sip from his cup. Tea. He’d far rather have ale any day of the week.
The Irishman took a slow sip, swirled the liquid around his mouth and then swallowed. His eyelids lowered as he slowly nodded approval. ‘Fine. Very fine. And expensive, I am thinking.’
‘Naturally. It is the best we have. Old. But we have grades to suit all tastes and purses.’ He waited for O’Banyon to rise to the bait. There was a reason Ian had sent Logan to woo this man from London. Over and over again they had proved that one look at his face and men trusted him to speak the truth. And he did. But trust was hard-won in this necessarily illegal business of theirs. The English Parliament continued to keep a boot on the neck of Scotland.
‘I could see serving this to some of my special customers,’ O’Banyon said, his gaze direct, chilly, fixed on Logan’s face. ‘But I’d need to taste the other stuff, too. The Chien serves gentlemen who might not want to be paying for the very best, but it has to be decent.’
Despite the hard gaze of the man he was facing, he could feel the woman’s eyes upon him, too. She was looking him over, as if waiting for him to fail to impress. Why he had that impression or why he was even aware of her, when this deal with O’Banyon was so important to the clan, he could not fathom.
He took another sip of his tea, let the pause grow just enough to make O’Banyon’s shoulders fractionally stiffen. He loved the twists and turns of this game. The risks, whether it was in the taverns where the deals were done, or on the heather-clad hills where gaugers lurked behind every bush.
He put down his cup. ‘You were drinking it tonight. Archie served you this year’s distilling.’
O’Banyon’s eyes widened. ‘Did he now?’
Got you. ‘I delivered it yesterday.’
The Irish man’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I heard it was only McKenzie whisky in Edinburgh.’
‘It appears you heard wrong.’ Logan shrugged. He glanced at Mrs West. There was a look on her face he could not quite interpret, her lips were parted and he could have sworn a smile lurked in her misty gaze, but she had already turned that gaze on O’Banyon as if waiting for his reply.
‘And what makes you think you can do business with me?’ O’Banyon asked.
‘The Laird looked into the Chien Rouge through his contacts before he answered your enquiry.’
Her gaze dropped down to her teacup as if to hide her thoughts, but then she looked back up at Logan. ‘Your brother is a clever man, Mr Gilvry.’ Her voice held a trace of amusement, but whether at his expense, or his brother’s, or even O’Banyon’s, he had no way of knowing, because her expression was quickly one of indifference. The woman kept her secrets well in hand.
But he was not one to avoid a challenge.
‘He would not remain in business long if he was not, Mrs West.’
O’Banyon grinned. ‘It seems we may be able to do business, Gilvry.’
Logan did not like the word ‘may’. With Edinburgh mostly shut off to them by McKenzie’s ruffians, they needed to get an outlet in London as soon as possible. But smuggling held risks not to be taken lightly. ‘What more is required?’
‘Naturally, I will want to see your terms.’
‘I can bring the documents around in the morning.’
‘I will also need to consult my partner in London.’
Not what he wanted to hear. He had not planned to linger. Other customers were waiting. ‘I understood you had carte blanche, Mr O’Banyon. Perhaps it is your partner to whom I should be speaking.’
O’Banyon ignored the jab. ‘A letter giving my positive opinion is all that is required. And of course the transfer of funds. A payment sent on account for the first shipment. Unless you wish to dispense with such formality.’
This was the problem doing business outside of Scotland. He acknowledged the other man’s hit with a slight nod. ‘Certainly not.’ Knowing his propensity to work on nothing but a handshake, Ian had warned him to agree to nothing without money up front. Such trust was all well and good between Scotsmen, Ian had said, but Sassenachs, other than his wife of course, were not to be trusted.
‘And besides,’ O’Banyon said, ‘Mrs West is anxious to catch a glimpse of Edinburgh’s welcome of the King.’
‘His ship arrives the day after tomorrow, I understand,’ she said, becoming animated. ‘The first visit of a reigning monarch to Scotland since Charles the Second. There are several grand spectacles planned. Cavalry, Highland regiments in their kilts, the newspapers are saying...’
For the first time, her eyes were sparkling. No longer did they remind him of heather at dusk, instead they were as bright as amethysts in sunlight, her lips curved in a smile so lovely it stole his breath.
‘Mr McKenzie has offered us a place at his window overlooking the Golden Mile from where we can watch a procession later in the week,’ she said, looking pleased.
O’Banyon shot her a silencing look. She dropped her gaze and caught her lip with white teeth. ‘It was kind of Mr McKenzie to offer, but I expect it will be nothing of consequence.’
The heat of anger at that small gesture of submission flared in Logan’s chest. His fists wanted to smash O’Banyon in the face, which made no sense at all. ‘McKenzie, is it?’ he said, not bothering to hide his disgust. ‘If you are so deep in bed with him, then I doubt we can do business.’
O’Banyon looked at the glass in his hand. ‘McKenzie has nothing to match what I have tasted from Dunross.’
But that didn’t mean he would buy it if the price wasna right. Ian had warned him to tread carefully. To turn the man up sweet. He reined in his anger and forced himself to think.
‘If Mrs West is so keen to see the King, I can drive you both out to Leith the day after tomorrow to see his official welcome.’ At least he hoped he could. Surely Sanford could get him a pass.
The smile he had thought lovely before became utterly enchanting. And yet, it seemed a little too practised. She turned from him to O’Banyon. ‘Can we, Jack?’
Jack grimaced. ‘All you’ll see is a fat old man waving, but if it pleases you to go, then we will do so.’ He got to his feet and offered his hand to Logan. ‘I will look forward to seeing you in the morning with the documents, then, Gilvry. Let us hope we can conclude our business satisfactorily in a few days.’
‘I am sure we can.’
He took Mrs West’s hand in his and was once more aware of the feel of her warmth and the fine bones of that elegant hand in his palm and the shadows deep in her eyes. Shadows he wanted to pierce. ‘I will come for you and Mr O’Banyon at nine in the morning on Tuesday, Mrs West, if that will suit you?’
‘Jack and I will be ready,’ she said, giving him a sultry smile that sent heat careening straight to his groin.
An effect she’d intended. The knowledge showed in her eyes as plain as day. He found it irksome to say the least. She was not the kind of woman he imagined ever finding attractive, though he doubted there were many
