especially disapproved of his obvious fancy for her half sister. Ewan wondered if she might have been the one who’d tattled to old Lord Lydiard about his midnight meeting with Tessa, on the Talbots’ last night in Scotland, ten years ago.
Well, she’d get her comeuppance when he made Tessa his bride!
Long ago, Ewan had discovered that nothing vexed the elder Miss Talbot so much as when he pretended her slights had no power to vex him. Now, he shot her a wide grin of friendly recognition, with the faintest suggestion of mockery twinkling in his eyes. He knew it was bound to send her into a sputter of indignation. After all these years, he still relished the prospect of getting a rise out of her.
Miss Talbot crossed the ballroom floor with a brisk, purposeful stride. A man followed her.
“Claire!” Tessa cried when she spotted her sister. “What are you doing here? You never go out in the evenings.”
The two women clasped hands and touched cheeks with unfeigned affection.
Ewan had often wondered at their closeness. They were only half sisters, after all, and as opposite in temperament as any two women could be. Each had ample cause to envy the other, too. Tessa, her elder sister’s fortune and consequence in the family. Claire, her younger sister’s beauty and charm.
Claire Talbot smoothed a stray curl off Tessa’s forehead in a gesture that looked almost motherly. “I gather it’s high time I ventured out in society more often. To keep an eye on what you’ve been getting up to while poor Spencer is away. After all, we wouldn’t want any silly gossip to spoil your wedding plans, would we?”
Though she spoke to Tessa, Ewan could tell Miss Talbot’s warning was aimed at him. Did she think him too stupid to know about her sister’s betrothal?
Claire’s mild rebuke appeared to fluster Tessa, which Ewan added to his growing list of grudges against the woman.
“We’ll talk about all that another time, Claire.” Tessa glanced at Ewan and immediately recovered her usual sparkle. “You’ll never guess who’s come to London after all these years!”
“My powers of deduction are better than you may imagine, dearest.” Claire turned to Ewan and thrust out her hand. “Mr. Geddes, isn’t it?”
Ignoring her intention to shake his hand, Ewan caught her long slender fingers in his and raised them to his lips instead. “I’m flattered ye remember me, Miss Talbot.”
As he’d hoped, the gesture and the pretended warmth of his greeting succeeded in provoking her.
She pulled her hand away with the barest pretense of civility. “Pray, don’t flatter yourself too much, sir. I take care to remember a good many people. Not always for the most pleasant of reasons.”
Tessa must have sensed the tension between them, for her voice rang with forced brightness as she asked her sister, “Who is your escort tonight? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
For a moment, Claire Talbot gave her sister a blank stare, then she turned to the man behind her. “Oh! Pardon my manners. This is Mr. Obadiah Hutt, a business associate of mine. Mr. Hutt, allow me to introduce my sister, Tessa, and Mr. Ewan Geddes…an old friend of the family.”
Ewan bridled. Did she think he was ashamed of who he’d been or where he’d come from? Was her introduction a veiled threat to expose his past?
And who was this Hutt fellow, anyway? He lacked the languid ease of a gentleman, and he shook Ewan’s hand with a firm grip, meeting his eye with a direct gaze…almost too direct.
“What Miss Talbot means, sir—” Ewan tried to stare her down, but she did not flinch “—is that I used to be a gillie on her father’s estate in Scotland.”
When a look of puzzlement wrinkled the other man’s brow, Ewan explained, “A gillie’s a sort of guide for hunting and fishing. Totes gear, loads guns, dresses the kill. That sort of thing.”
Tessa clasped his arm in a show of support that touched Ewan. “He was perfectly marvelous at it, too! Why, I can still picture him striding off to the hills in his kilt, with a gun slung over his shoulder. Like a hero of Sir Walter Scott’s, I always used to think.”
Miss Talbot’s business associate nodded at the explanation. “And what brings you down from Scotland, Mr. Geddes?”
“I didn’t come from Scotland, sir.” Hard as he tried to sound matter-of-fact, Ewan couldn’t manage it. “I left my home ten years ago, and I’ve never been back since.”
Thanks to Lord Lydiard. With a little help, perhaps, from the woman who now stood before Ewan, eyeing him with barely disguised hostility.
His old plans for revenge tempted Ewan sorely. Perhaps he should make a few discreet inquiries about Brancasters, after all.
I left my home ten years ago.
Ewan Geddes’s words, and the glint of outrage beneath his facade of casual charm, made Claire’s stomach constrict and her breath catch, as if strong hands had suddenly pulled the stays of her corset even tighter.
She’d come tonight expecting to do battle with a simple fortune hunter, like Major Hamilton-Smythe. Instead, she’d found an old adversary who might have far darker motives and a far greater capacity for mischief. One who might wish to harm the only two things in the world she cared about—her sister and Brancasters.
As the orchestra struck up a new tune, Claire turned to Obadiah Hutt. Behind the cover of her gloved hand, she whispered, “Ask her to dance.”
When he seemed not to hear, or perhaps not to understand, she hissed, “My sister! Invite her to dance.”
“Miss Tessa?” Mr. Hutt extended his arm, as Claire had bidden him. “May I have the honor?”
When Tessa cast a doubtful glance at Ewan Geddes, Claire urged, “Go ahead, dearest. There’s apt to be less talk if you’re seen dancing with a number of different gentlemen while Spencer is out of town.”
“Very well, then.” Tessa shot her sister a look as she took to the floor with Mr. Hutt—half warning, half pleading with Claire not to make a scene.
Claire and Ewan stood for a moment in awkward silence, watching Tessa and Mr. Hutt ease their way into the swirl of dancers.
“Well?” she challenged, when it became obvious he meant to ignore the opportunity. “Aren’t you going to invite me to dance?”
She quashed a foolish flicker of eagerness to feel his arms about her once again. Hadn’t ten years and a succession of men like Max Hamilton-Smythe taught her anything?
The Scotsman raised his dark, emphatic brows and thrust out his lower lip in a doubtful expression. “Ye wouldn’t think it too forward—a former servant taking liberties with the laird’s daughter?”
Claire skewered him with an icy glare, but she kept her tone and smile impeccably polite. “That would not be a first for you, would it?”
That wasn’t fair, her conscience protested. Ten years ago, she’d craved every liberty Ewan Geddes had been prepared to take with her. The trouble was, he’d only ever wanted
