Highland Heiress. Margaret Moore

she couldn’t imagine what. She went to the door and took the card. She glanced at it, then stared.

      Gordon McHeath, Solicitor, Edinburgh.

      Robbie McStuart’s friend was a solicitor? Even so, what could he possibly want with her? It couldn’t be because of that kiss…could it? That hadn’t violated any law that she was aware of.

      Perhaps it had something to do with the dog that had chased her. “Show him in, please.”

      Smoothing down her skirt and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, determined to keep the conversation coolly business-like, she perched primly on an armchair covered in emerald-green damask near the hearth.

      Mr. McHeath appeared on the threshold. He wasn’t dressed in his caped greatcoat and hat; otherwise, his clothing was similar, down to his riding boots. Without his hat, his tawny hair waved like ripples on a lake, and he was definitely as handsome and well built as she remembered.

      He hesitated, and a look passed over his face that made her think he was about to leave just as abruptly.

      He didn’t. His visage slightly flushed, as she suspected hers must be, he came farther into the room, his expression solemn to the point of grimness.

      Commanding herself to be calm and detached, and above all to forget she had ever kissed him, she said, “So, Mr. McHeath, what is this legal matter that has brought you here today?”

      His gaze swept over the room and furnishings, lingering for a moment at the pedestal table with the drawings still on top before he came to a halt and pulled a folded document from the pocket of his navy blue jacket.

      “I’ve come on behalf of Sir Robert McStuart regarding the matter of your broken engagement,” he said, his voice just as coldly formal as hers had been. “He’s bringing an action against you for breach of promise.”

      Moira stared at him in stunned disbelief. “Breach of…? He’s suing me?”

      “Yes.” McHeath took a deep breath, like a man about to dive into frigid water. “He’s seeking damages in the amount of five thousand pounds.”

      With a gasp as if she’d landed in that frigid water, Moira jumped to her feet. “I don’t believe it! Five thousand pounds? Five thousand pounds?”

      “I agree it’s a considerable sum, but you must be aware of the damage your change of mind has done to his reputation. He feels he should be duly compensated.”

      “His reputation?” she repeated, her hands balling into fists, her whole body shaking with righteous indignation. “What was his reputation, that he should set such store on it? And what about mine? Don’t you think mine has suffered just as much, if not more?”

      The solicitor didn’t seem the least nonplussed. “Then perhaps, my lady, you should offer a sum to settle before the matter goes before a judge.”

      “You want me to pay him off? Are you mad?” she demanded, appalled as well as angry. “I’m not going to give that libertine a ha’penny. If there’s anyone at fault for what happened, it’s him. Didn’t he tell you why I broke the engagement?”

      “He told me that you informed him that you no longer loved him,” the solicitor replied, still standing as stiff and straight as a soldier on a parade square. “He said that you were angry about his dalliance with a maid, and because he refused to assure you he would be faithful in the future.”

      All that was true and yet…” A dalliance? Only one?”

      Finally, something seemed to bring a spark of passionate life back to Gordon McHeath’s eyes. Unfortunately, the change lasted only an instant before he resumed that statuelike demeanor. “Yes, only one.”

      “In addition to the chambermaid at McStuart House, there were three girls at his family’s weaving mill and the scullery maid in his town house in Edinburgh that I know about,” she informed him. “There may very well be more. He also drinks, Mr. McHeath, far too much. He managed to keep that hidden from me for quite some time, but fortunately not long enough for me to go through with the marriage. I have long vowed that I would never marry a sot.”

      McHeath glanced down at the toes of his boots, so she couldn’t see his face. When he raised his eyes to her, his expression was again that blank mask, as if they’d never even met, let alone kissed. Indeed, she could hardly believe this was the same man who’d come rushing so gallantly to her rescue and who’d kissed her with such fervent passion.

      “It was your duty to find out about the man proposing marriage before you accepted him, my lady,” he said. “Apparently you did not. You could have asked for more time to consider. You did not. You also said that you no longer loved him. This suggests you not only felt a moral indignation when you learned of his liaisons, you experienced an inner revelation concerning the depth of your own feelings. That is something over which my friend had absolutely no control. You alone are responsible for that and as such, Sir Robert has some justification for his claim.

      “More importantly from a legal point of view, you entered into a verbal contract that was publicly announced, and you broke that contract.”

      “Good God,” she gasped, aghast at his cool and condemning response and backing away from him as if he held a loaded pistol. “You’re absolutely serious about this!”

      “I assure you, my lady, I would never jest about a lawsuit.”

      That she could well believe. Indeed, at this moment, she could well believe he never made a jest or joke about anything. But he was the man who had saved her from that dog, so surely he could have some sympathy for her feelings, and her decision. “Whatever I thought I felt, I realized I was wrong and acted accordingly. Would you really have me marry a man I no longer cared for and could no longer even respect? Would you really want me—or any woman—to tie herself to such a man under those conditions?”

      The attorney had the grace to blush as he steadily met her gaze. “No, I wouldn’t, but again I remind you, my lady, that whatever Sir Robert’s faults, it was your responsibility to discover them before you accepted his proposal.”

      Was the man made of marble? Had he no heart? “Surely a judge will side with me and agree that I was right to end the engagement.”

      “Judges are men, my lady. He may well agree that Sir Robert deserves to be compensated.”

      Unfortunately, he had a point. Men made the laws, and men upheld them.

      And what about Gordon McHeath, who had seemed so kind and chivalrous? “Do you condone his behavior, Mr. McHeath?”

      He didn’t look away. “Condone? No, I do not. But I was not raised as he was, by parents who believed their birth and station meant certain social mores didn’t apply to them.”

      “So even if you don’t agree with what he’s doing, you would defend him?”

      “I represent him.”

      With a horrible sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she thought of another reason he might believe a judge would side with Robbie. “Did you tell him that we kissed?”

      Although Mr. McHeath continued to regard her dispassionately, his cheeks reddened a little more. “I saw no need to mention that particular act to Sir Robert, or anyone else. I hope you have been similarly reticent. It does neither of us credit.”

      Her heart began to beat again, albeit erratically, for despite his explanation for his reticence, she sensed he wasn’t as sorry or ashamed as he claimed to be.

      Neither, she realized, was she—even now. Wanting to see if she was right, she pressed him for more of an explanation. “It would help your case, would it not?”

      “I saw no need to provide more evidence when I had hoped you would be reasonable and offer a sum in settlement so that the case need not proceed.”

      In spite of his evenly spoken reply, she sidled a little closer, so that she could see into his eyes,