Highland Rogue, London Miss Page 12

  Esme had to admit that might be so, and she did—silently. “Is that why you didn’t ask him to leave the room when she arrived?”

  “I thought it would make him wonder about our association with Lady Catriona if I ordered him to leave.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “Do you think he’s trustworthy?”

  “I was beginning to think so, but I’m not certain.”

  “Good,” he muttered as he started for the door.

  He was leaving again, just like that? “Wait!”

  He turned back and regarded her expectantly.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To try to learn more about Mr. McHeath.” He raised an interrogative brow. “What do you intend to do today? Read some more law books? I hope you’ll light the lamps.”

  At least he wasn’t going back to London.

  “I’m going to write another letter to Jamie about this latest development, then I believe I’ll pay a call on Lady Elvira.”

  MacLachlann frowned. “All you’ll get out of her is the worst sort of gossip.”

  “As you discovered at your club and wherever else you’ve been, gossip can be an excellent source of information. I certainly have no intention of sitting here all day.”

  “That would be the safest course and the one least likely to raise anyone’s suspicions. I also think it wouldn’t be wise to write to your brother every day, not unless you want the servants to think you’re engaged in an illicit affair.”

  Unfortunately, he had a point. “Very well. But then you should write to him.”

  “I will when I return.”

  “We’re invited to a ball at Lady Marchmont’s tonight,” she informed him. “She apologizes for the lack of notice, but since we only just arrived…” She fell silent for a moment, then spoke with more determination. “We ought to go.”

  “Absolutely. Augustus would. Indeed, I look forward to it, my little plum cake,” he replied before he strolled out the door.

  Leaving her alone.

  Again.

  “Tell her the Earl of Dubhagen wishes to speak to her,” Quinn haughtily informed the muscular middle-aged man as they stood in the foyer of an establishment not far from the outskirts of Mayfair.

  The man squinted at Quinn, then nodded and started up the stairs. Before he reached the landing, he paused and pointed at the open door to a lower room. “You can wait in there.”

  Quinn decided he might as well sit down as he waited for Mollie, who had been an older woman of twenty-five the last time he’d seen her, before he’d fled Edinburgh.

  The drawing room of the town house was, fortunately, empty. It was also decorated in a way that made it clear it wasn’t a family home, with plush red velvet curtains, heavy furniture likewise upholstered in red velvet and a picture over the mantelpiece of a group of plump, naked women.

  It was, in fact, a brothel, and the sort of place Esme probably thought he spent many nights. He didn’t, and he hadn’t been near a whore in years, unless he had questions to ask about her customers, as he was about to do now. He’d spent the previous night at a tavern, dozing in a corner until the owner had told him to leave. Then he’d walked until he’d spotted a cabbie and returned to his brother’s house.

  “My lord?”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, he wondered if it had been wise to come here, even if Mollie would likely be an excellent source of information. It was too late to do otherwise now, though, so he would act his part unless and until she guessed he wasn’t Augustus.

  “Miss MacDonald?” he inquired as he turned to face her.

  She’d changed, of course. It had been years, and her profession was not a gentle one, although she was still a pretty woman. Whatever else had happened since he’d been gone, she’d earned enough to dress in silks and satins, although in a whore’s version of the fashions of the day.

  She sashayed toward him, her hips swinging seductively. “I’m Mollie MacDonald. What can I do for you, my lord?” she asked with a smile and clearly not recognizing him. “Or do I already know?”

  For a moment, he was tempted to enjoy her many talents, and once, he wouldn’t have hesitated. But that was before. Before he’d been found by Jamie on Tower Bridge. Before he’d been given a chance for redemption and become determined to do all he could to deserve it. “I require information.”

  Mollie frowned, and the change of expression made her look even older than she was. “I don’t do nothing for free.”

  “I expected as much, so I have come prepared to pay,” Quinn replied.

  She raised an expectant brow as he reached into his jacket and produced his wallet, then a ten-pound note. She snatched it out of his hand and nodded. “All right, ask away.”

