Highland Rogue (13 page)

And if they didn’t? Better to know that now, before he got himself in too deep.

Ewan stirred from his musings to find Claire watching him with a most intent expression. He had a guilty feeling that she could read his thoughts.

“Tell me about America, Ewan,” she said. “Do you like it there? You’ve done well for yourself.”

Better than she knew. Once again he was tempted to tell her the truth about his fortune—though for quite the opposite reasons from what had compelled him in the moments before he’d jumped overboard. Then, he had wanted to crow over her. Now he wanted to be honest with her. But he feared the effect it might have on their truce, so new and fragile, to discover he owned a rival company.

When he did not reply right away, she prompted him further. “It could not have been an easy task to establish yourself.”

Ewan shrugged. “What
is
easy that’s worth doing in life? It’s as I told ye at the Fortescues’ ball, America has plenty of opportunities for a man who’s willing to work hard and take a few chances.”

“And one who’s clever?”

“Aye, well …” A blush prickled in his cheeks. “I had a decent education for a lad in my position.”

He had the Talbots to thank for that, though he was not certain he had ever acknowledged it, even to himself.

“And over there—” he jerked his head in the direction he thought might be west “—they reckon every Scot’s an engineer, or can be with a wee bit of training.”

Claire smiled at his deliberate exaggeration. “And you have provided them with further proof for that assumption.”

He didn’t want to make his rise in the world sound too easy. “For all the folks who’re willing to give a lad a chance, there are more who think every newcomer should be sent back where he came from. Especially if he gets too far above his station.”

While they gorged themselves on cakes and sandwiches, Claire continued to prompt him with questions and comments until Ewan found himself telling her more about his business and his recent life than he’d ever intended. More than he’d told Tessa in all the time since he’d come to London.

“And what about ye?” he said at last, not daring to tell her too much more about his situation. “It can’t have been easy for a woman to take the helm of a company like Brancasters, supposing ye did inherit it from yer grandfather.”

“No indeed.” Claire shook her head with a rueful look that told Ewan she was remembering battles she’d fought and wounds she’d sustained. “The same type of people who think immigrants have no right to make something of themselves are the ones who believe women have no place in the business world … or anywhere else outside the nursery.”

For the next little while, he laughed and nodded over stories that sounded so familiar he could have told them himself, just by changing a few names and other particulars.

“Finally,” said Claire, “I realized I was only beating my head on a wall trying to make our customers accept me as the working manager of Brancasters. So I hired two gentlemen to represent me.”

“Those chaps yer secretary spoke of—Adams and Monteith?”

“That’s right. They dress well and speak well and they know enough about the business to give our customers confidence. But I am still the one who draws up the bids, seeks out suppliers and oversees the profitable operation of the company.”

“Does it not bother ye, though,” asked Ewan, “to have somebody else given credit for the work ye do?”

At first it seemed as if Claire meant to answer with an emphatic no. But after a moment’s consideration she said, “Sometimes. More so when I first started. Now I have the gratification of seeing Brancasters prosper, due to my efforts.”

“As long as
ye
know ye’ve done a good job, other folks and their opinions can go hang, eh?” Ewan often wished he cared less about what others thought of him.

Claire’s lips twisted in a sly grin. “I also have the secret satisfaction of knowing I am playing them all for fools. Someday, when the information can no longer do the company any harm, I mean to make it public, so women who come after me may encounter a little less prejudice in the commercial world.”

“Ha!” Ewan slapped his hand against the tabletop. “Good for ye, lass!”

He had always thought her as so privileged, with everything she wanted in life handed to her on a silver platter. It had never occurred to him that she might have had to strive as hard as he had for what she wanted. A spark of admiration for her kindled and took fire within him. She’d had the pluck to fight for what she desired, as well as the wit and grace to settle for the best she could get.

“Do ye reckon those two hirelings of yers will be able to keep Brancasters running for a few weeks without ye?”

Claire chuckled. “As long as dear Mr. Catchpole keeps a close eye on them, I think the firm may escape bankruptcy until I return!”

