She hoped the implication of her words would soak into his whiskey-befuddled mind.
Apparently it did. For after a moment’s pensive silence, while the waiter set shallow bowls of turtle soup before them, Ewan cast a speculative glance over her. “Ye mean yer worth a good deal more than yer sister, Miss Talbot?”
“I mean …” She struggled to produce an inviting smile, while her loathing for Ewan Geddes battled her vexing attraction to him. “… I have a great deal more capital and a far greater income. At present, Tessa has less than five hundred pounds a year from our father’s estate. That will increase, of course, upon her mother’s death. But Lady Lydiard is in good health and likely to live for many years.”
Ewan made a wry face as he took a sip of his soup. Was the taste not to his liking, or could it be the news regarding Tessa’s want of fortune that made him grimace?
Claire lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips. It tasted fine to her—neither too hot nor too salty. “By contrast, I have an income exceeding fifty
thousand
a year, and more in property, as well as my shares in Brancasters.”
Once he got started on the soup, Ewan seemed to find it more to his taste. He cleaned the bowl with single-minded concentration while Claire listed more of her financial assets.
When she paused to finish her soup, he leaned back in his chair, staring at her in a way that made her most uncomfortable, yet strangely roused. “What a shame gold can’t buy ye happiness, isn’t it, Miss Talbot?”
Claire willed her features to freeze in an impassive mask so Ewan Geddes would not guess how much distress his casual comment had inflicted upon her. She had long since discovered that gold could not buy the kind of happiness to which she had once aspired. And the cut-glass imitation that was readily available for purchase came with a heavy surtax of heartbreak.
She reached for her wineglass, desperate for anything that would delay the necessity of a reply. She took only a sip, though, determined to retain the advantage of sobriety over her adversary.
Then it occurred to her that he had given her another opening. She must not respond to him with her true feelings, but in the character of a lonely heiress who might be vulnerable to the charms of a skillful fortune hunter.
As she set down her wineglass, she heaved a sigh that was not wholly counterfeit. “Alas, you are correct. I have often thought how pleasant it might be to have an amiable companion in life and the joy of children.”
Ugh! She could not mouth much more such stuff even if it brought Ewan Geddes running to court her. Such sentiments were simply too close to the true feelings she sought to hide from the rest of the world.
“If it’s any comfort, I know how ye feel, Claire.” He covered her beringed fingers with his large brown hand. “I know … better than ye might think.”
The gall of him! Claire could scarcely resist the urge to wrench her hand away. What did he know about her or the things she wanted?
“I have no cause to complain,” she insisted, as she often had to herself over the years. “Most women and a great many men would envy my worldly goods. A big house in Mayfair. A sporting estate in the Highlands. A private yacht at my disposal. The assets of a thriving company like Brancasters under my control.”
There, she had waved the bait right under his nose. Now to see if the rat would nibble!
The return of the steward, bearing a course of oysters, made Ewan pull his hand back abruptly from where it had rested over hers. That did not bode well.
“More wine, Mr. Geddes?” Claire held up her own glass. “This is a particularly fine vintage. Terribly expensive, of course, but worth every penny.”
“Not on top of the whiskey.” He gave a lopsided grin. “Or I might only waste the precious stuff by heaving it all back up again.”
He pushed away the plate of oysters, artistically arranged on a bed of ice with twists of lemon and a sprinkling of capers.
As they continued to dine, Claire faced the frustrating certainty that her brilliant plan was not working. Apart from that one touch of his hand, a gesture of pity rather than pursuit, Ewan Geddes had shown not the slightest interest in her fortune or in her as a woman. If anything, he seemed to grow more brusque and unsociable as the evening progressed.
If it had not been for Tessa and Brancasters, Claire would have dumped a plate of oysters over his head and been done with him!
A timid voice in the back of her mind had the effrontery to suggest that Ewan Geddes might not be a fortune hunter, after all. Perhaps he truly cared for Tessa and would not be lured away by the riches Claire dangled in front of him. She told that fool voice to keep quiet and let her get on with what she was trying to do.
“Ah, roast pheasant, done to a turn! Surely this will tempt your appetite, Mr. Geddes.” Claire tried to keep her voice from betraying her mounting desperation. “My cook is a treasure—well worth the salary he commands.”