  “I have heard a most disturbing rumor regarding my solicitor, Gordon McHeath, and his visits to your establishment.”

  It was a lie, but if there was any brothel likely to attract a man of Mr. McHeath’s level of income and need for discretion, it would be Mollie’s.

  “Aye, he’s been here,” Mollie replied as she tucked the bill into the tight bodice of her green satin gown between her ample breasts.

  Quinn had thought he’d be happy to hear an affirmative answer, but he was too aware of Esme’s approaching disappointment to be pleased. She wanted to believe all lawyers were models of virtue, like her brother; sadly, she was going to find out otherwise.

  “But only the once and not for what most men want,” Mollie continued.

  She laughed derisively when she saw the surprise he didn’t hide. “What, you don’t think a whore can have anything to do with the law except break it? I’m dyin’, so I wanted to write my last will and testament.”

  Dying? Quinn stared at her with dismay, suddenly realizing how pale she was beneath the rouge.

  “It ain’t catchin’,” she said with a spark of defiance. “But I won’t last the year, the doctor says, so I thought I’d make a will. I own this place, for one thing,” she finished with more than a touch of pride.

  “I’m…my condolences,” he muttered, wanting to say more, remembering the good times they’d shared. When he’d first arrived in Edinburgh after fleeing school for the last time, she’d offered him not just her body, but comfort and solace and laughter, things he had sorely needed then.

  Things he still needed, but had learned to live without.

  “You can take it from me, Mr. McHeath’s a good, kind gentleman who’d no more come to this place, or any like it, for what other men do than he’d rob a coach. Believe me, I’d know it if he did, or if he was up to no good in any way, and I’d have got myself another lawyer.” She laughed again, only this time, it ended in a rasping cough. “If there’s one thing a whore knows, it’s men, and he’s a man you can trust.”

  Quinn reached into his wallet and pulled out another ten-pound note. “Do you have any bankers among your customers? I’ve heard other things, too, about certain investments that should be avoided.”

  “What, you think they want to talk business when they’re here?” Mollie asked, grinning as she sidled closer. In an instant, that bill followed the other. “Too bad for you they don’t, so I couldn’t tell you, even supposin’ I would. I can keep a confidence, or else I’d have already told you I knew your little brother. Quite well, in fact.” Her expression hardened, and now he could see just how unwell she was. “I think it’s a damn shame, the way you and your family treated him.”

  He was supposed to be Augustus. “Not too much of a shame you didn’t take my money.”

  “Because I’m a practical woman and money is money. Now, if there’s no more questions, my lord?”

  He shook his head and started for the door.

  “I hear you’ve got yourself a pretty little wife,” Mollie said behind him.

  He slowly wheeled around to face her.

  “I’d keep my eye on her if I were you, my lord. Women like that are ripe for the picking and there’s some mighty sly fellows in Edinburgh who’d love to pluck her
. I don’t tell you that for your sake, or to save your precious honor. I’m telling you because your brother was a friend o’ mine, and whatever else you think of him and no matter how you treated him, he cared about his family.” She took a step toward him and a different look came to her haggard features. “He’s not…he’s still alive, I hope?”

  “Yes, he’s still alive.”

  “Got a wife? Children, maybe?”

  “No, he lives alone.”

  “There’s a pity,” she said softly.

  No, the pity was that a woman like Mollie MacDonald, who’d been as pretty as Catriona McNare and was as clever as Esme, should have had no way to earn money except with her body.

  He reached into the wallet and drew out another ten-pound note, since the expense of this visit would be coming from his own funds.

  “What’s that for?”

  Because he was sorry he’d left Edinburgh without a word of goodbye to her, even if their relationship had already ended. Because he was sorry she was sick, and that he would always think of her with respect and sympathy. Because he wished he’d been able to save her from the life she’d had to lead, and that she could have had the opportunities he’d wasted. Instead, he said, “For your information, of course. I’m most impressed.”

