Falling for the Highland Rogue. Ann Lethbridge

of the fat flawn who calls himself King of Ireland, you can think again. You Scots can bow and scrape before him if you like.’

      Some heads turned in their direction.

      ‘Jack,’ she said. ‘Hush.’

      He grinned. ‘You go. And tell me all about it after.’

      She stiffened slightly. ‘Jack, you know I can’t.’

      ‘I know nothing of the sort.’

      Well, here was the part he’d really been dreading. ‘Mrs West will need the appropriate attire, of course, if she is to be introduced to the King. And a ball gown.’

      ‘So this invitation of yours is going to cost me a pretty penny, is it, Gilvry?’

      Colour touched those high elegant cheekbones. Chill filled her gaze. ‘Jack. I do not wish to put you to such an expense.’

      It was a rare bird of paradise who cared how much she cost her keeper. ‘Please, allow me to take care of it,’ Logan said. And wished he’d bitten off his tongue when she looked startled and none too pleased. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

      O’Banyon jabbed him in the ribs. ‘I’m sure you’ll find the colleen here suitably grateful.’

      The words made him feel like a lecher. And was it a flash of anger in her eyes he saw, or a flash of some other emotion? Since she was now smiling calmly, he could only guess that she was pleased with the idea. ‘It seems the matter is settled,’ she said briskly. ‘Do you happen to know of a seamstress who can meet my needs at such short notice, Mr Gilvry?’

      ‘As it happens, I do.’ There was the mantua maker his sister-in-law used. He’d occasionally picked things up there for Selina when she hadn’t been able to come to town.

      ‘Naturally, you do,’ she said with a look that he did not comprehend. ‘Shall we go now?’

      He looked at O’Banyon. ‘If you have no objection.’

      The other man grinned widely. ‘None at all. Just don’t let her completely empty your pockets.’ He chucked her under the chin. ‘Eh, puss?’

      She arched a quizzical brow.

      Logan wanted to swallow the dryness in his mouth. He hadn’t felt this nervous since the gaugers had almost trapped the clan in Balnaen Cove with a shipload of brandy. God help him if after all this expense the Irishman did not come through with a large order.

      He’d be up to his ears in debt to Ian. But the compensation of squiring Mrs West around might just be worth it. Enough. He was her escort and nothing else. He wasn’t a fool. He had no illusions about the sort of traps a woman could lay for an unwary man.

      * * *

      While rain streamed down the outside of the windows and drummed on the roof, drowning out the noise from the streets, Charity observed her escort discreetly. He was far too handsome for a male of the species. Chiselled perfection, that face of his. A temptation for most women, But more attractive to her was his pleasant smile, his gentlemanly demeanour and his aura of innocent pleasure in the day.

      Innocent? He was no better than Jack. A smuggler. A man wanted by the law. Yet so confident in his ability to charm, he sat opposite her in the carriage, his long legs stretched out before him as if he had not a care in the world.

      She, who had thought she was dead to all emotion, fairly seethed with irritation.

      Did he have no idea the danger she presented? The knot of guilt in her stomach pulled tighter. Guilt. She had no reason in the world to feel guilty. He knew she was Jack’s creature. His tool. If he did not, then he was a fool and he deserved all he got. She clenched her hands in her lap and cast him a look from beneath her lashes that hinted at erotic desires.

      It gave her some satisfaction to see his gaze drop to her mouth, to see the movement of his strong throat as he swallowed, to know she had not lost her touch. Even as it galled her to know he was no different to the rest of them.

      Though why that should be, she did not understand. And not understanding increased her anger.

      It would cost him dear to parade her about like a prize. To a ball, no less. And worse yet, a Drawing Room. Something five years ago she would have taken as her due. Would have revelled in. Now she could only think of it with dread. But that wasn’t the reason for the knot in her stomach. It was the knowledge of the price he would expect her to pay for his generosity. He would expect to take her into his bed.

      Her stomach gave an odd little flutter of excitement.

      Horrified, she pressed a hand to her waist.

      ‘Are you nae well?’ he asked in that soft burr of his that she felt rather than heard. It was as intimate as a caress across her breasts. She felt them tighten and grow heavy against her will.

      She prevented her fingers from curling into claws and raking across his pretty face, or from sinking into his shoulders to test the strength of him, to feel muscle and bone. Either response would not help her cause of remaining detached.

      But he would pay for causing that little jolt of lust.

      She smiled calmly. ‘Perfectly fine, Mr Gilvry. Your Edinburgh roads are less well made than London’s.’

      He grinned, his eyes lighting with a flash of humour. ‘Please accept my apology. We Scots are a rough lot, so we do not mind a bit of bouncing around.’

      A double entendre? Likely. She pretended not to understand. ‘And is it like this in Dunross also?’ She frowned. ‘Where exactly is Dunross? I do not believe I have heard of it.’

      His smile broadened. ‘Oh, aye. Not too many people have heard of it, even in Scotland.’

      ‘I assume it is not a large place, then?’

      ‘Not large at all.’

      He was hardly being forthcoming. Did he suspect her of an ulterior motive in her questions? If he didn’t, he should.

      ‘And you have brothers, I understand. Do they also live in Dunross?’

      ‘My older brother, only. And his wife. My other brother Niall lives here in Edinburgh.’

      Not someone she would be meeting, no doubt, but she could not help sharpening her claws on his conscience.

      ‘Oh, how nice for you. Are you staying with them?’ Her expectant look said she hoped he would take her for a visit.

      His mouth tightened a fraction and his gaze slid away from hers. ‘I have lodgings elsewhere.’

      The man had quick wits, clearly. ‘So you live and work in Dunross. It must be hard, living so far from civilised society. From town. From all this activity.’

      He shook his head with a rueful smile. ‘I am thinking I get activity enough in my line of work.’

      ‘Smuggler.’

      ‘Aye. Not that I’d be admitting it to just anyone, you understand.’

      ‘Naturally.’

      He leaned back against the squabs with an expression of curiosity. ‘What about your family, Mrs West?’

      ‘I have no family.’ None that would admit to a relationship, anyway.

      ‘Then no Mr West, waiting for you in London.’

      Checking out the pitfalls. He was a smart lad. A husband might be one way to keep him at a distance. But, no, Jack would not countenance such a move on her part. ‘Sadly, no.’ She gave him a mocking smile and saw faint colour stain his cheekbones. ‘I am quite alone, now.’ Except for Jack and his damned schemes.

      ‘I am sorry for your loss.

      He looked sorry. And her heart gave a stupid little hop.

      ‘You find living in London to your taste?’ he asked.

      She