Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,19
now. “Mr. McHeath said he can argue that it was my duty to find out more about Sir Robert before I accepted his proposal. Since I didn’t, the fault lies with me for breaking the engagement.”
Unfortunately, she had to admit, if only to herself, that Mr. McHeath was right about that one thing, at least. She should have tried to find out more about the handsome, flirtatious Sir Robert before accepting his proposal. If she hadn’t been so flattered by his attention, she might have realized that he didn’t stir her passion, certainly not the way Mr. McHeath did from the moment she met him.
But then, nobody had stirred her passion the way Mr. McHeath did.
Her father strode to the windows, turned and marched back again. “That man has the morals and backbone of a worm!” he declared, shaking his fist. “To sue a woman for jilting him! The man is even more of an idiot that those silly women.”
“I don’t think he’s stupid, Papa, or that idea would never have occurred to him. He’s certainly vain, though, and I’ve wounded his pride, enough that he’s seeking five thousand pounds in compensation.”
“Five thousand…?” her father gasped. “The man is mad if he thinks we’ll pay him even a quarter of that.”
“That’s exactly what I told Mr. McHeath, or as good as. Perhaps once Sir Robert realizes we’re not going to surrender easily, he’ll drop the suit,” she said as, relieved the worst of her revelations were over, she poured her father another cup of tea. “Please sit down, Papa, and have some tea.”
“Tea? I can’t think of tea at a time like this!” the earl cried as he stalked to the window again. He faced her once more, glowering. “You should have set the dogs on that lawyer!”
Moira didn’t want to think about Mr. McHeath and dogs, and her father mustn’t get so agitated. She had to find a way to calm him and deal with this problem as quickly and easily as possible, even if it was a way she didn’t like.
She went to him and took his hands in hers, looking up at the man who had always striven to provide for her and make her happy despite his disturbing predilection for strong spirits in the past several months. “I’ve been thinking that perhaps it would be best to rid ourselves of this nuisance as swiftly as possible. It could be that if we offer Sir Robert a lesser sum, he’ll leave us alone.”
“Why on earth should you pay him because we found out the truth?” her father demanded, his hands gripping hers tightly. “If we hadn’t and you’d married that disgraceful, dishonest rogue, he would have broken your heart and ruined your happiness.”
Moira reached for the arrows in her quiver that her father would most appreciate. “Regardless of Sir Robert’s behavior, my reputation is already suffering. How much more will my name be tarnished if we let this matter go to court? How much more money might we have to pay our solicitor to defend my decision?”
The earl pulled away, but not before his expression softened. “Aye, daughter, I have to admit you’ve got a point. If we’re stubborn, it could cost us even more and not just in pounds—not that I want to pay him a cent.”
“Neither do I, Papa. But it may be more prudent this way. I’ll arrange a meeting with his solicitor to test the waters.”
“No, daughter. Let me deal with the rascal who’s representing that blackguard.”
It was on the tip of Moira’s tongue to protest, until her rational mind reminded her that she was apparently unable to act in a dispassionate manner around—and with—Mr. Gordon McHeath. “Yes, Papa. More tea?”
“Checkmate,” Gordon said as he moved his piece into position.
He’d suggested chess as a way to keep Robbie occupied and away from the whiskey.
He’d been partly successful, for Robbie had only had one drink during the game, leaving his empty glass sitting on the table in the library.
“Good God,” Robbie muttered as he studied the chessboard. “You’ve obviously been playing more than I have since we last saw each other.”
Given how poorly Robbie had played, Gordon could believe Robbie hadn’t played at all since their last game, nearly six years ago.
Robbie slouched lower in his chair and reached for the cheroot that he’d lit a few moments ago. “I didn’t realize you had such an easy life that you could play chess frequently.”
“My practice consumes most of my time, but I do go