  She tilted her head and studied him in a way that made him fear she was beginning to realize he wasn’t Augustus. “You may look like your brother, but you’re not half the man he is. You see, I know a few things about you, too, my lord, things that made what he did look like nothing. He never told you what I found out, did he, even though I told him? No, because that’s how good and kind he is—better than you’ll ever be, that’s for certain.”

  Quinn wanted to kiss her cheek, to take her hand and thank her for all that she’d done for him and wish her as well as could be. He wanted to give her more money, so she could quit this life and end her days in comfort and peace.

  But she was as proud as any man, in her way, so he didn’t. Nor could he run the risk of revealing who he really was, even to Mollie. All he could do was leave.

  And silently vow that somehow, either through Gordon McHeath or somebody else, he would make sure she spent her last days in peaceful ease. He owed her that, at least.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Why, Lady Dubhagen, this is such a surprise!” Lady Elvira crowed as Esme entered her morning room.

  The small chamber on the first floor at the back of the narrow town house was decorated in the most extravagant Egyptian-inspired extreme, from the wallpaper, to the painted screen, to the furnishings, as if Lady Elvira had purchased anything and everything she saw that seemed remotely linked to the land of the Pharaohs.

  Esme made her way through the overcrowded room to the orange silk-covered couch and sat on the end of it, beside a gilt table that didn’t look strong enough to hold a teacup.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t speak to me after my husband was so rude to you last night,” she said, gripping her reticule the way she’d seen so many worried women do as they waited to speak to Jamie. “I’m so sorry he was! I fear he is a very…well, he can be…overwhelming and difficult.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, I’m sure, Lady Dubhagen,” Lady Elvira said as she sat beside Esme and patted her gloved hand with her clawlike fingers. “I’m sure it must be extremely trying to be married to such a man. The whole family was like that, you know. Well, not the youngest so much. He was the best of the lot—but that isn’t saying much. Gambling was his vice, though, not…” Lady Elvira delicately cleared her throat. “Not other things. Still, he was a wild sort of fellow and Edinburgh is the better for his absence.”

  It came as an undeniable relief to know that even in his scandalous youth MacLachlann hadn’t been a lascivious libertine.

  But then what did it mean that he seemed to behave so when he was with her? Did he simply consider her an easy target for seduction, or was there something more genuine beneath his desire?

  This was hardly the time to consider his motives.

  “It is difficult being married to a man of such…appetite,” she said as if she was relieved to unburden herself to a sympathetic listener. “I didn’t know him very well before we married and…well…he’s so much older than I and so…so demanding in certain ways.”

  Lady Elvira’s eyes fairly glowed with avid interest. “Is he indeed? That must be very distressing for you.”

  “At least he is a handsome man,” Esme said with a sigh, “although I fear that he can be impulsive and impetuous in other ways, as well. For instance, I have no idea what exactly became of my dowry after we married. I don’t dare ask my husband, though, in case he gets angry. I know he trusts Mr. McHeath with his legal business—mortgages and contracts and such—and I do hope and pray he isn’t wrong to do so.” She gave Lady Elvira a beseeching look. “Have you ever heard anything to suggest Mr. McHeath isn’t trustworthy?”

  “Not at all,” Lady Elvira assured her with another pat on her hand. “He’s from a whole family of lawyers and his father was a judge. I’m sure you can have faith in him.”

  “Oh, thank you! You’ve set my mind at ease.”

  Which she had, at least a little. If there was any hint of wrongdoing or bad dealings on Mr. McHeath’s part, Lady Elvira was the sort of woman who’d probably know it and even exaggerate the tales. “I thought I was wrong to doubt him, but you can’t be too sure about people, can you?”

  “No, you can’t. It’s always wise to be a tad suspicious, especially of handsome men,” Lady Elvira said with a meaningful look that suggested to Esme that she wasn’t only referring to Mr. McHeath.