As her laughter subsided, a pensive look settled over her slender features. “Harry Adams intends to retire next year.” She murmured the words more to herself than to Ewan.

“Have ye got somebody in mind to take his place? Yer Mr. Catchpole, maybe?”

That brought a ready smile to her lips, but the set of her brow gave her a troubled look. “I’m not certain Mr. Catchpole would make quite the proper impression on our customers. Like me, he is better suited to wielding real authority behind the scenes. I had thought Spencer Stanton might be an ideal choice.”

“The man Tessa’s going to marry … er,
was
going to marry?” Ewan corrected himself, puzzled that he’d been able to say those words without a stab of jealousy.

Claire nodded. “Perhaps I should consider offering you the position, if you wed Tessa. Somehow I don’t believe you’d be content as a figurehead.”

They both laughed over that, then stopped abruptly when a young steward bustled into the dining room. “Begging your pardon, Miss Talbot. But Monsieur Anton asked me to inquire if you and the gentleman wish to have dinner served, or if you plan to take tea all evening?”

“It can’t be!” Ewan consulted his pocket watch. “Where did the time go?”

He could not recall when he’d last lost track of so many hours.

“Give Monsieur Anton our apologies,” Claire instructed the steward. “Tell him we will take a late supper, just something light. If that is all right with you, Ewan?”

“Aye, it suits me fine.” He patted his stomach. “I hadn’t noticed how many tea cakes I was eating. If I keep on like this, I’ll
have
to wear a kilt when we reach Strathandrew, for none of my trousers will fit!”

“We cannot let that happen, can we?” Claire rose from her seat, a trifle stiffly. “Though I agree with Tessa, you used to cut quite a dashing figure in your kilt and gillie vest, heading off to fish or shoot.”

“Oh, get away with ye!” Ewan winced as he heaved himself to his feet.

“What do you say we take a stroll around the deck?” asked Claire. “A bit of fresh air and exercise might do us both good.”

“Aye.” Ewan held out his arm to her. More than the sea air or the chance to stretch his limbs, he was convinced any time spent in the company of this remarkable woman would do him good.

If she had guessed how much she could enjoy Ewan Geddes’s company once she abandoned her foolish romantic fancy for him, she would have done it years ago. Claire told herself so repeatedly as she wandered the deck on his arm in the gathering twilight.

She could not remember when she’d laughed so hard or so often. The wit they had once used as ammunition for their verbal skirmishes they now turned upon more deserving targets for each other’s amusement.

Ewan nodded toward a crewman, swabbing the deck in glum silence. “I reckon somebody lost in the pool.”

“Pool?”

“Aye, the cheeky devils were placing wagers on which of the boats would reach me first, or whether I’d drown!”

Claire laughed until she feared her corset would burst.

Ewan lost his battle to maintain an indignant scowl. “I reckon Jockie McMurdo owes us both a pint at the Claymore, once we reach Strathandrew.”

By and by their conversation turned to more serious subjects, and Ewan listened to her with an unspoken sympathy that invited her to confide in him. When he talked, she sensed he was giving her a closer glimpse of his true thoughts than he allowed most people.

“This is such a novelty.” She stared toward the western horizon, which the setting sun had kindled in all the bright, warm hues of a driftwood bonfire. “Talking to a man about business and having him take me seriously … or at least pretend to.”

Ewan ran his hand over the deck railing. “It’s not often I get the chance to talk business with a lady and have her even pretend to be interested.”

“Did you talk to many ladies about business, back in America?” Claire did not know what prompted her to ask, or why his answer was so important to her.

“A few.”

She knew it was too early in their renewed acquaintance to pry, but the brevity of his answer whetted her curiosity.

“Was there ever anyone … special for you in America, or did you always plan on coming back for Tessa?”

Ewan produced a derisive sound from deep in his throat, something between a chuckle and a growl. “I never dreamed I’d get the chance to court yer sister. I’d reckoned she must have married years ago.”

He explained how he had chanced upon the announcement of Tessa’s engagement in the
Times.
Claire was forced to agree that Fate had smiled upon the match. She should have known better than to fight a higher power.

