Highland Rogue. Deborah Hale

will be served at seven.” She pointed down the corridor. “This opens into the dining room. In the meantime, if there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ring for one of the stewards.”

      Ewan struggled to recover his manners, for Tessa’s sake and for his own pride. “I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable, thank ye, Miss Talbot. I’ll see ye at dinner.”

      With that, he ducked into his cabin and closed the door behind him.

      He stood there for a moment, listening to her brisk footsteps continuing on down the corridor, wondering if this voyage to Scotland with her had been such a wise decision, after all. Whether it was or not, he concluded at last, there wasn’t much he could do about it now except make the best of the opportunity it presented.

      His gaze swept the generously proportioned cabin, which smelled of lemon oil. The highly polished wood and brass fittings gleamed softly in the light that filtered through a curtained porthole. The place had an air of understated masculine elegance. It would suit him very well.

      His trunk had been safely stowed on a low platform, the rim of which would keep it from sliding in heavy weather. The bed, the dressing screen, a compact wardrobe and a small writing desk had all been bolted to the cabin floor for the same reason.

      When Ewan pulled out the leather upholstered chair, he found it had been weighted in the legs. He glanced behind the screen to discover a washstand with a brass-framed shaving mirror mounted above it. Might this have been Lord Lydiard’s cabin back when the family used to take their annual late summer holiday in the Highlands?

      Tossing his top hat onto the bed, Ewan tugged off his coat and unbuttoned his high collar. He flashed a jaunty wink at the prosperous gentleman who stared out of the mirror at him. “A fancy billet for a humble gillie boy, eh? Not much question ye’ve risen in the world, laddie!”

      Folk who knew him back in America likely thought he took this kind of life for granted. They’d be wrong, though.

      There’d been a short while, as he’d first begun to amass his fortune, when he’d been tempted to spend it on luxuries. But that had only made him feel wasteful. So he’d gone back to frugal living, and invested most of his earnings in the company, which had responded by becoming even more profitable.

      That would all have to change once he married Tessa. He would buy her a fine house, or perhaps have one built, designed to accommodate her every fancy. He’d shower her with splendid clothes and jewels and every comfort she’d enjoyed in her life so far.

      Would she be willing to return to America with him? he wondered. Or would she want to settle in England to remain near her family?

      While he continued to plan his new life, he stowed his coat and hat in the wardrobe, then unpacked a few clothes from his trunk. For a while after that, he roamed the cabin, not certain what to do with himself.

      It was too early yet to dress for dinner, and he saw no reason to wash or shave again, having made an adequate job of both earlier. Sleeping during the day went too much against the grain of a man used to working from dawn till dusk and often later.

      He toyed with the notion of sitting down at the writing desk and composing a letter to Tessa. He could explain why he’d decided to go on to Strathandrew ahead of her, then he could wish her a swift recovery and safe journey on the train. How would he ever post it, though, from out at sea? And even if he managed that feat, could he trust Lady Lydiard not to keep the message from her daughter?

      Though he’d had a good solid education at the village school, writing was still enough of a chore for him that he didn’t fancy going to the trouble of it for nothing.

      When a cautious knock sounded on the cabin door, Ewan jumped to answer it, welcoming a potential distraction, even for a few moments. “Aye, what can I do for ye?”

      “That’s what I came to ask ye, sir,” replied a small wiry man a few years Ewan’s junior. “Any clothes ye need laundered or…”

      The steward’s gaze rose from Ewan’s chin to look him full in the face. “Hang me! Ewan Geddes, is that ye in those toff clothes?” He thrust out his hand. “Jock McMurdo. Rosie’s nephew from Strathandrew.”

      “Wee Jockie, aye!” Ewan grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. “How’ve ye been, man? It does me good to see ye again!”

      No word of a lie, that. His restlessness had eased all at once, as if a fresh sea breeze had just blown down the galley way.

      Jockie stared at Ewan, shaking his head. “Auntie said ye’d made yer fortune in America. What brings ye back home again—as a guest of Miss Talbot, no less?”

      What would Jock and the rest of the folk at Strathandrew say when they discovered he might soon be more to Miss Talbot than a guest?

      “It’s a bit of a long tale, but I promise ye’ll hear it by and by. About what ye asked before, my gear’s all still as clean as when I left the hotel. The only thing I need is a bit of something to do. I’m not used to hanging about idle. I don’t suppose ye could put me to work?”

      Jockie laughed until he saw Ewan meant it. “Peel taties in the galley, ye mean? The captain’d have me keelhauled!”

      “Would he, now?” Ewan tried to hide his disappointment. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

      “Ye could come up and take a turn around the deck,” Jockie suggested. “I could introduce ye to the rest of the crew. At least ye’d get a breath of air and have folks to talk to.”

      The notion tempted Ewan, but…“Miss Talbot said we should come below to get out from underfoot of the crew.”

      “The Marlet’s slipped her moorings now.” Jockie shrugged. “It’s pretty quiet on deck. Besides, ye look like a man who’s sharp enough to get out of the way when he needs to.”

      Not always, Ewan admitted to himself, even as he nodded to Jockie. He’d never been wise enough to keep out of Claire Talbot’s way when she had her temper up.

      Was it possible he hadn’t wanted to?

      “Mark me, the gentleman won’t be able to take his eyes off you at dinner, miss.” Claire’s new maid, a bouncy little Welsh girl, brushed one last curl around her forefinger.

      Claire did not need to stare at herself in the dressing table glass to know that a fierce blush burned her cheeks. “It is a matter of total indifference to me whether Mr. Geddes so much as glances in my direction.”

      “Just as you say, miss.” The girl chuckled to herself as if she did not believe a word of it. “Though I think he’ll be a fool if he doesn’t. I suppose you don’t care whether you look at him, either.”

      Before Claire could stammer an answer, Williams prattled on, “You’ll be missing something if you don’t. For I caught a glimpse of him and I wouldn’t mind a few more. He’s as fine looking a gentleman as ever I saw.”

      “I suppose he’s well enough looking,” said Claire, “if you like that type.”

      “And do you, miss?”

      Far too much.

      Claire shrugged. “I suppose.”

      If only she could make herself feel as calm as she sounded! Now that she was about to put her plan into action, a host of misgivings assailed her, and she began to doubt her ability to carry it off.