Highland Rogue, London Miss Page 2

  The full implication of what her brother was proposing hit Esme like a runaway horse.

  “No!” she cried as she jumped to her feet, every part of her rebelling at this ludicrous plan and especially at the thought of pretending to be MacLachlann’s wife. “That’s ridiculous! And illegal! There must be some other way. Some legal way to—”

  “Perhaps—if we knew what exactly was happening and who’s behind it, if indeed there’s anything illegal going on at all,” Jamie replied with remarkable patience. “It could be that Catriona is mistaken and her father’s losses are simply the result of poor business decisions. If he’s legally competent to make those decisions, there’s nothing she can do. But she has to know, one way or the other, and that’s the assistance I intend to give her—or rather, that I hope you’ll help me to give her.”

  “But why must we impersonate anybody?” Esme protested. “MacLachlann is still a nobleman, isn’t he? Wouldn’t he be invited? Couldn’t we say I’m a friend of his family who’s come to visit? Why must we pretend to be other people?”

  “I’m a disgraced, disowned nobleman,” MacLachlann said without a hint of shame or remorse. “I can’t move in the same social circles anymore. Augustus and his wife can.”

  To her chagrin, he no longer seemed upset or even slightly dismayed by this incredible scheme.

  “What if we’re caught?” she demanded. “I’m not going to prison for Catriona McNare!”

  “I have no intention of going to prison, either,” MacLachlann said with infuriating calm, “but since it’s my brother I’ll be impersonating, I have no fear of that. As Jamie no doubt took into consideration when he concocted this scheme, Augustus has a holy horror of scandal. He’ll never charge his own brother with a crime. He’d be only too happy to pass it off as some sort of joke on my part.”

  Jamie’s little smile and the looks the men exchanged told her that Jamie was, indeed, well aware of this possible outcome.

  Nevertheless, that didn’t satisfy Esme. “Your brother might not want to see you imprisoned, but he might have no such qualms about charging me with impersonating his wife.”

  “No need to worry, little plum cake,” MacLachlann said with what could be genuine joy. “I know—and can prove—a few things about my dear brother’s past indiscretions that he won’t want revealed to the general public. That should keep you safe from prosecution.”

  “Surely people will realize I’m not the earl’s wife.”

  “Nobody in Edinburgh’s ever met her,” MacLachlann said. “They met and married in the West Indies.”

  He sounded as if he thought there were no more objections to be made, but there were other considerations—important ones, if they would be living together as husband and wife. They would be cohabiting the same house, sharing the same domestic arrangements. People would assume they shared more than that. Who could say what an attractive wastrel like MacLachlann might also assume? That he would be able to…? That she might even be eager?

  The thought was…horrifying. Yes, terrible and awful and she would never succumb to any attempted seduction by him, or any man, no matter how handsome or charming he was. “I have no wish to pretend to be your wife, in any capacity or for any reason!” she firmly declared.

  MacLachlann coolly raised a brow. “Not even if your brother asks you?”

  He had her there, and he knew it. She could see it in his mocking blue eyes.

  “Esme,” Jamie quietly interjected. “Never mind. I can see my plan isn’t going to work.”

  Her brother came to her and took her hands in his. Only once before had Esme seen such an expression of defeat in Jamie’s eyes, and this time, she had put it there. “I know I’m asking a tremendous boon, so if you refuse, I won’t blame you. Quinn and I will find another way to get the information we seek.”

  Yes, they probably could—but it might be another way that would send Jamie to Edinburgh and bring him back into Lady Catriona’s orbit, to have his heart broken again, or that old wound reopened.

  To be sure, Jamie’s plan was not without risk, and she didn’t want to help Lady Catriona McNare, but how could she deny his request when he had never asked anything of her before? He was the only family she had. Their mother had died of a fever two days after giving her birth and their father of heart trouble when she was twelve and Jamie an eighteen-year-old solicitor’s clerk. Not only that, he allowed her liberties few other men would. What was this risk when measured against all that he had done for her and the way he let her almost practise law? “Very well, Jamie, I’ll do it.”

