Deborah Hale - Highland Rogue

How much longer would the two of them remain alone?

Claire pushed that foreboding to the back of her mind, alongside her fear of heartache.

‘I have a piece of advice,’ said Ewan, ‘that should help yer game.’

Something in his tone warned Claire it was likely to be an impudent suggestion. ‘Indeed?’ she rallied. ‘And what might that be?’

‘Don’t wear a corset.’ Suppressed laughter bubbled beneath his audacious suggestion. ‘It makes it too hard for ye to bend over the table to make yer shot.’

He rattled on. ‘It’s only me to see ye, anyway, and I think ye’ve got a fine figure without squeezing it all out of shape. Ye’re not wearing a corset now, are ye?’

‘Ewan!’ A furious blush tingled in Claire’s cheeks. ‘That is not a proper question for a gentleman to ask a lady!’

‘Aye, well, I’m no gentleman, am I?’

In the process of tracing her Canadian family to their origins in eighteenth-century Britain, DEBORAH HALElearned a great deal about the period and uncovered plenty of true-life inspiration for her historical romance novels! Deborah lives with her very own hero and their four fast-growing children in Nova Scotia—a province steeped in history and romance!

Deborah invites you to become better acquainted with her by visiting her personal website, www.deborahhale.com, or chatting with her in the Harlequin/Mills & Boon online communities.

Novels by the same author:

A GENTLEMAN OF SUBSTANCE

THE WEDDING WAGER

MY LORD PROTECTOR

CARPETBAGGER’S WIFE

THE ELUSIVE BRIDE

BORDER BRIDE

LADY LYTE’S LITTLE SECRET

THE BRIDE SHIP

A WINTER NIGHT’S TALE

(part of A Regency Christmas)

MARRIED: THE VIRGIN WIDOW *

BOUGHT: THE PENNILESS LADY *

WANTED: MAIL-ORDER MISTRESS *

HIS COMPROMISED COUNTESS

* Gentlemen of Fortune

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Deborah Hale

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is lovingly dedicated to old friends and new.

To Diane Beaumont,

the person who taught me more about writing than anyone…and more about generosity, too. And to the Ladies of the Library: Shannon, Kari, Laura Lee, Michelle, Anna, Alli, Doreen, Biddy, Christi, Marcy, Kate, Karen, Susan, Linda, Tina, Angela and all the gang. Thanks for giving me a special spot to hang my bonnet in the eHarlequin community. I can’t wait to see Irving’s Bookcase overflowing with all your titles!

London, 1875

“My stepmother? Oh, bother!” Claire Brancaster Talbot glanced up from her desk, where she sat reviewing some correspondence from the Admiralty.

To the best of her recollection, Lady Lydiard had never before set foot over the threshold of Brancasters’ business office on the Strand. “Did she say what she wants to see me about, Catch-pole?”

The sudden advent of Lady Lydiard appeared to have flustered the hitherto imperturbable Mr. Catchpole. Claire had long suspected her fussy, middle-aged secretary of entertaining a secret reverence for persons of title.

“Her ladyship did not vouch that information, miss.” Catchpole removed his pince-nez, then immediately replaced it. “Should I have made so bold as to inquire?”

“I would scarcely call it bold to ask a caller’s business.” Claire stifled a sigh as she laid aside her paperwork. “However, I doubt her ladyship will keep me in suspense about what she wants. Show her in.”

Rising from her seat, Claire smoothed down the skirt of her checked silk frock, hoping her stepmother would not fuss about the paucity of her crinolines or the complete absence of a corset. Not that Claire’s angular figure truly required the latter to achieve a slender waist. Corsets did help create the illusion of bosoms, but she could happily do without those in the business world.

The door to her office opened and Lady Lydiard cruised in under full sail, her middle-aged waist cinched so tightly Claire marveled the woman could breathe, let alone sit or eat.

Mr. Catchpole trailed behind her ladyship with an unctuous smirk on his face that made Claire want to shake some sense into him. “Lady Lydiard to see you, Miss Brancaster Talbot. Shall I bring tea for you ladies?”

“One name will do, thank you, Catchpole,” said Claire.

Adopting the name of her mother’s family when she’d taken over Brancasters had been an edict of her grandfather’s will. Though she signed both names on business correspondence, she found the pair too cumbersome for social use.

“And don’t bother about tea,” she added, without consulting her stepmother. “I doubt this is a social call.”

Whatever the purpose of Lady Lydiard’s visit, Claire had no wish to prolong it.

“Very good, miss.” Catchpole made a deep bow and backed out of the office.

His obsequious withdrawal was lost on Lady Lydiard, who swept a glance around Claire’s spartan but spacious office, her nose wrinkled slightly as though she could detect the unpleasant odor of trade . “So this is where you spend all your time?”

“Not all of it.” Claire turned to look out her office window, onto the bustle of London’s commercial district. “Just enough to keep your shares from losing their value, and to grow the fortune your grandchildren will inherit one day.”

Lady Lydiard gave a choked little gasp that made Claire repent her veiled threat. For the sake of her dear half sister, she had resolved to improve the cool relations with her stepmother, at least until after Tessa’s wedding.

When she turned back to offer some sort of apology, she found Lady Lydiard with a handkerchief pressed to her quivering lower lip. Claire’s heart sank even as her exasperation rose. It was not fair that a woman she’d never cared pins about could provoke her emotions to such an unpleasant degree.

“Th-that’s what I came to see you about!” Her ladyship promptly burst into tears, much to Claire’s chagrin and impatience.

She had a wholesome horror of the tearful outbursts to which Lady Lydiard was prone.

“Why don’t you…have a seat?” Claire struggled to think what she’d said that could be the reason for her stepmother’s call…or her sudden fit of weeping.

Money trouble? It couldn’t be. Whatever her differences with the woman, Claire had to admit Lady Lydiard lived comfortably within her generous allowance.

“Shall I summon Mr. Catchpole back and tell him we’ll take tea, after all?” she asked, with a hint of desperation in her voice.

She found the ritual of tea drinking often provided a distraction in awkward social situations. This one certainly qualified.