Highland Heiress. Margaret Moore

was right to do so,” she said as she went to the hearth and tugged the bellpull beside it. “Good day, Mr. McHeath. Walters will show you out.”

      When Gordon returned to McStuart House, he immediately went in search of his host, although every step seemed an effort. He wasn’t looking forward to having to relay Lady Moira’s response any more than he’d been to confront her. Indeed, he’d been seriously tempted to leave without revealing the purpose of his visit when he saw that Lady Moira was the woman he’d helped and kissed, but gratitude and duty demanded that he do what he’d been asked to do. Now Robbie would want to know what had happened.

      It would be far better for all concerned if they each simply went their own way, and let the past stay in the past. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, Robbie was determined to have his day in court, and be compensated for the blow to his pride.

      Even more unfortunately, Lady Moira wasn’t the only person in Dunbrachie who could be faulted for not knowing more about a man before entering into an agreement with him. He should have been much more wary of agreeing to represent Robbie in a legal matter, especially after he’d noticed how much Robbie drank that first afternoon.

      He finally found Robbie in the last room he thought to look—the library. Unlike the earl’s library, this one had an air of musty neglect, and many of the volumes weren’t even real books. In fact, Gordon was rather sure neither Robbie nor his father had read a book in its entirety after they left school.

      The dark draperies added to a sense of genteel decay, and the portraits in this room all seemed to be of people in a state of chronic indigestion.

      Its only saving grace—and perhaps its appeal for Robbie—was the large windows opening to the terrace. Or maybe its isolation from the other rooms, and thus its silence, explained why he had gone there.

      Naturally Robbie wasn’t reading a book. He wasn’t even awake. He lay sprawled on his back on one of the worn, silk-covered sofas, his right arm thrown over his face, his left crossed over his chest and an empty bottle of port on the floor beside him.

      Chapter Four

      Gordon sighed heavily and leaned back against one of the shelves. Whatever Robbie thought, Lady Moira was right to be wary of marrying a man who drank so much. In his practice he’d seen too many marriages fall into bitter ruin and too many families destroyed because of drink.

      Robbie’s blue eyes flickered open. “Gordo! You’re back!” he muttered as he lurched to a sitting position. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

      “I’m only just returned,” he replied. He came farther into the room and sat in a wing chair opposite Robbie. He nodded at the bottle on the floor. “Isn’t it a little early for that?”

      Robbie sighed and rubbed his temples as he hunched over. “My head ached, so I had a little drink for medicinal purposes.”

      “A little drink?”

      “Aye, just enough to put me to sleep.”

      “Perhaps your head ached from imbibing too much last night,” Gordon suggested, trying to keep his tone nonjudgmental.

      Robbie frowned. “You’re not my nursemaid.”

      “No, I’m not. I’m your friend, and I’m worried about you.”

      Robbie slid down until he was lying on his back, his head resting on the arm of the sofa. “If I’m drinking a little more than usual, it’s because that’s the only way I can sleep most nights.”

      Gordon wondered what his “usual” amount of drinks per day would be, then decided that really didn’t matter. What mattered was Robbie’s current condition, which was obviously far from healthy. He was still too thin and pale, with dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. “Maybe we should send for the doctor.”

      Robbie shook his head as he closed his eyes. “No doctor. It’s this business with Moira that has me out of sorts, that’s all. I’ll be fine when it’s over.”

      “Perhaps if we went riding, or walked up the hills, that would help you sleep.”

      Robbie turned his head to look out the long mullioned windows. “Not today,” he said with a weary sigh. “It’s going to rain.”

      He was, unfortunately, right. The sky was a dull slate gray that foretold a downpour before the afternoon was over.

      Robbie suddenly seemed to remember where Gordon had been. “So what happened?” he demanded as he squirmed to a sitting position, his feet on the floor. “What did my former fiancée say when you told her I was suing her for breach of promise?”

      Not wanting to inflame the situation even more, Gordon tried to choose his words wisely. “Naturally she was upset.”

      That was true, although not in the way Robbie seemed to interpret his response, judging by the gleam of triumph that came to his red-rimmed eyes. “As well she should be! Was she willing to settle out of court?”

      Gordon had done his best to talk Robbie out of naming such a huge sum in damages; the best he’d been able to do was suggest that he be willing to compromise and eventually settle for a lesser amount in order to save time and expenses. After much persuading, Robbie had finally agreed. Regrettably, Lady Moira had rendered his victory moot. “No, she did not.”

      Robbie’s expression dulled, but only for a moment. “Well then, she’ll have to pay the whole amount when we win—plus expenses!”

      Robbie had always been a confident fellow and clearly nothing that had happened to him had altered that. “She believes she will not lose.”

      “Ha!” Robbie snorted as he got to his feet, kicking over the bottle and paying it no heed as it rolled across the Aubusson carpet and came to a halt at the edge of the marble hearth. “Of course she will! Everybody in Dunbrachie knew we were engaged. Everybody knows she broke it off. How did you put it? Ah, yes—she breached a verbal contract. And I’ve got the best solicitor in Scotland and England, too, to represent me.”

      This was no time to prevaricate. “I’m flattered by your compliments, Robbie, but she feels that given some of your less-than-exemplary behavior, a judge will be sympathetic to her.”

      Robbie laughed, although not with his usual merry mirth. This laugh was cold and harsh and ugly. “A female judge might take her side, but since there are no lady judges and never will be, I’ll win and Moira will have to pay. And then I…”

      He didn’t finish as he went to what looked like a row of books, pulled one half out of its slot, and revealed another liquor cabinet.

      Though Gordon didn’t think Robbie should have another drink, that wasn’t what bothered him most now. “And then you…what?”

      “And then I’ll be finished with her once and for all.”

      There was more to it than that, or Robbie wouldn’t be suing her. He would simply leave her alone. And he’d sounded almost…desperate.

      “You need the money!” Gordon blurted as an explanation for that desperation burst into his mind.

      “No. That is, not exactly,” Robbie said, blushing as he poured some whiskey from a Waterford decanter into a crystal glass that looked nearly as dusty as the books.

      Did the man have alcohol squirreled away in every room of his house? Was that where his money was going?

      But the McStuarts had been rich for generations, with more wealth than any one man could possibly drink away.

      “The money would come in handy, that’s all,” Robbie said as the distinct scent of whiskey reached Gordon’s nostrils. “I have a few debts I’d like to get rid of sooner rather than later.

      “Besides, it’s the principle of the thing. She broke a contract and she ought to pay a penalty,” he finished before he downed his whiskey in a gulp.

      “Was