Highland Rogue, London Miss
Author
Margaret Moore
Reads
19.9K
Chapters
20
Chapter One
London February 1817
Esme McCallan paced restlessly in the solicitor’s office in Staple Inn. From beyond the closed door she could hear the hushed voices and footsteps of clients coming to meet with other attorneys. Some of the steps were as brisk as Esme’s, others slow and shuffling and defeated.
None of them belonged to her brother.
Esme hated waiting, as Jamie well knew, yet here it was almost 3:30 p.m. on a wet, chilly afternoon and Jamie was not here to meet her, even though he himself had set the time. There was only one thing that could irritate her more and—
It happened.
Quintus MacLachlann strolled into the office without so much as a tap on the door. Of course she hadn’t heard him approaching; the man moved as silently as a cat.
Dressed in a brown woollen jacket, indigo waistcoat, white shirt open at the neck and baggy buff trousers, one could easily assume he was the son of peasants and earned his keep bare-knuckle fighting. Only his voice and lord-of-the-manor self-importance suggested he was something else, if not the truth—that he was the disgraced, rakehell son of a Scottish nobleman who had squandered every advantage his family’s wealth and station had provided.
“Where’s Jamie?” he asked with that combination of arrogance and familiarity she found particularly aggravating.
“I don’t know,” she replied as she perched on the edge of the small, serviceable, oval-backed chair her brother kept for his clients. She smoothed out a wrinkle in the lap of her dark brown pelisse and adjusted her unadorned bonnet by a fraction of an inch so that it was more properly centered on her smoothly parted, straight brown hair.
“That’s not like him,” MacLachlann unnecessarily observed as he leaned back against the shelves holding Jamie’s law books. “Was he meeting someone?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated, silently chastising herself for her ignorance. “I’m not informed of all the appointments my brother makes.”
MacLachlann’s full lips curved up in an impudent grin and his bright blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “What, the mother hen doesn’t know every move her little chick makes?”
“I am not Jamie’s mother and since Jamie is a grown man with a fine mind and education that he has not wasted, no, I don’t keep watch over his every move.”
Her words had no effect on the wastrel, who continued to grin like a demented gargoyle. “No? Well, he’s not with a woman, anyway, unless she’s a client. He never indulges in that sort of thing during the day.”
Esme’s lips tightened.
“So there’s something else the mother hen doesn’t know, eh?” MacLachlann said with a chuckle that made her feel as if she’d stepped into some kind of low establishment where all manner of indecencies occurred—probably the sort of place MacLachlann spent most, if not all, of his evenings.
“My brother’s private life is not my concern,” she said, sitting up even straighter and fixing MacLachlann with a caustic glare. “If I made all his business mine, I would know why he ever hired a rogue like you.”
The sparkle in MacLachlann’s blue eyes changed into a different sort of fire. “Is that supposed to hurt, little plum cake?” he asked, thickening his brogue and using an epithet she hated with a passion. “If it is, ye’ve missed the mark entire. I’ve been insulted in ways that’d curl the toes of your thick-soled boots.”
Tucking her boot-clad feet under her chair, Esme turned her head toward the square-paned window that overlooked the soggy inner garden and didn’t deign to answer.
She must speak to Jamie about MacLachlann’s insolence. If MacLachlann wouldn’t treat her with the proper respect, there had to be other men in London who were equally capable of finding out information. Her brother need not employ MacLachlann for that purpose, even if he had gone to school with Jamie.
With a self-satisfied smirk, MacLachlann strolled over to the desk and, with one long, ungloved finger, tapped the documents she’d placed there. “I wonder what your brother’s clients would say if they knew his sister was as good as a partner in the business? That it was a woman who wrote the contracts, wills, entailments and settlements and did most of his research for him?”
Esme jumped to her feet. “I merely help him compose the first draft of such documents and find legal precedents for him. Jamie always writes the final documents and checks everything I do. If you dare to say or imply otherwise to anyone, we’ll sue for slander. And if you write it anywhere or tell any member of the press who reports it, we’ll sue for libel—not that you’ll be able to pay any damages.”
“Settle down, Miss McCallan, and put your law-book mind at ease,” MacLachlann replied in his most patronizing manner. “I won’t tell anybody about all the work you do for your brother.” His customary smirk left his face for the briefest of moments. “I owe him too much.”
Just what? she wanted to ask. Jamie had never told her exactly where or how he’d encountered MacLachlann in London. Jamie had simply brought the obviously inebriated man home, let him sleep in the spare room and then given him employment as a sort of investigative associate. Naturally she’d had questions, most of which Jamie declined to answer, saying only that MacLachlann had fallen on hard times and was estranged from his family. Only later, through snippets of conversation between the two men, had she learned that MacLachlann had disgraced his family with his wastrel ways.
She’d also discovered, through firsthand observation, that he could be very charming when he wished to be, especially with women, who then responded as if he’d somehow turned their minds to porridge.
Not hers, of course. She was far too wary and sceptical to be swayed by his shallow charm, should he ever have attempted to sway her with it.
She glanced at the gilded clock on the mantelpiece and saw that it was now nearly 4:00 p.m.
“Impatient, are we?” the wastrel inquired.
“You may have nothing better to do than loiter,” Esme declared as she started for the door, “but I do. Good day.”
“What, you’re going to leave me here all alone?” MacLachlann demanded with bogus dismay.
“Yes, and gladly,” she snapped as she opened the door and nearly collided with Jamie.