  MacLachlann picked a piece of lint from his lapel. “Now that that’s all settled, I’ll write to my brother’s solicitor informing him that the Earl of Dubhagen has decided to return to Edinburgh and ask him to hire suitable servants, as well as see that the house is made ready for our arrival.

  “Your sister’s going to need some new clothes,” he added, addressing Jamie as if she wasn’t there. “Her current wardrobe is hardly suitable for an earl’s wife.”

  Esme opened her mouth to protest, then realized his observation might have some merit. While her clothes were clean, tidy and serviceable, an earl’s wife would have more fashionable garments made of more expensive material.

  “Esme will have plenty of new clothes,” Jamie assured MacLachlann as he went to his desk and pulled out a book of cheques. “You should, too. I’ll also pay for the hire of a coach to take you to Edinburgh, and you’ll have some household expenses, as well.”

  He wrote out a cheque, the size of which made Esme gasp. Jamie was in charge of their finances and always had been, so she knew little of that part of his business, yet although he had always been generous with her pin money and paid the household expenses without complaining, she’d tried to keep house as frugally as possible. Then to see him hand over so much money to a man like MacLachlann…!

  Even more frustrating, when MacLachlann took the cheque, the man didn’t so much as bat an eye at the amount.

  Instead, he tugged his forelock and said, “Thank you, sir! When are we to depart on this mission?”

  “Do you think you can be ready in a week?”

  “I can. The question is, can my charming wife?”

  Esme ground her teeth and reminded herself that she must put up with MacLachlann’s insolence for Jamie’s sake. “I’ll be ready.”

  “The coach and driver will be waiting at our house in a week,” Jamie said. “Come as early in the day as you can to get a good start on the journey.”

  “I hear and obey,” MacLachlann replied as he strolled to the door, then turned back and gave them a theatrical bow. “And so, my little plum cake and dearest, bogus brother-in-law, I bid you adieu until we depart for Edinburgh. I only wish I could take my lovely bride to the ancestral seat in the Highlands, but alas, I fear time will not permit.”

  The scoundrel was enjoying this far, far too much!

  “Careful, my love,” MacLachlann said as he straightened, “lest your face remain permanently in that most unflattering expression.”

  Then, with another aggravating smirk, he sauntered out of the room.

  Esme immediately turned to confront her brother, but before she could say anything, he spoke with heartfelt sincerity. “I do appreciate you’re taking a risk for me, Esme, and I’m more grateful than words can express.”

  Her frustration diminished; nevertheless, she had to voice her concern. “That was a lot of money to simply hand over to such a man, Jamie.”

  “It will be well spent and if there’s anything left over, duly returned to me,” her brother replied.

  He went to his desk, opened the top drawer and took out a ledger she’d never seen before. “Quinn keeps excellent account of everything he spends when he’s doing a job for me, so I know where every ha’penny has gone. Here, see for yourself.”

  He opened the leather-bound book and turned it toward her. On the ruled lines were itemized expenses written in a hand even neater than her own.

&nbs
p; On the surface, the list looked extraordinarily complete, down to a loaf of bread and pint of ale for a dinner. And yet… “How can you be sure that was how the money was spent?” she asked.

  “Receipts. He gives me receipts, for everything. I have them here.” Jamie opened another drawer and took out a large folder full of pieces of paper of various sizes and in various conditions. Some looked as if they’d been crumbled into a ball, others seemed quite pristine.

  “Very well, he may be fiscally responsible,” she conceded, “but there are other elements of his character, of his past, that are far from exemplary.”

  “There’s no denying that he’s made mistakes in his past, as he’ll fully acknowledge. But he’s committed no crime and the only person he ever harmed by his actions has been himself.”

  Esme pushed the folder back to her brother. “Yet his own family has cast him out, have they not?”

  “It’s their loss more than his. His was a most unhappy childhood, Esme.”

