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O’Banyon’s eyes widened. ‘Did he now?’
Got you. ‘I delivered it yesterday.’
The Irish man’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I heard it was only McKenzie whisky in Edinburgh.’
‘It appears you heard wrong.’ Logan shrugged. He glanced at Mrs West. There was a look on her face he could not quite interpret, her lips were parted and he could have sworn a smile lurked in her misty gaze, but she had already turned that gaze on O’Banyon as if waiting for his reply.
‘And what makes you think you can do business with me?’ O’Banyon asked.
‘The Laird looked into the Chien Rouge through his contacts before he answered your enquiry.’
Her gaze dropped down to her teacup as if to hide her thoughts, but then she looked back up at Logan. ‘Your brother is a clever man, Mr Gilvry.’ Her voice held a trace of amusement, but whether at his expense, or his brother’s, or even O’Banyon’s, he had no way of knowing, because her expression was quickly one of indifference. The woman kept her secrets well in hand.
But he was not one to avoid a challenge.
‘He would not remain in business long if he was not, Mrs West.’
O’Banyon grinned. ‘It seems we may be able to do business, Gilvry.’
Logan did not like the word ‘may’. With Edinburgh mostly shut off to them by McKenzie’s ruffians, they needed to get an outlet in London as soon as possible. But smuggling held risks not to be taken lightly. ‘What more is required?’
‘Naturally, I will want to see your terms.’
‘I can bring the documents around in the morning.’
‘I will also need to consult my partner in London.’
Not what he wanted to hear. He had not planned to linger. Other customers were waiting. ‘I understood you had carte blanche, Mr O’Banyon. Perhaps it is your partner to whom I should be speaking.’
O’Banyon ignored the jab. ‘A letter giving my positive opinion is all that is required. And of course the transfer of funds. A payment sent on account for the first shipment. Unless you wish to dispense with such formality.’
This was the problem doing business outside of Scotland. He acknowledged the other man’s hit with a slight nod. ‘Certainly not.’ Knowing his propensity to work on nothing but a handshake, Ian had warned him to agree to nothing without money up front. Such trust was all well and good between Scotsmen, Ian had said, but Sassenachs, other than his wife of course, were not to be trusted.
‘And besides,’ O’Banyon said, ‘Mrs West is anxious to catch a glimpse of Edinburgh’s welcome of the King.’
‘His ship arrives the day after tomorrow, I understand,’ she said, becoming animated. ‘The first visit of a reigning monarch to Scotland since Charles the Second. There are several grand spectacles planned. Cavalry, Highland regiments in their kilts, the newspapers are saying...’
For the first time, her eyes were sparkling. No longer did they remind him of heather at dusk, instead they were as bright as amethysts in sunlight, her lips curved in a smile so lovely it stole his breath.
‘Mr McKenzie has offered us a place at his window overlooking the Golden Mile from where we can watch a procession later in the week,’ she said, looking pleased.
O’Banyon shot her a silencing look. She dropped her gaze and caught her lip with white teeth. ‘It was kind of Mr McKenzie to offer, but I expect it will be nothing of consequence.’
The heat of anger at that small gesture of submission flared in Logan’s chest. His fists wanted to smash O’Banyon in the face, which made no sense at all. ‘McKenzie, is it?’ he said, not bothering to hide his disgust. ‘If you are so deep in bed with him, then I doubt we can do business.’
O’Banyon looked at the glass in his hand. ‘McKenzie has nothing to match what I have tasted from Dunross.’
But that didn’t mean he would buy it if the price wasna right. Ian had warned him to tread carefully. To turn the man up sweet. He reined in his anger and forced himself to think.
‘If Mrs West is so keen to see the King, I can drive you both out to Leith the day after tomorrow to see his official welcome.’ At least he hoped he could. Surely Sanford could get him a pass.
The smile he had thought lovely before became utterly enchanting. And yet, it seemed a little too practised. She turned from him to O’Banyon. ‘Can we, Jack?’
Jack grimaced. ‘All you’ll see is a fat old man waving, but if it pleases you to go, then we will do so.’ He got to his feet and offered his hand to Logan. ‘I will look forward to seeing you in the morning with the documents, then, Gilvry. Let us hope we can conclude our business satisfactorily in a few days.’
‘I am sure we can.’
He took Mrs West’s hand in his and was once more aware of the feel of her warmth and the fine bones of that elegant hand in his palm and the shadows deep in her eyes. Shadows he wanted to pierce. ‘I will come for you and Mr O’Banyon at nine in the morning on Tuesday, Mrs West, if that will suit you?’
‘Jack and I will be ready,’ she said, giving him a sultry smile that sent heat careening straight to his groin.
