hands on her shoulders as he looked deeply into her eyes. “You can trust him, Esme. Please believe me when I say that beneath Quinn’s devil-may-care exterior is a good, honest man, or I’d never have suggested you go to Edinburgh with him.”
Esme nodded her head. She wanted to believe Jamie. She wanted to believe she was going to Edinburgh for a just cause with a trustworthy man.
But she really wished neither Catriona McNare nor Quintus MacLachlann had ever been born.
Chapter Two
A week later and attired in new trousers and Wellington boots, a shirt of brilliantly white linen, black silk cravat, double-breasted vest in a black-and-gray horizontal-striped satin, black woollen jacket, and an equally new bottle-green greatcoat with three capes, the formerly Honorable Quintus Aloysius Hamish MacLachlann strolled up the street toward Jamie McCallan’s town house, a valise bumping against his thigh.
Jamie’s home was a well-kept little establishment on the edge of Mayfair, close enough to impress the ton, but far enough away to be affordable if a man made a good living, as Jamie obviously did.
As Quinn trotted up the steps to the front door and raised the polished brass knocker in the shape of a thistle, the curtain at the front bow window shifted. The movement was barely noticeable, yet it was enough to suggest that somebody was keeping watch.
Esme, no doubt. The woman was like a prison guard. She was also beyond prejudiced, always ready to believe the worst of him, regardless of any evidence to the contrary and despite the necessary work he did for her beloved brother.
Since she thought him beneath contempt, was it any wonder he was always tempted to say outrageous things to her? To tease and mock and goad her until she gave him the edge of her sharp and clever tongue?
Jamie’s butler, a tall, slender fellow of indeterminate age, opened the door and took Quinn’s hat and valise. “They’re waiting for you in the drawing room, sir.”
“Thank you,” Quinn briskly replied, darting a passing glance at his reflection in the pier glass in the spotlessly clean foyer. In this rig he did look like his brother, certainly enough that the ruse should work.
He’d never imagined Jamie had such a devious streak. Well, there had been hints of it at school, he supposed. A few times Jamie had gone with him to sneak a bit of food from the buttery, and once even told him when the cook would be away, but he’d never gotten drunk on the cooking sherry, or cheated on tests, or lied to the headmaster.
The drawing room was as neat and tidy as the foyer. It was simply, but tastefully, furnished, with nary a figurine or knickknack in sight. He had never seen a speck of dust or dirt in either Jamie’s home or office. He suspected even dust and dirt were too intimidated by his sister to linger. Books there were in plenty, however, and what furniture there was had been well-crafted. The camelback sofa and chairs were worn, but comfortable, and the mantel—
Esme stood by the mantel, but Esme as he’d never seen or imagined her. Her eyes were downcast, her dark eyelashes fanning over smooth, pink cheeks and her slender, yet shapely, figure encased in a well-fitting traveling gown of soft pale blue wool. The bodice, bordered by a band of scarlet ribbon, accentuated perfect breasts. Glossy, chestnut-brown tresses were beneath a charming bonnet decorated with small scarlet rosettes, and a few even more charming tendrils of soft curls fell upon her cheek and neck.
She looked young, pretty, fresh, modest—the very picture of Youthful Femininity, until she raised her head and glared at him with irate hazel eyes, her bow-shaped lips turning down in an equally irate frown.
“Although I see you at least remembered to shave, you’re late,” she snapped, running an imperious gaze over him.
He sauntered farther into the room, just as fiercely determined to prevent her from seeing that he was even remotely disturbed by her disapproval. “I went to a barber, so now my cheeks are as smooth as silk. Care to feel?”
“Certainly not!” Esme exclaimed before she abruptly turned away.
But she was blushing, and she’d lowered her eyes again, as if she was tempted to touch him but didn’t dare.
Good God, could Esme McCallan secretly want to touch him? This was a most interesting development and one definitely worth exploring. “You look lovely, Esme.”
“I’ll thank you to keep your unwelcome remarks to yourself!”
“You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who didn’t appreciate a compliment.”
“If I thought there was any sincerity to your observations, I might be flattered.”
Despite her contempt, he tried again. “I am being sincere. You look very nice. I never realized what a difference a change of clothes could make.”
She whirled around to face him.
And then, a miracle. She smiled—a warm and genuine smile. His heart leapt with what might be joy, although it had been a long time since he’d felt anything like true happiness, so he could be wrong.
“Jamie,” she said, walking past him.
She’d been smiling at her brother, who had entered the room behind him.
Of course. He must have been momentarily mad to think Esme would ever smile at him like that, and he must not be disappointed. After all, there were plenty of other women who were eager for his attention.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Jamie,” he said before Esme could condemn him. “I was delayed by the tailor.”
“Never mind. There’s still plenty of time to get out of London and a good distance before dark,” Jamie replied. “The money was well spent, I see.”
“So was yours. I confess I had my doubts about your sister’s ability to pass for a titled young lady, but in those clothes, I think she could.”
“How delightful that my garments meet with your approval,” Esme said coldly. “Now might I suggest we be on our way? The sooner we reach Edinburgh, the sooner we can conclude our business and return.”
Quinn couldn’t agree more.
As the hired town coach rattled along the road north, Quinn didn’t bother to hide his scowl or attempt to make conversation. Why should he exert himself with a woman who was so obviously determined to detest him?
Water from the puddles left by the heavy rain the previous night splashed up nearly to the windows, and the sky was dull and overcast, with a brisk breeze that did nothing to add to the comfort of the coach.
“If you slouch any more, you’ll ruin your greatcoat,” Esme noted as the heavy vehicle upholstered with striped worsted jostled over yet another rut in the road. “It must have cost my brother a pretty penny.”
“I doubt it cost more than the pelisse you’re wearing and probably less,” he replied, sliding a little lower on the seat just to spite her. “I’d wager my whole wardrobe cost less than one of your gowns, and I have the receipts to prove it.”
She gave him a haughty look. “I know how to drive a bargain.”
“I’m sure a look from you
