Highland Rogue. Deborah Hale

the intoxicating sensation that his cordial words set bubbling inside her. “I was horrible to you and you were horrible to me.”

      The captain must have been following their conversation, for he bellowed, “Raise the gangway! Weigh anchor!”

      “Come.” Claire beckoned Ewan toward the galley way. “I’ll show you to your cabin. If you like, you can rest before you change for dinner.”

      He followed her down the steep, narrow stairs that led below deck.

      “I apologize for going so slowly,” she said. “These steps are quite treacherous to negotiate in full skirts and petticoats. I often envy men your attire. It is so practical and designed for ease of movement. Sometimes I think the design of ladies’ fashions are contrived to hobble us.”

      Ewan laughed. “I wouldn’t have agreed with ye when I first went to America and had to wear trousers. For the longest time, I felt like I’d been bound—” he stumbled over his words “—down below.”

      His indelicate confession sent a rush of heat through Claire even as it made her nearly double over with laughter. But corsets were not designed for doubling over.

      To make matters worse, the Marlet gave a sudden lurch as it slipped from the quay. Already unbalanced, Claire might have tumbled down the last few stairs had Ewan not brought his arm around in a swift, deft movement to catch her…just below the bosom.

      As he pulled her toward him, the bracing masculine scent of his shaving soap enveloped her, making her light-headed.

      The instant she was no longer in danger of pitching forward, Ewan slid his arm from around her. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to take liberties with ye, Miss Talbot!”

      Claire managed to right herself, though her limbs had never felt less steady.

      “You have nothing to reproach yourself for.” She hoped he would attribute her breathless tone to the shock of almost falling, and the pressure of his arm around her chest. “In such a situation, one must act decisively, not dither about propriety. You saved me from a nasty spill and I am grateful.”

      “Then ye have changed a good deal in ten years, Miss Talbot.”

      Claire fixed all her concentration on descending the rest of the stairs without another mishap. Once she had reached the bottom, she risked a glance back at Ewan. “I beg your pardon?”

      His wide, mobile mouth crinkled at one corner and in the shaft of sunlight streaming down the galley way, his eyes twinkled. “I recollect one time I took yer arm when we were walking over some rough ground. Ye yanked it away as though ye’d touched a red-hot stove. Then ye said, ‘Unhand me, lout! I’m quite capable of making my own way.’”

      Her proud, foolish words, parroted back to her in his exaggerated falsetto, left Claire torn between laughter and cringing. How he must have detested her to have remembered the incident and her exact words after all these years!

      She longed to offer him a belated apology and some excuse for her conduct. But what could she say? Admit she’d burned for him with the fierce desire of youth? Confess that the sudden touch of his hand had made her fear she would burst into flames?

      Thank heaven she had outgrown such passionate nonsense!

      “As I recall…” Claire savored the tart tone of her voice, which had always served to keep Ewan Geddes at arm’s length and prevent him from guessing her true feelings. “…you came back with some sort of pithy reply to knock me flat. You always did.”

      “Me!” He affected a look of comic outrage. “Sass his lairdship’s daughter? I’d have been skinned alive for it!”

      Seen from his side, it must have felt like a very unfair fight. Claire had known the opposite was true. Her secret feelings for him had always given Ewan Geddes the advantage.

      “Oh, you never did trespass into outright insolence,” she reminded him. “But you always managed to get the upper hand, somehow. Your answer would have a double meaning, or it would sound so horribly polite, when all the time it was obvious you were mocking me.”

      Ewan mulled over what she had said for a moment. “Perhaps I did come off best now and then. I reckon ye put me in my place often enough, though. Ye had a tongue like a wasp in those days, lass.”

      “And you had a hide as thick as a Highland steer,” Claire countered, “or pretended to.”

      Her words made her think of something she’d never considered before. Was it possible Ewan had only pretended not to care what she’d said to him back then? Might he have taken her barbs to heart, nursing a deep resentment over the years? Now he gave every appearance of looking back on their old squabbles with wry amusement. Could that be only a pretense, too?

      “Do ye reckon we’ll be able to get all the way to Scotland without tearing one another to pieces?” he asked.

      Claire gave a little shrug. “Anything is possible. We aren’t a pair of beastly youngsters anymore, though time has not blunted my waspish tongue as much as I would like.”

      Not that she had wished it to, especially. Her tart tongue and pose of cool indifference had been her only weapons against Max Hamilton-Smythe and men of his ilk.

      Ewan did not look as though he grudged her that. His forceful features seemed to soften in a most appealing way. “Aye, well, I’ve been told I haven’t lost the chip off my shoulder. So I reckon that sets us even.”

      Her hand prickled with the urge to rise and caress his rugged cheek. Suddenly, Claire realized how close they had been standing, and for how long, with their gazes locked. Had she already let this man charm her into forgetting who he was and what he wanted?

      Heavens above, the Marlet had barely slipped its moorings! What state would she be in by the time they reached Strathandrew? Ready to stand as Tessa’s bridesmaid, perhaps, and to hand over half her shares of Brancasters to the happy couple as a wedding present?

      “I do beg your pardon.” She hoped her tone would not betray the swift reversal of her feelings. “I fear I am neglecting my duties as a hostess. We have days ahead of us to talk over old times. For now, I must show you to your cabin as I promised.”

      What could he possibly have said or done to vex Claire Talbot? Ewan pondered the matter as he followed her a short distance down the narrow, wood-paneled corridor.

      True, they’d been discussing the hostility that had once bristled between them. But they’d been doing it with tolerance and restraint born of maturity, each willing to own a share of the fault.

      Then, in less than the flicker of an eye, a change had come over Miss Talbot. A very subtle one, to be sure, but unmistakable for all that. It was as if a balmy west wind had suddenly veered, to whistle down from the north. Or some invisible door, held invitingly ajar, had been slammed shut in his face.

      If she’d been vexed with him for taking hold of her in such a bold way to keep her from pitching down those steep stairs, he could have understood it. She hadn’t turned a hair over that, though.

      Ewan wished he could forget the bewildering instant he’d pulled her close to him. The feather on her hat had tickled his nose, while the pressure of her bosom against his arm had tickled him…elsewhere. The notion that his old nemesis could affect him that way had staggered Ewan. Clearly, he’d been far too long without a woman.

      A wee rest before dinner might do him good. Or a wash up with very cold water.

      “These will be your quarters for the voyage.” Claire stopped in front of a door.

      Following so close on her heels, absorbed in his own thoughts, Ewan almost bumped into her. Quick reflexes rescued him, but only just. When his hostess turned toward him, she started and gave a little gasp to find him hovering so near.

      She took a step backward. “I hope the accommodations will suit you.”

      The unexplained stiffness of her