  “His family are rich and titled. Many people grow up in far more terrible conditions, yet don’t lose their money gambling or waste their days in idleness and drinking to excess.”

  “A boy raised with wealth can still be lonely and miserable,” her brother observed. “And he never uses his childhood as an excuse. Indeed, he very rarely speaks of it. I found more out about his family from other friends at school than I ever did from him.”

  Jamie put the ledger back in the drawer and raised his eyes to regard her steadily. “While he gambled and drank too much, that was in the past. He’s been absolutely trustworthy and done everything I’ve ever asked of him, and well.” Her brother sat on the edge of his desk. “He feels remorse, too, although he rarely shows it. Do you know where I found him that night I brought him home?”

  She shook her head.

  “On Tower Bridge. He never said what he was doing there, but the way he was standing there, looking down at the water…” Jamie shook his head before turning to stare out the window, unseeing. “I don’t think he was taking the air, and if I hadn’t been searching for him and found him…”

  Quintus MacLachlann had been about to kill himself? She found it difficult to accept that a man of such vitality would ever seek to end his existence.

  “Thank God I did find him, and I’ve been more than glad ever since,” Jamie said as he pushed himself off the desk.

  He looked back at Esme and studied her face. “Is that all you’re worried about, Esme? Or do you think he might try to take liberties with you? If so, rest assured that he won’t. He’s had…well, there have been women in his life, I know, but he’s never been cruel or lascivious. If I thought there was any chance of that, I’d never let you go with him, especially in the guise of his wife. Besides, if there’s a woman alive who’s immune to any man’s attempted seduction, it’s you.”

  Yes, she would be immune to any man’s seductive efforts, especially those of a man who teased and mocked her.

  Jamie put his hands on her shoulders as he looked deeply into her eyes. “You can trust him, Esme. Please believe me when I say that beneath Quinn’s devil-may-care exterior is a good, honest man, or I’d never have suggested you go to Edinburgh with him.”

  Esme nodded her head. She wanted to believe Jamie. She wanted to believe she was going to Edinburgh for a just cause with a trustworthy man.

  But she really wished neither Catriona McNare nor Quintus MacLachlann had ever been born.

  Chapter Two

  A week later and attired in new trousers and Wellington boots, a shirt of brilliantly white linen, black silk cravat, double-breasted vest in a black-and-gray horizontal-striped satin, black woollen jacket, and an equally new bottle-green greatcoat with three capes, the formerly Honorable Quintus Aloysius Hamish MacLachlann strolled up the street toward Jamie McCallan’s town house, a valise bumping against his thigh.

  Jamie’s home was a well-kept little establishment on the edge of Mayfair, close enough to impress the ton, but far enough away to be affordable if a man made a good living, as Jamie obviously did.

  As Quinn trotted up the steps to the front door and raised the polished brass knocker in the shape of a thistle, the curtain at the front bow window shifted. The movement was barely noticeable, yet it was enough to suggest that somebody was keeping watch.

  Esme, no doubt. The woman was like a prison guard. She was also beyond prejudiced, always ready to believe the worst of him, regardless of any evidence to the contrary and despite the necessary work he did for her beloved brother.

  Since she thought him beneath contempt, was it any wonder he was always tempted to say outrageous things to her? To tease and mock and goad her until she gave him the edge of her sharp and clever tongue?

  Jamie’s butler, a tall, slender fellow of indeterminate age, opened the door and took Quinn’s hat and valise. “They’re waiting for you in the drawing room, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Quinn briskly replied, darting a passing glance at his reflection in the pier glass in the spotlessly clean foyer. In this rig he did look like his brother, certainly enough that the ruse should work.

  He’d never imagined Jamie had such a devious streak. Well, there had been hints of it at school, he supposed. A few times Jamie had gone with him to sneak a bit of food from the buttery, and once even told him when the cook would be away, but he’d never gotten drunk on the cooking sherry, or cheated on tests, or lied to the headmaster.

