Highland Heiress by Margaret Moore

friend from Edinburgh? I would ask him for an introduction, but he’s not here and my friends and I—this is Miss Mabel Hornby and Miss Emmeline Swanson—have been most anxious to make your acquaintance. I hope you don’t mind.”
    Trapped, Gordon nevertheless bowed and answered politely. “Yes, I’m Gordon McHeath, from Edinburgh. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
    The Misses Hornby and Swanson giggled, while the spokeswoman went happily on. “I’m Sarah Taggart— Miss Sarah Taggart. We don’t often have visitors from Edinburgh in Dunbrachie. That is, Sir Robert has visitors, but they don’t often come to the village.”
    â€œIt’s their loss, I’m sure.”
    â€œIt’s so good of you to come to cheer Sir Robert up during this time of trial,” Miss Taggart continued in a mournful tone, although her eyes remained bright and alert, as if she were some sort of predatory bird. “We think he’s been very badly used.”
    â€œVery badly,” Miss Swanson breathlessly seconded, while Miss Hornby nodded so rapidly, her extravagantly decorated hat looked in immediate danger of falling off her head. The very wide, brilliantly green ribbons were doing their job of keeping it in place, although it also looked as if the huge bow was keeping her head on her neck, as well.
    â€œThat wouldn’t have happened if he’d chosen a local girl,” Miss Taggart declared.
    Her friends nodded enthusiastically. No doubt they were local girls, and he wondered vaguely how long their friendships would last if Robbie were to choose one of them.
    â€œThere are several suitable young women in and around Dunbrachie who would be honored to be his bride.”
    â€œHonored!” she of the precarious bonnet echoed.
    â€œDelighted!” cried the other young lady.
    Miss Taggart glanced at her companions before continuing. “Please let him know that he has friends in the village who think what’s happened to him is a terrible shame—but what else can you expect from strangers? And from Glasgow, too!”
    She said “Glasgow” as if that city was a modernGomorrah and anybody from that location should be automatically discounted as worthy of matrimony.
    â€œI’m sure he already knows he has friends in Dunbrachie,” Gordon replied, wondering if these women would be so enthusiastically sympathetic if they knew Robbie had just purposefully avoided them.
    Or how much he drank. And his debts. And the number of women he’d seduced.
    Or maybe they already did and didn’t care, because Robbie was titled and handsome. As for the lawsuit, they might think that justified, too, not realizing, as Gordon unfortunately had, that it indicated a level of bitter vindictiveness no man of honor and true nobility should possess. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”
    Such as keeping Robbie from drinking himself into a stupor in the tavern.
    â€œOh, yes, of course. Good day, Mr. McHeath,” Miss Taggart said with another grimacelike smile before she took the arm of each of her friends and sauntered off as if she had just made a romantic conquest.
    Nothing could be further from the truth, Gordon thought as he started toward the tavern, passing the lane between the baker’s and a bookshop. The next time he and Robbie were in a similar situation, should there be a similar situation—
    A hand reached out, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him backward into the lane.

Chapter Seven
    G ordon raised his hand to strike—until he realized his assailant was wearing a bonnet.
    A woman had pulled him into the alley—a woman wearing a bonnet as prettily and expensively decorated as anything Lady Catriona McNare had ever worn, covering glossy dark hair. Her Spencer jacket was velvet, her gown of fine muslin….
    He knew who it was even before the bonnet tilted back to reveal Lady