An effect she’d intended. The knowledge showed in her eyes as plain as day. He found it irksome to say the least. She was not the kind of woman he imagined ever finding attractive, though he doubted there were many men in whom she did not engender lustful thoughts. He had thought himself more in control. Forearmed, as it were, with the knowledge of the damage a woman could do to a man not on his guard.
‘The day after tomorrow, then,’ he said, and did not fail to catch her glance at O’Banyon. A glance seeking his approval. But for what?
The back of his neck tightened.
The well-being of his family hung on the success of this deal with O’Banyon. One wrong move and it could all go to hell.
Without doubt O’Banyon’s woman was temptation incarnate. A move in her direction and he would see his negotiations fall to ruin. Still, he wasna likely to make such a stupid mistake with a woman of her ilk. He had years of practise controlling the urges that got most men into trouble.
Chapter Three
Mr Gilvry had been just as easy to manipulate as any other man. He had done just as she wanted and Jack had been pleased. She still didn’t understand her own sense of disappointment. Since when had she cared what sort of man she put her hooks into? Usually she felt nothing but the satisfaction of a job well done. Satisfaction that she had made a little more money to add to her hoard, which was growing, but nowhere near as much as she needed.
The leer on Fergus McKenzie’s red-bearded face brought her wandering thoughts back to the present with a lurch. She let a small smile play across her mouth and separated the grapes on her plate with the scissors. Thank goodness they had finally reached the dessert course.
Dinner in their private parlour with a lout like McKenzie had been as pleasant as watching a pig at the trough. Thoughts well hidden, she delicately popped the plump red globe into her mouth and cast him a come-hither glance from beneath her lashes. The crude Scot licked already too-moist lips surrounded by all that untrimmed wiry red hair.
A small secret shudder ran down her spine at what she knew he was thinking. It shocked her, that sudden flash of fear. If Jack ordered her to his bed, she would do it. If she didn’t, she would face his wrath. A swift incapacitating punch which would keep her from the table for a week or more and no money coming in. Or a return to the brothel as a reminder of what her life would be without his support. She preferred the former. As Jack knew only too well.
‘Shall we get down to business?’ Jack said, drawing the man’s attention back to him with the signal she should go.
She breathed a silent sigh of relief. ‘If you gentlemen will excuse me,’ she said, smiling at McKenzie, ‘I will leave you to your port and your discussions.’
Jack rose with her. Clearly startled by the courtesy, the lowland Scot followed suit.
‘It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr McKenzie,’ she said with a graceful inclination of her head he didn’t notice, so busy was he eyeing her barely covered breasts. Men. They were just so predictable.
Most of them.
Knock his eyes out, Jack had requested. So she’d chosen a gown even more revealing that the one she had worn the previous evening. A celestial blue that skimmed her nipples.
McKenzie inhaled a rasping breath as he stared at what he hoped was on offer. ‘Goo’ night, then, Mrs—er—Mrs...’
‘West,’ Jack supplied. ‘I’ll see you later, darlin’,’ Jack said with a leer of his own. Staking his prior claim, though he was not beyond serving her up to any man for the sake of business.
He’d served her up to Logan Gilvry. In a manner of speaking.
The difference, the small difference, was that Mr Gilvry was a gentleman. The squat man now lusting for her favours was as far away from a gentleman as the pig he resembled. She gave him her warmest, most seductive smile and batted her lashes. ‘I hope we meet again soon.’
She swept out.
‘Now,’ Jack said as she closed the door. ‘Tell me about this trouble you are having with the Gilvry brothers and what you intend to do about it.’
‘Logan is the worst. He’s a thorn in my side.’
‘Is he, now?’ Jack replied musingly.
She would have lingered to hear more, but the maid, a little mousy thing assigned to her by the hotel, trundled in from the bedroom next door. ‘Is there anything I can be getting you, Mrs West?’
She wouldn’t put it past Jack to have the girl in his pay. Watching her. ‘Brandy, please, Muira.’ She needed something to take the edge off the revulsion she’d been feeling all night.
Logan Gilvry’s innocent smile with a touch of wickedness floated across her mind. A smile she would be resisting tomorrow. Or not. She inhaled a quick breath. She’d have no difficulty keeping him at a distance, lovely as he was. Giving in to passion had served her ill in the past. A mistake she had never made again. Compared to some of the men she had dealt with, handling this young Scot should be a simple matter.
Muira handed her the brandy and she took a sip, let the warmth slide down her throat. It did nothing for the coldness inside her. A good thing, too. It was a coldness she had cultivated and now carefully nurtured. ‘That will be all, thank you.’