  Tempting though it was to ask Lady Elvira questions about the MacLachlanns, Esme wasn’t there to learn about them. She should find out about the people named in the documents she’d found hidden in the Earl of Duncombe’s chair.

  “Tell me, do you know if a physician named Kenneth Sutherland lives nearby?” she asked. “I believe he and his family moved to Edinburgh after purchasing a large house and some property not far from the castle.”

  “Oh, indeed I do! Dr. Sutherland is a surgeon at the Royal Infirmary and his father was a noted minister of the Church of Scotland. A fine family.”

  “How delightful!” Esme cried, not even trying to suggest a connection lest Lady Elvira ask questions. Let Lady Elvira assume she knew Dr. Sutherland through family or friends, not by reading his mortgage agreement with the Earl of Duncombe. “And do you also know the Miltons? Of the Upper Glen?”

  “My daughter is great friends with young Lady Milton. You seem to have a large acquaintance here, Lady Dubhagen.”

  She giggled as if embarrassed. “Oh, I’ve never met the Miltons. I heard their name the other night and wondered if they might be related to the poet of that name.”

  Fortunately Lady Elvira accepted her explanation about the Miltons, as well as the other names Esme could recall. Lady Elvira was apparently more eager and interested in proving her own vast social connections than finding out Esme’s. In each case, Lady Elvira knew the family and was more than willing to talk about their financial circumstances, at least as much as she knew.

  It was a relief to learn the people really existed. She didn’t want to discover that Mr. McHeath—or any solicitor—was cheating his clients.

  That avenue of query complete, she couldn’t resist the urge to ask the voluble, well-acquainted Lady Elvira another question. “I’ve also heard about another family of solicitors who used to live in Edinburgh, named McCallan. I gather it’s a mistake to mention them in the Earl of Duncombe’s hearing.”

  “Oh, indeed, that would not be wise,” Lady Elvira eagerly agreed.

  So, Jamie had been right to fear that what had happened with Catriona would taint his reputation in Edinburgh, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “The son was a fine fellow, by all accounts,” Lady Elvira continued, “but he made the mistake of asking for Lady Catriona’s hand in marriage. The earl would never agree, of c
ourse. He was only a solicitor, you see, and the earl would never consider anyone in the legal profession—or any profession at all—suitable for his daughter. She must marry a titled gentleman, or no one. And then there was the matter of Mr. McCallan’s sister.”

  Esme fought hard not to betray her surprise, but how could she have harmed Jamie’s chances with Catriona? She’d only spent one night in Edinburgh and never met anyone else before she and Jamie had left for London. “What did his sister have to do with it?”

  Lady Elvira shook her head as if about to announce a very serious failing. “Apparently she’s quite a bluestocking.”

  “And?” Esme prompted, sure there must be more.

  “Isn’t that enough?” Lady Elvira replied as if shocked that Esme wasn’t already completely horrified.

  Esme struggled to hide her annoyance and dismay at the woman’s attitude. “Have you met her?” she asked, knowing full well that she had never been introduced to Lady Elvira until she’d come to Edinburgh with MacLachlann.

  “She was still away at school, but we heard about her often. Poor Mr. McCallan was quite proud of her. If only he’d known that the earl cannot abide overeducated, opinionated young women!”

  Although Esme was proud of her education and not shy about having opinions, she couldn’t prevent the heated flush that spread over her face at the idea that she had been, even inadvertently, the cause of any trouble for Jamie. “But what about love? Did the young man love Lady Catriona and did she love him?”

  Lady Elvira regarded Esme as if she’d taken complete leave of her senses. “Lady Catriona stands to inherit too much money to marry solely for love! She must marry someone who knows how to manage wealth and property—and that means a title. And while a solicitor might understand the legalities, he’d never really be accepted by society.”

  Her level of society, she meant.

  “And of course, when fortunes and expectations are so mismatched, there’s always the possibility that one of the parties is a fortune hunter.”