How many more ways could she possibly steer the conversation back to the subject of her fortune? If Ewan Geddes didn’t soon show a little interest, what would she do?
The pheasant did taste good. Or would have if it had not been poisoned by Claire Talbot’s latest boast about her blasted fortune. The woman seemed bent on giving him an account of every guinea!
What was she trying to do by flaunting her wealth in front of him like this? Impress upon him the vast chasm that separated him from Tessa? Perhaps she’d pull out the family crest next, to remind him of the Talbots’ noble lineage!
Ewan wished he hadn’t tossed back that trio of whiskies so fast. He had hoped they would smooth the edge off his bad mood, but they had only made it darker. He found himself brooding on old grievances against the lairds, eager to take offense, galled by a sense of inferiority he’d battled his whole life to escape.
A moment of expectant silence roused him from his brooding thoughts. “Sorry, did ye say something, Miss Talbot?”
He forced himself to look at her, though he shrank from the sensations it was apt to provoke in him.
For all her effort to play the part of a diligent hostess, Claire Talbot looked so regal and haughty … yet so vexingly attractive. She made him want to grab hold of her and kiss her until that stiff highborn spine of hers loosened and she melted in his arms. Caress those stiff, sculpted ringlets into a wanton tumble.
“I was just observing that you seem rather preoccupied, sir.” Her cool eyes seemed to divine his improper thoughts and scorn them.
He had better not stay around her much longer, or fatigue would join forces with the whiskey to sap his better judgment.
“I’ll own I have a thing or two on my mind, Miss Talbot, and it’s been a long day for me.” Ewan pushed away from the table and rose from his chair, though not as steadily as he would have liked. “I trust ye’ll excuse me if I go back to my cabin and turn in for the night.”
“But Mr. Geddes, we have several more courses left!” Her words came out almost in a wail. “You must stay to try the fillets of veal, at least. The sauce is one of Monsieur Anton’s specialties.”
“Aye, no doubt it’s made with rare spices that cost two guineas an ounce. Thank ye for yer splendid hospitality, Miss Talbot. I fear it’s a mite too rich for the belly of a lad raised on mutton and oatmeal.”
Claire Talbot leaped to her feet. “Are you implying that the servants at Strathandrew were not properly nourished?”
Ewan congratulated himself on shaking Miss Talbot out of her pose of polite contempt without resorting to behavior he would regret tomorrow morning.
“I’m not saying anything of the kind, if ye’d take a minute to listen. What I mean is I was raised on good, plain food, and I’ve never developed much of a taste for yer sort of delicacies. If ye find them so toothsome, go ahead and eat my share while ye’re at it. Good night to ye, Miss Talbot.”
With that he turned and marched toward the door, while behind him Claire Talbot cried, “You cannot just leave like that. Come back here at once!”
Ewan spun about on his heel and barely escaped tripping himself. “Is that an order, miss?”
“Yes! No! I mean, do you truly propose to make me dine alone for the rest of the evening?”
He nodded. “I reckon ye’ll enjoy the company more that way.”
“That’s not true. I’ve been most grateful for your company.” She looked as if she might choke on those words.
“If ye are, ye’ve got a queer way of showing it.” Once again he turned and strode off.
This time Claire Talbot did not make the mistake of trying to summon him back.
Once he reached his luxuriously appointed cabin, Ewan took off his clothes, muttering under his breath all the things he should have said to Claire Talbot. Things he’d wanted to say ten years ago, but hadn’t dared for fear of getting the sack. Discretion warned him that he should continue to hold his tongue, for Tessa’s sake, but he wasn’t so sure.
Claire Talbot’s behavior this evening had convinced him she would never give her blessing to a match between her sister and their former gillie. He’d been a fool to think he had a chance of winning her over. And she’d been a heartless vixen for leading him to believe it, then rubbing his nose in the Talbot fortune.
It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her how much
he
was worth these days—every penny of which he’d earned from his own hard work and ingenuity. It would almost be worth it to see the look on her face. But he would rather see a different sort of look on Tessa’s face, when he surprised her with an account of his wealth once she’d agreed to be his wife.
