the sugar into her tea most vigorously so that she would not have to look at her employer.
‘The coach was not too crowded?’
‘Not at all. I was most fortunate.’ A vision of the highwaymen and of a dark and handsome man with eyes the colour of emerald ice chips swam into her head. The teaspoon overbalanced from her saucer and dropped to the flagstones below where it bounced and disappeared out of sight beneath her chair. Phoebe set her cup and saucer down on the table and knelt to retrieve the spoon.
‘I would have sent John with the coach, but I do not wish to be at Blackloch without my own carriage at my dispos—’ Mrs Hunter broke off as the drawing-room door opened and the movement of footsteps sounded. ‘Sebastian, my, but you honour me.’ To Phoebe’s surprise the lady’s tone was acidic.
Phoebe felt a ripple of foreboding down her spine. She reached quickly for the teaspoon.
‘Mother, forgive my absence yesterday. I was delayed by matters in Glasgow.’ The man’s voice was deep and cool as spring water … and disturbingly familiar.
Phoebe stilled, her fingers gripping the spoon’s handle for dear life. Her heart was thudding too fast.
It could not be.
It was not possible.
Slowly she got to her feet and turned to face the wicked Mr Hunter. And there, standing only a few feet away across the room, was her dark handsome rescuer from the moor road.
Hunter stared at the young auburn-haired woman he had left standing alone at the Kingswell Inn. Her cheeks had paled. Her lips had parted. Her warm tawny eyes stared wide. She looked every inch as shocked as he felt.
He moved to his mother and touched his lips to her cool cheek. She suffered it as if he were a leper, shuddering slightly with distaste. So, nothing had changed after all. He wondered why the hell she was here at Blackloch.
‘Sebastian.’ His mother’s voice was cold, if polite for the sake of the woman’s presence. ‘This is my companion, Miss Allardyce. She came down on the late coach last night.’ Then to the woman, ‘Miss Allardyce, my son, Mr Hunter.’ He could hear the effort it took her to force the admission of their kinship.
‘Mr Hunter,’ the woman said in that same clear calm voice he would have recognised anywhere, and made her curtsy, yet he saw the small flare of concern in her eyes before she hid it.
‘Miss Allardyce.’ He inclined his head ever so slightly in the woman’s direction, and understood her worry given that it was now obvious she had palmed the money his mother had given her for her coach fare.
She was wearing the same blue dress, although every speck of dust looked to have been brushed from it. The colour highlighted the red burnish to her hair, now scraped and tightly pinned in a neat coil at the nape of her neck. His gaze lingered briefly on her face, on the small straight nose and those dewy dusky pink lips that made him want to wet his own. And he remembered the soft feel of her pressed against him on the saddle, and the clean rose-touched scent of her, and the shock of a desire he had thought quelled for good. She was temptation personified. And she was everything proper and correct that a lady’s companion should be as she resumed her seat and calmly waited for Hunter to spill her secret.
Not that Hunter had any intention of doing so. After her experience with the highwaymen he doubted she would make the same mistake again. He watched as she set the teaspoon she was holding down upon the tray and lifted her cup and saucer.
His mother’s tone was cool as she turned to her companion. ‘My son has not seen his mother in nine months, Miss Allardyce, and yet he cannot bring himself into my company. This is his first appearance since my arrival at Blackloch.’
Miss Allardyce looked uneasy and took a sip of tea.
His mother turned her attention back to Hunter. ‘Your concern is overwhelming. I think I can see the precise nature of the matters so important to keep you from me.’ Her eyes were cold and appraising as they took in the small cut on his cheek and the bruising that surrounded it. She raised an eyebrow and gave a small snort.
‘You have been brawling.’ He made no denial.
Miss Allardyce’s eyes opened marginally wider.
‘What were you fighting over this time? Let me guess, some new gaming debt?’
He stiffened, but kept his expression impassive and cool.
‘No? If not that, then over a woman, I will warrant.’
A pause, during which he saw the slight colour that had washed the soft cream of Miss Allardyce’s cheeks heighten.
‘You know me too well, madam.’
‘Indeed, I do. You are not changed in the slightest, not for all your promises—’
There was the rattle of china as Miss Allardyce set her cup and saucer down. ‘Mrs Hunter …’ The woman got to her feet. ‘I fear you are mistaken, ma’am. Mr Hu—’
His mother turned her frown on her companion.
‘Miss Allardyce,’ Hunter interrupted smoothly, ‘this is none of your affair and I would that it stay that way.’ His tone was frosty with warning. If his mother wanted to believe the worst of him, let her. He would not have some girl defend him. He still had some measure of pride.
Miss Allardyce stared at him for a moment, with such depths in those golden-brown eyes of hers that he wondered what she was thinking. And then she calmly sat back down in her chair.
‘Ever the gentleman, Sebastian,’ said his mother. ‘You see, Miss Allardyce, do not waste your concern on him. He is quite beyond the niceties of society. Now you know why I do not come to Blackloch. Such unpleasant company.’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘If we are speaking bluntly, what then has prompted your visit, madam?’
‘I am having the town house redecorated and am in need of somewhere to stay for a few weeks, Sebastian. What other reason could possibly bring me here?’ his mother sneered.
He gave a bow and left, vowing to avoid both his mother and the woman who made him remember too well the dissolute he had been.
After the awfulness of that first day Hunter did not seek his mother out again. And Phoebe could not blame him. She wondered why he had not told Mrs Hunter the truth of the cut upon his face or revealed that his mother’s companion had not spent her money upon a coach fare after all. She wondered, too, as to why there was such hostility between mother and son. But Mrs Hunter made not a single mention of her son, and it was easy to keep her promise to her father as Phoebe saw little of the man in the days that followed. Once she saw him entering his study. Another time she caught a glimpse of him riding out on the moor. But nothing more. Not that Phoebe had time to notice, for Mrs Hunter was out of sorts, her mood as bleak as the moor that surrounded them.
Tuesday came around quickly and Phoebe could only be glad both of her chance to escape the oppressive atmosphere of Blackloch and to see her father.
The Glasgow Tolbooth was an impressive five-storey sandstone building situated at the Cross where the Trongate met High Street. It housed not only the gaol, but also the Justiciary Court and the Town Hall, behind which had been built the
