Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,13

it not?”

“I saw no need to provide more evidence when I had hoped you would be reasonable and offer a sum in settlement so that the case need not proceed.”

In spite of his evenly spoken reply, she sidled a little closer, so that she could see into his eyes, the better to gauge his true response. “Given that Sir Robert seems to be selective with the facts, are you aware that five thousand pounds was to be the amount of my dowry?”

No, he hadn’t known that. She could see the surprise he tried to hide. “Obviously he wants the dowry he didn’t get,” she observed.

Mr. McHeath swiftly recovered from his surprise. “Whatever his reasons, that is the sum he feels is appropriate compensation.”

“I feel he’s not entitled to anything, and nothing you say will ever make me change my mind.”

Mr. McHeath inclined his head. “Very well, my lady, and since we seem to be unable to come to any agreement, I shall bid you good day.”

She shouldn’t feel any regret when he said those words. She shouldn’t be sorry he was leaving. After all, she barely knew him, and he was working for Robbie.

“You may also tell Sir Robert that I do not and never will regret breaking our engagement. If anything, his petty, vindictive action further convinces me that I was right to do so,” she said as she went to the hearth and tugged the bellpull beside it. “Good day, Mr. McHeath. Walters will show you out.”

When Gordon returned to McStuart House, he immediately went in search of his host, although every step seemed an effort. He wasn’t looking forward to having to relay Lady Moira’s response any more than he’d been to confront her. Indeed, he’d been seriously tempted to leave without revealing the purpose of his visit when he saw that Lady Moira was the woman he’d helped and kissed, but gratitude and duty demanded that he do what he’d been asked to do. Now Robbie would want to know what had happened.

It would be far better for all concerned if they each simply went their own way, and let the past stay in the past. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, Robbie was determined to have his day in court, and be compensated for the blow to his pride.

Even more unfortunately, Lady Moira wasn’t the only person in Dunbrachie who could be faulted for not knowing more about a man before entering into an agreement with him. He should have been much more wary of agreeing to represent Robbie in a legal matter, especially after he’d noticed how much Robbie drank that first afternoon.

He finally found Robbie in the last room he thought to look—the library. Unlike the earl’s library, this one had an air of musty neglect, and many of the volumes weren’t even real books. In fact, Gordon was rather sure neither Robbie nor his father had read a book in its entirety after they left school.

The dark draperies added to a sense of genteel decay, and the portraits in this room all seemed to be of people in a state of chronic indigestion.

Its only saving grace—and perhaps its appeal for Robbie—was the large windows opening to the terrace. Or maybe its isolation from the other rooms, and thus its silence, explained why he had gone there.

Naturally Robbie wasn’t reading a book. He wasn’t even awake. He lay sprawled on his back on one of the worn, silk-covered sofas, his right arm thrown over his face, his left crossed over his chest and an empty bottle of port on the floor beside him.

Chapter Four

Gordon sighed heavily and leaned back against one of the shelves. Whatever Robbie thought, Lady Moira was right to be wary of marrying a man who drank so much. In his practice he’d seen too many marriages fall into bitter ruin and too many families destroyed because of drink.

Robbie’s blue eyes flickered open. “Gordo! You’re back!” he muttered as he lurched to a sitting position. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I’m only just returned,” he replied. He came farther into the room and sat in a wing chair opposite Robbie. He nodded at the bottle on the floor. “Isn’t it a little early for that?”

Robbie sighed and rubbed his temples as he hunched over. “My head ached, so I had a little drink for medicinal purposes.”

“A little drink?”

“Aye, just enough to put me to sleep.”

“Perhaps your head ached from imbibing too much last night,” Gordon suggested, trying to keep his tone nonjudgmental.

Robbie