Little by little, his stomach began to settle, the tightness in his chest began to ease and his breathing began to slow. The gentle movement of the
Marlet
lulled him to sleep.
Before he let it overcome him entirely, Ewan made a promise to himself. If Claire Talbot tried any more of her nonsense tomorrow, he would not stand for it.
Claire jolted awake the next morning, her breath coming in shallow spasms, her brow beaded with cold sweat. She must have tossed about or called out in her sleep before that, for Williams came rushing in from her small adjoining cabin.
“Is something wrong, miss? I was afraid you were being murdered in your bed!”
“Just a dream.” Claire shook her head in an effort to banish it, but the memories clung stubbornly in her mind, as though everything she’d dreamed had truly happened.
She’d been walking up the aisle of the old kirk near Strathandrew. Walking toward Ewan Geddes, who stood at the foot of the altar wearing the kind of kilt and gillie vest he had worn in their youth. He’d looked so ruggedly handsome, she’d wanted to run down the aisle toward him, but her feet had felt heavy as bricks.
“A bad one, was it?” asked Williams. “Can I get you anything, miss? A glass of warm milk or a tipple of something stronger to soothe your nerves?”
“No.” Claire rubbed her eyes. “I shall be fine once I can fully wake up.”
Another part of the dream came back to her. When she’d finally reached the altar, Ewan had seized her in his arms and kissed her, the way he’d done one long-ago night in the darkness. That kiss had made her heart flutter and her knees tremble. Now, as she remembered it with such fierce clarity, her lips ached to feel it again.
“Shall I go fetch your breakfast, miss?” asked Williams. “Or would you like to see if you can go back to sleep for a while longer? It’s early yet, and it isn’t as though you have urgent business to attend, is it?”
She did have business to attend, Claire reminded herself. Though not the kind her maid meant. And that business was more urgent than ever.
“I should like breakfast, please.” She reached for her dressing gown and pulled it on. “Once I wake I never can get back to sleep.”
“Very well, miss.” Williams headed back to her own cabin. “Would you like a tray, or—?”
“In the dining room, please,” said Claire.
Though she quailed at the thought of another disaster like last night’s dinner, eating in her cabin would provide no opportunity to socialize with Ewan Geddes. And she needed to take advantage of every remaining opportunity after having bungled last night’s so badly.
While her maid scurried off to don her apron, Claire rose and slipped behind her dressing screen. Finding a small amount of cold water in the bottom of the ewer, she poured it in the basin, then splashed her face with it. The mild shock succeeded in helping her shake off the dream, but not fully.
It would take more than a little cold water to wash away the final image that had so distressed her. While Ewan Geddes had held her in his arms, kissing her with such raw ardor, Tessa had suddenly called his name from the back of the kirk. Claire had clung to him when he pulled away from her.
“It’s not ye I want!” The contempt in his eyes had stung her heart. Like the way he’d looked at her last night when he’d left the dining room, but even more severe.
That was not what had woken her, though, the way she’d woken from other nightmares. What had shocked her awake had been watching Tessa dash up the aisle and fling herself into Ewan’s arms—watching him kiss Tessa the way he’d kissed her, the way she longed for him to kiss her again.
When the scene flashed in her mind again, Claire clenched her eyes shut, though she knew it would not help. If anything, it only brought the painful image into sharper focus.
She dashed another palmful of water into her face.
Williams bustled back in, ready to face the day. Claire envied her maid’s well-rested, cheerful countenance.
“I’ll just go tell Monsieur Anton to prepare your breakfast, shall I, miss? Then come back to get you dressed?”
Claire peeked out from behind the dressing screen. “While you’re about it, would you please check if Mr. Geddes is up yet?”
“Aye, miss, I won’t be a moment.”
Once the maid had left, Claire sat down on her bed, expelling a shaky breath. The dream made her realize that her long-ago feelings for Ewan Geddes were not entirely in the past.
After the way he’d treated her last night, she detested him more than she ever had. Yet the power he’d once exerted over her was still as potent as ever. Could there be anything worse for a woman, particularly one who prided herself on her sense and discretion, than to harbor passionate feelings for a man who despised her?