footman, who'd been in the village tavern the night before last.

The man's gaze finally faltered and he put the plans back on the table. “Aye, yes, well, perhaps I was a tad hasty, my lady,” he said in a conciliatory tone, “and I'm a hot-tempered fellow. I suppose we could use less oak and more pine, and maybe I don't have to buy so much slate for the roof.”

Despite his change of manner and her relief that things could proceed as planned, there was something else she considered important to make clear. “I don't want any corners cut. The building must be safe and sound.”

“That school will be so well built, it'll still be standing a hundred years from now,” he assured her.

“Excellent, Mr. Stamford,” she conceded, “and if I see more realistic figures, I see no need to tell my father about our difference of opinion. Now I give you good day, sir. I'll be by to check the progress of the school later in the week.”

“Yes, my lady. Goodbye, my lady, and I'm sure I'll be able to find ways to economize, my lady.”

With that, he bustled out of the library as if he couldn't get away fast enough, which was probably the case. She was just as relieved to see him go. She was
well aware that her broken engagement to Sir Robert McStuart was no secret, but it was nevertheless galling to have it flung into her face.

It was even more galling to realize that Gordon McHeath had surely heard about her broken engagement by now, and from Robbie McStuart, too, she thought as she walked around the room, brushing her fingertips over the leather spines of the books that had so delighted her when they'd first arrived. Her former fiancé would undoubtedly paint what had happened between them in the worst possible way, making light of his own transgressions and describing her as some sort of narrow-minded, unsophisticated bumpkin.

If only she could stay as angry and indignant as she'd been when she found out the man who had come to her rescue was Robbie McStuart's friend. Unfortunately, as time had passed, she found herself thinking less of his friendship with Robbie and more of the passion she'd felt in his arms. The excitement. The wish that his embrace would never end. She remembered Gordon McHeath's smile, his gentlemanly demeanor and the sight of him charging down the hill like a knight errant. Even more vividly, she recalled the urge to kiss him that she hadn't been able to fight, his passionate response, the sensation of his arms around her and his lips covering hers, seeking, demanding, wanting….

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” the butler intoned from the door. “A gentleman wishes to see you.” He held out a silver salver with a card upon it. “He says it's a legal matter, my lady.”

Legal matter? “Did you tell him the earl isn't at home?”

“I did, and he said it doesn't involve the earl, my lady. His business is with you.”

Perhaps it had something to do with the school, although she couldn't imagine what. She went to the door and took the card. She glanced at it, then stared.

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?”