Highland Heiress. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ the architectural details of Robbie’s home, which he’d inherited on the death of his father three years ago, were not uppermost in Gordon’s mind as he approached this day. Nor were the thickening rain clouds.

      He was thinking about that young woman, and Robbie—not that he wanted to think of them together, in any way.

      He didn’t want to believe that his first assumption about the cause of her rage—a love affair gone wrong—was the correct one, so he tried to come up with other explanations for her anger.

      Maybe there had been a family business venture involving Robbie that went awry. Robbie was not the most responsible of men, and he had no head for figures—except those of women—so it could well be that some sort of transaction or bargain had turned out badly.

      Perhaps there was a sister or a cousin or a friend Robbie had flirted with and she was angry because she was jealous.

      Whatever the explanation, as he neared the large portico at the front of McStuart House and the first drops of rain began to fall, he decided not to mention the encounter to Robbie. He didn’t want to hear Robbie’s account or explanations, especially if he and that bold, beautiful young woman had been lovers. He wanted to rest, and to try to forget Catriona.

      He tied the horse to the ring on one of the columns and hurried up the three wide steps to the equally wide front door with a stained glass fanlight above. The door swung open to reveal a tall, austere butler Gordon didn’t recognize.

      “Mr. McHeath, I presume?” the older man said in a refined English accent.

      “Aye,” Gordon answered, giving his coat and hat to the liveried footman who appeared beside the butler.

      “Sir Robert is expecting you in the drawing room.”

      Gordon nodded and hurried inside, making his way to the drawing room through the imposing foyer with walls covered with the horns of stags and rams, spears, pikes, swords and armor. Beyond the drawing room and wide double staircase were several other rooms, such as the library where he and Robbie had played at soldiers when they were younger, and a billiard room they’d used when they were older. There were at least three bedrooms on the main level and twelve above, and servants’ quarters above that, on the uppermost level. He still had no idea how many smaller rooms existed below stairs, where the kitchen, laundry, pantry, buttery, wine cellar, servants’ parlor, servants’ dining room and various other rooms necessary for the running of the house were located.

      When he entered the drawing room, he immediately spotted Robbie standing by the French doors leading to the flagstone terrace where the rain was now falling in earnest. Looking out over the garden that had been designed by Inigo Jones, his friend stood with his head lowered, one hand braced against the door frame, the other loosely holding an empty wineglass.

      That was such an unusual pose for Robbie, Gordon wasn’t sure if he should disturb him or not, so he took a moment to survey the room. Nothing seemed to have changed since the last time he was here. The walls were still papered in that unusual shade of ochre, the gilded furniture was still covered with the same dark green velvet. The same portraits of long-dead ancestors hung in the same places, the same landscapes in theirs. Even the books on the side tables looked as if they were the ones that had been there five years ago. Everything was clean, with not a speck of dust to be seen, but otherwise, it was as if time had stood still.

      Until Robbie turned around.

      What the devil had happened to him? He looked as if he’d aged a decade, and a hard-lived decade at that. His face was pale and gaunt and there were dark semicircles beneath his bloodshot blue eyes. While his body had always been slim, now it looked almost skeletal. Only his thick, waving fair hair appeared unchanged.

      As Gordon tried not to stare, Robbie set his wineglass on the nearest table and walked toward him smiling.

      At least his smile was the same, merry and charming, and a spark of vitality was in his voice as he cried, “Gordo, you old bookworm! I thought you’d never get here! But I never should have doubted you’d arrive after sending me word you’d come, should I? Always dependable, that’s Gordo!”

      Gordon had always detested that particular version of his name, yet he was far too concerned about his friend’s state of health to be annoyed. “I ran into a bit of trouble on the far side of the village,” he said dismissively before asking with more concern, “How are you, Robbie?”

      “I’ve been a little under the weather,” his friend admitted as he reached out to shake Gordon’s hand.

      “Nothing serious, so stop staring at me like an undertaker taking mental measurements,” he finished with a laugh, his grip strong and firm. “Just a little too much of the juice of the grape last night.”

      That would certainly explain his appearance. And Robbie had never been much of an eater. But it was his hearty handshake that convinced Gordon there was nothing seriously amiss with his health.

      “Let’s have a drink. I’m sure you need one,” his friend continued as he went to a cabinet and poured some amber-colored liquid into two glasses. “The roads around here can make for a damned uncomfortable ride.”

      Although Gordon suspected Robbie had already been drinking more than was good for him, he was tired and thirsty and accepted the whiskey. “Thank you.”

      Robbie downed his neat. Still holding the glass, he ambled toward the ornately carved hearth. “I suppose you were surprised to get my invitation.”

      “I was delighted,” Gordon truthfully replied. And very happy to have a good reason to be away from Edinburgh for a while.

      Robbie fingered his glass and looked down at the empty interior. “Yes, well, I confess my motives weren’t completely selfless. I’ve had a bit of trouble, Gordo.”

      Involving a beautiful young woman whose passion could send a man reeling? God, he hoped not!

      Nevertheless, he managed to calmly reply. “I see. What sort of trouble?”

      Robbie gestured toward the sofa closest to him. “Sit down and I’ll tell you all about it—or do you want a bite to eat first? I’ve got a new cook, a Frenchman. Can’t understand half of what he says, but the food’s wonderful.”

      No doubt costly, too, but the McStuarts had been rich since the Jacobite Rebellion, when they’d switched churches and allegiances to their advantage as easily as most men changed trousers. Not the most honorable of heritages, Robbie used to say, but it had kept the family solvent ever since.

      “No, thank you. I’d rather hear about you,” Gordon replied as he sat down.

      Robbie poured himself another whiskey, while Gordon twisted his half-full glass in his hand and waited.

      “Well, Gordo, I suppose it had to happen eventually,” Robbie began, sighing as he leaned against the cabinet, holding his glass loose in his fingers with the same casual ease he always displayed, even when called before the tyrannical headmaster at the school where they’d met when they were ten years old. “I’ve had my heart broken at last, old chum. Smashed. Shattered. Wrecked and ruined by a cold and stubborn woman.”

      A romantic affair gone wrong then.

      Even though there was still the chance that Robbie’s heart had been broken by a woman who didn’t wear a СКАЧАТЬ