  The drawing room was as neat and tidy as the foyer. It was simply, but tastefully, furnished, with nary a figurine or knickknack in sight. He had never seen a speck of dust or dirt in either Jamie’s home or office. He suspected even dust and dirt were too intimidated by his sister to linger. Books there were in plenty, however, and what furniture there was had been well-crafted. The camelback sofa and chairs were worn, but comfortable, and the mantel—

  Esme stood by the mantel, but Esme as he’d never seen or imagined her. Her eyes were downcast, her dark eyelashes fanning over smooth, pink cheeks and her slender, yet shapely, figure encased in a well-fitting traveling gown of soft pale blue wool. The bodice, bordered by a band of scarlet ribbon, accentuated perfect breasts. Glossy, chestnut-brown tresses were beneath a charming bonnet decorated with small scarlet rosettes, and a few even more charming tendrils of soft curls fell upon her cheek and neck.

  She looked young, pretty, fresh, modest—the very picture of Youthful Femininity, until she raised her head and glared at him with irate hazel eyes, her bow-shaped lips turning down in an equally irate frown.

  “Although I see you at least remembered to shave, you’re late,” she snapped, running an imperious gaze over him.

  He sauntered farther into the room, just as fiercely determined to prevent her from seeing that he was even remotely disturbed by her disapproval. “I went to a barber, so now my cheeks are as smooth as silk. Care to feel?”

  “Certainly not!” Esme exclaimed before she abruptly turned away.

  But she was blushing, and she’d lowered her eyes again, as if she was tempted to touch him but didn’t dare.

  Good God, could Esme McCallan secretly want to touch him? This was a most interesting development and one definitely worth exploring. “You look lovely, Esme.”

  “I’ll thank you to keep your unwelcome remarks to yourself!”

  “You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who didn’t appreciate a compliment.”

  “If I thought there was any sincerity to your observations, I might be flattered.”

  Despite her contempt, he tried again. “I am being sincere. You look very nice. I never realized what a difference a change of clothes could make.”

  She whirled around to face him.

  And then, a miracle. She smiled—a warm and genuine smile. His heart leapt with what might be joy, although it had been a long time since he’d felt anything like true happiness, so he could be wrong.

  “Jamie,” she said, walking past him.

  She’d been smiling at her brother, who had
entered the room behind him.

  Of course. He must have been momentarily mad to think Esme would ever smile at him like that, and he must not be disappointed. After all, there were plenty of other women who were eager for his attention.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Jamie,” he said before Esme could condemn him. “I was delayed by the tailor.”

  “Never mind. There’s still plenty of time to get out of London and a good distance before dark,” Jamie replied. “The money was well spent, I see.”

  “So was yours. I confess I had my doubts about your sister’s ability to pass for a titled young lady, but in those clothes, I think she could.”

  “How delightful that my garments meet with your approval,” Esme said coldly. “Now might I suggest we be on our way? The sooner we reach Edinburgh, the sooner we can conclude our business and return.”

  Quinn couldn’t agree more.

  As the hired town coach rattled along the road north, Quinn didn’t bother to hide his scowl or attempt to make conversation. Why should he exert himself with a woman who was so obviously determined to detest him?

  Water from the puddles left by the heavy rain the previous night splashed up nearly to the windows, and the sky was dull and overcast, with a brisk breeze that did nothing to add to the comfort of the coach.

  “If you slouch any more, you’ll ruin your greatcoat,” Esme noted as the heavy vehicle upholstered with striped worsted jostled over yet another rut in the road. “It must have cost my brother a pretty penny.”

  “I doubt it cost more than the pelisse you’re wearing and probably less,” he replied, sliding a little lower on the seat just to spite her. “I’d wager my whole wardrobe cost less than one of your gowns, and I have the receipts to prove it.”

  She gave him a haughty look. “I know how to drive a bargain.”

  “I’m sure a look from you can freeze the marrow of a modiste’s bones and convince her to work at a loss,” he agreed. “I, however, believe in paying for a job well done.”

  “I only want my money’s worth.”