“Ah, here you are, then, the pair of you and no blood spilled,” her tardy brother said with a smile, his stronger accent telling her that despite his apparent good humor, he was upset.
“I finished the documents you wanted,” she said, curious about what had happened, although she would never ask such a question with MacLachlann in the room. Hopefully she could find out later, when she and her brother were alone. “I discovered an interesting precedent in a case from 1602, concerning a sheep whose ownership was disputed due to lack of an earmark.”
Jamie hung his tall hat on the wall hook by the door. “I’ll deal with Mrs. Allen’s suit tomorrow,” he said, running his hand through his close-cropped brown curls as he went around the scarred and ancient desk they’d found at a used furniture shop. “And while I thank you for bringing the papers, I have another matter with which I hope you’ll both assist me.”
A swift glance in the wastrel’s direction proved he was no more keen to have anything to do with her than she was with him.
“Sit down, Esme, and let me explain. You, too, Quinn, if you please,” her brother said, nodding at the chair.
Regarding her brother with a combination of curiosity and dread, Esme did as he asked. She again perched on the edge of the chair, while Quinn sat on another equally small chair and tilted it back so that all the weight rested on the back legs.
“You’re going to break that chair if you lean back in such a fashion,” Esme charged.
“Care to make a wager on it?” MacLachlann replied with that mocking grin she hated.
She didn’t give him the satisfaction of answering.
“I’ve asked you both here,” her brother began as if neither one had spoken, “because I need your help with a matter that requires legal expertise and discretion, as well as a certain amount of subterfuge.”
“Subterfuge?” Esme repeated warily.
“Surely you’re not so naive as to believe the practise of law doesn’t occasionally require some creative espionage,” MacLachlann said, “at least when it comes to finding out facts that some people would prefer to keep buried.”
“I understand there may be facts that need to be ferreted out, but subterfuge sounds illegal,” she protested.
MacLachlann rolled his eyes and looked about to say more, but Jamie spoke first. “It’s not the method I would prefer. However, I fear that in this instance, subterfuge may be the only way to find out what I must,” he said. “Certainly it will likely be the fastest, and the sooner the matter is resolved, the better.”
Esme forced her qualms, along with her dislike of MacLachlann, into a corner of her mind and focused on her brother.
“I had a letter from Edinburgh this morning. Catriona McNare needs my help.”
Esme’s mouth fell open as she stared at her brother. “Lady Catriona McNare asked for your help? After what she did to you?”
Jamie winced before replying. Although she felt her indignation more than justified, she was sorry she hadn’t been more circumspect.
“She needs the help of someone she can trust, and a solicitor’s confidential opinion,” he said. “To whom should she turn but me?”
Anybody except you, Esme thought, remembering the night Catriona McNare had broken her engagement to Jamie.
Poor Jamie’s face had been as white as snow and his eyes full of such mute misery, she’d spent all night outside his bedroom door, afraid he might harm himself.
“There are plenty of solicitors in Edinburgh she could hire,” she said.
A resolutely determined look came to her brother’s usually mild coffee-brown eyes. “Catriona’s asked for my help, and she’s going to get it.”
“Help with what?” MacLachlann asked, reminding Esme that he was still there.
A studious expression had replaced his mocking smirk, and it made an astonishing difference. Not an improvement, exactly, for smirking or otherwise, MacLachlann was a good-looking man. It did, however, hint that there might be some measure of sincerity in him after all.
Probably about a teaspoon’s worth.
“It seems her father has suffered some financial setbacks,” Jamie explained. “Unfortunately the earl won’t confide in her or reveal exactly what he’s been doing with his money or what documents he’s been signing. She’s afraid the situation will get worse unless something is done.
“I would go to Edinburgh myself, but if I arrive and start making inquiries, people will wonder why. Nobody will know you, though, Esme. We didn’t have a chance to introduce you to anybody before…” He hesitated for the briefest of moments. “Before we left for London.”
And a new life, far away from Lady Catriona McNare, the Mistress of Duncombe.
“There’s nobody I trust more when it comes to assessing legal documents than you, Esme,” Jamie continued. “You’ll be able to tell if there’s anything wrong with the ones the earl’s been signing.”
“I suppose you’ll want me to get the documents?” MacLachlann asked.
“I don’t want you to steal them,” Jamie clarified, much to Esme’s relief. “I want you to get Esme into the earl’s house so she can see the documents.”
So much for her relief.
“What exactly do you mean, get me into his house?” Esme demanded. “House-breaking is against the law, punishable by—”
“I don’t mean break into the house,” Jamie interrupted. “I simply want Quinn to help you get near the documents so you can read them.”
“Hence, subterfuge,” MacLachlann supplied. “But what sort of subterfuge?” Esme persisted.
“We need an excuse to get you into the earl’s house without raising suspicion. If I wouldn’t be welcome there—and I certainly would not—neither would my sister,” Jamie said. “Quinn, you’ve mentioned that your older brother, the Earl of Dubhagen, has been living in the West Indies for the past ten years, although he still keeps a town house in Edinburgh. It’s occurred to me that if he returned to Edinburgh, he’d surely be invited to any fetes or parties or dinners Catriona and her father would host. I’ve heard that all the sons of the Earl of Dubhagen were remarkably similar in appearance, so I thought—”
MacLachlann straightened as if Jamie had slapped him. “You want me to impersonate Augustus?”
“In a word, yes,” Jamie said, “and since your brother is married, you’ll need a wife.”
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.
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.