Accept what you cannot change. Make the best of what you can get. Claire wished she had mastered those hard but vital lessons long ago. What a lot of unhappiness and fruitless struggle they would have saved her.

It had taken many frustrating years for her to accept that she could never win her father’s love. She had finally resigned herself to it, though, and learned to be content with his respect. Now she must accept that Ewan Geddes would marry Tessa, and learn to be content with his friendship. If their recent camaraderie was anything to judge by, perhaps that would not be such a bad bargain, after all.

Ewan stared out at the western horizon, too, with a far-off gaze, as if he could see all the way to America and ten years into the past.

“For quite a while at first, I never had the time or the money for courting.” He shook his head with a rueful half smile. “I might have been a wee bit gun-shy, too, after the trouble it had landed me in.”

“T-trouble?”

The sea was surprisingly calm as they rounded the tip of Cornwall, but Claire felt as if a huge wave had lifted the
Marlet,
then sent it plunging down into a deep trough.

“Oh, aye.” Ewan turned away from the deck railing and began to walk again.

He did not offer Claire his arm, and she did not reach for it. Instead, she followed close behind him, wishing she had not strayed from the safe subject of business.

“Did ye never wonder why I left Strathandrew so sudden?” he asked. “Or were ye so glad to see the last of me that ye didn’t care?”

“I wondered.” Claire could coax nothing more from her suddenly constricted throat.

She had wondered, and hoped the timing of his going had been a coincidence. Now she feared she was about to find out otherwise.

“It was bloody daft of me,” Ewan muttered. “She was so young and it would have ruined her reputation if anybody else had caught us.”

Claire remembered every stinging word of the lecture she’d received from her father on the subject. Ewan must have got one, too. Her only regret, at the time, had been that someone other than her father had
not
discovered them, forcing Ewan to marry her.

Later, she’d been grateful her rebellious wish had not been granted. He would have hated her for what she’d done, and they would have been miserable together.

Ewan turned to her with a shamefaced grin. “I was young, too—that’s my only excuse. Lads that age, they don’t always think with their heads, if ye know what I mean.”

Bobbing a hasty nod, Claire lowered her gaze to avoid his. She hoped he would attribute it to excessive modesty.

“Ye probably wonder what I’m talking about.” He lowered his voice. “The night before ye were to sail back home, Tessa sent me a note, asking me to meet her down by the loch after dark. Yer father caught me kissing her and he sacked me.”

“I had no idea!” Claire gasped. “When we came back the next summer and found you gone, I assumed you’d grown tired of service and decided for yourself to go to America.”

Ewan’s large, deft hands clenched into fists and his voice rasped with long-nursed bitterness. “I reckon that’s what I hated most about the whole thing.”

“My father?”

“No. Well, besides him. I hated that none of it was my decision. I had no choice but to go.”

“Were you lonely … at first?”

“Oh, aye.” His voice ached with raw longing. “Back home, I was part of something. Part of Strathandrew. Part of a clan. Fishing the same beat and hunting the same hills as my father and his father and on back for who knows how long. Across the water, I felt like I had no place.”

How bleak it sounded! Claire’s throat tightened and her eyes stung.

“I swore I’d make him pay,” said Ewan in a savage whisper. “That no matter how hard it was or how long it took, I’d get a bit of my own back.”

His words sent a chill through Claire.

“I’m sorry.” She turned and stumbled toward the galley way.

“Claire?” he called after her. “What about supper?”

“Still full from tea,” she managed to choke out as she fled below deck.

She did not stop until she was in her cabin, with the door closed and her back pressed against it. Then her trembling knees gave way and she sank to the floor.

She had been wrong in supposing Ewan Geddes a common fortune hunter. Now she wondered if he might have even darker motives for wanting to infiltrate the Talbot family.

He had admitted wanting revenge against her late father. How would he react if he found out that she was to blame for his bleak years of exile?

To think, all these years, that he had suspected Claire of tattling to her father about his tryst with Tessa!