Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,11
arrived. Her former fiancé would undoubtedly paint what had happened between them in the worst possible way, making light of his own transgressions and describing her as some sort of narrow-minded, unsophisticated bumpkin.
If only she could stay as angry and indignant as she’d been when she found out the man who had come to her rescue was Robbie McStuart’s friend. Unfortunately, as time had passed, she found herself thinking less of his friendship with Robbie and more of the passion she’d felt in his arms. The excitement. The wish that his embrace would never end. She remembered Gordon McHeath’s smile, his gentlemanly demeanor and the sight of him charging down the hill like a knight errant. Even more vividly, she recalled the urge to kiss him that she hadn’t been able to fight, his passionate response, the sensation of his arms around her and his lips covering hers, seeking, demanding, wanting….
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” the butler intoned from the door. “A gentleman wishes to see you.” He held out a silver salver with a card upon it. “He says it’s a legal matter, my lady.”
Legal matter? “Did you tell him the earl isn’t at home?”
“I did, and he said it doesn’t involve the earl, my lady. His business is with you.”
Perhaps it had something to do with the school, although she couldn’t imagine what. She went to the door and took the card. She glanced at it, then stared.
Gordon McHeath, Solicitor, Edinburgh.
Robbie McStuart’s friend was a solicitor? Even so, what could he possibly want with her? It couldn’t be because of that kiss…could it? That hadn’t violated any law that she was aware of.
Perhaps it had something to do with the dog that had chased her. “Show him in, please.”
Smoothing down her skirt and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, determined to keep the conversation coolly business-like, she perched primly on an armchair covered in emerald-green damask near the hearth.
Mr. McHeath appeared on the threshold. He wasn’t dressed in his caped greatcoat and hat; otherwise, his clothing was similar, down to his riding boots. Without his hat, his tawny hair waved like ripples on a lake, and he was definitely as handsome and well built as she remembered.
He hesitated, and a look passed over his face that made her think he was about to leave just as abruptly.
He didn’t. His visage slightly flushed, as she suspected hers must be, he came farther into the room, his expression solemn to the point of grimness.
Commanding herself to be calm and detached, and above all to forget she had ever kissed him, she said, “So, Mr. McHeath, what is this legal matter that has brought you here today?”
His gaze swept over the room and furnishings, lingering for a moment at the pedestal table with the drawings still on top before he came to a halt and pulled a folded document from the pocket of his navy blue jacket.
“I’ve come on behalf of Sir Robert McStuart regarding the matter of your broken engagement,” he said, his voice just as coldly formal as hers had been. “He’s bringing an action against you for breach of promise.”
Moira stared at him in stunned disbelief. “Breach of…? He’s suing me?”
“Yes.” McHeath took a deep breath, like a man about to dive into frigid water. “He’s seeking damages in the amount of five thousand pounds.”
With a gasp as if she’d landed in that frigid water, Moira jumped to her feet. “I don’t believe it! Five thousand pounds? Five thousand pounds?”
“I agree it’s a considerable sum, but you must be aware of the damage your change of mind has done to his reputation. He feels he should be duly compensated.”
“His reputation?” she repeated, her hands balling into fists, her whole body shaking with righteous indignation. “What was his reputation, that he should set such store on it? And what about mine? Don’t you think mine has suffered just as much, if not more?”
The solicitor didn’t seem the least nonplussed. “Then perhaps, my lady, you should offer a sum to settle before the matter goes before a judge.”
“You want me to pay him off? Are you mad?” she demanded, appalled as well as angry. “I’m not going to give that libertine a ha’penny. If there’s anyone at fault for what happened, it’s him. Didn’t he tell you why I broke the engagement?”
“He told me that you informed him that you no longer loved him,” the solicitor replied, still standing as stiff and straight as a soldier