The girl bobbed a curtsy and left.
She took another sip. And if she refused to drive out with Jack and Gilvry on the morrow? If she sent her regrets? She leaned her head back against the chair cushions, plush and soft against her head. Jack paid her because she was useful. The world was a cold hard place for women alone without family support. Unless she had money.
She drained her glass. As usual, she would do what must be done. And to hell with green-eyed panthers.
* * *
An hour or so later, Jack entered without knocking, rubbing his hands together, his eyes glinting with pleasure.
‘What did you think?’ he asked, crossing to the console to pour a drink.
A chance to nudge things in the direction she preferred? Perhaps. She put her book aside. ‘A man who gets the job done.’
‘Aye.’ Jack brought his drink and stood with one foot on the hearth. ‘But I wouldn’t trust him with a farthing.’
True. ‘You don’t have to trust a man, if you understand him.’
He cast her a sharp glance. ‘Throwing your weight in his direction, are ye?’
She shrugged non-committally. ‘He’s a known quantity. He can deliver. He holds Edinburgh in his palm.’
Jack narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Almost. We drank Gilvry’s whisky at the alehouse, don’t forget.’
Daring. Jack was always drawn by anyone who beat the odds. His one weakness. The reason he had taken her on. She let her opposition fill the silence.
‘For all that McKenzie brags, the Gilvrys have him worried.’ He drained his glass in one swift swallow. ‘I don’t understand what makes them such a threat to a man like McKenzie.’
Intelligence. ‘Ask Gilvry. He’ll probably tell you.’
‘Aye.’ He kicked at the grate. ‘But does he have the courage to take what he wants, no matter the cost?’
Her, did he mean? She raised a brow. ‘He’s a boy. Really, Jack. You want me to waste my talents. For what? Assurance that he’s as reckless as you?’
He was across the room in a trice, pulling her up from her seat. A quick ruthless twist and her arm was pressed high between her shoulder blades. Her eyes blurred from the pain.
‘Are you questioning me?’ His voice low and menacing in her ear.
‘No,’ she gasped. ‘I am just trying to understand what you want me to get from him.’
He released her with a push that made her stumble. She rubbed at her reddened wrist. Likely she’d have a bruise there tomorrow. ‘I’ll do whatever you want, Jack. No questions asked.’
‘I thought you might, colleen.’ He sipped at his drink.
* * *
‘So what will you tell them?’ Sanford asked.
Logan eyed the languid figure on the other side of the carriage. The young lord had kindly offered him the loan of his carriage, once he’d been dropped off at Holyroodhouse where he had been called on some official business. ‘I’ll tell them the truth. That King is no’ landing today because of the rain and offer to take them tomorrow.’ He looked out of the window at the torrential rain, at the bunting and soggy flags draped across the buildings to welcome King George. ‘Unless they have some other idea. Perhaps they’ll want to go stare through the mist at his ship out in the harbour.’
‘You could take them shopping.’
He turned back to look at Sanford’s mocking face. ‘Why would I do that?’
The smile broadened. ‘Since you asked me for the loan of my carriage today, I’ve been thinking. If you really want to impress this O’Banyon fellow and his lady friend, there are several events you could take them to besides the public processions. There’s a levee. A drawing room, and a couple of balls. None of which will depend on the weather.’
Logan glowered at the smirking fop. ‘None of which I’ve been invited to.’
‘Ah, but you see, I happen to be friends with Sir Walter Scott, the man in charge.’
‘Oh, aye. And you think we wouldna’ stick out like sore thumbs at the King’s Drawing Room? You are daft in the head.’
‘As long as you wear your kilt, my dear boy, you will fit right in. But as for the lady, well, she would need something a little more...well, something different from what she was wearing at the Reiver the other night.’
He frowned. ‘I liked what she wore.’
‘So did every other man in the place. She needs a proper court dress. With ostrich plumes. And a ball gown for the Peers’ Ball. That is, if you really do want to take her and her friend.’
‘I would like to see O’Banyon wearing a kilt.’
‘The Irish wear kilts, I’m told.’
They did, but somehow he couldn’t quite picture one on this particular Irishman.
‘Have you ever had the pleasure of clothing a woman?’ Sanford asked idly, but there was a sharpness in the look he shot Logan’s way.
The man was making it sound as if it was the sort of thing a man of his age should have done hundreds of times. ‘Any woman worth her salt knows what to wear.’
Sanford grinned.
The young lord was having altogether too much fun with this new idea of his. And yet if O’Banyon liked the idea of mingling with the cream of Edinburgh’s society, it might help him decide in Dunross’s favour. ‘I’ll ask if they have any interest.’
