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Authors: Margaret McPhee
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so vibrant against the polished ebony of the wood. He glanced up at McEwan. ‘Let us just call it a gut feeling.’
‘Is it a question of her honesty?’
‘Possibly.’ Hunter thought of her lies about the coach fare,
Evelina,
her absence at the seaside trip, all of which were trivial and might be explained away by a myriad of reasons. But his instincts were telling him otherwise. And that was not all his damnable instincts were telling him of Miss Allardyce. A vision appeared in his mind of her standing in the upstairs passageway, her shift clinging damp and transparent, and the pile of clothing that hid little, and he almost groaned at the pulse of desire that throbbed through him. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth to martial some control and felt anger and determination overcome the lust. When he opened his eyes again McEwan was staring at him.
‘Everything all right?’
Hunter schooled himself to dispassion. ‘Why would it be otherwise?’ He saw the compassion that came into McEwan’s eyes and hated it. ‘We are talking of Miss Allardyce,’ he said and knew he should curb the cold tone from his voice. Jed McEwan was his friend and the one who had helped him through those darkest days. The man did not deserve such treatment. ‘Forgive me,’ he muttered.
McEwan gave a single nod and the expression on his face told Hunter that he understood. ‘What do you want to do about Miss Allardyce?’
Hunter narrowed his eyes slightly. ‘Find out a little more about her. There is a man I know in Glasgow who should be able to help.’ A man he had used before for less honourable pursuits. ‘Would you be able to act on my behalf?’
‘Of course.’
Hunter scribbled the man’s details on a sheet of paper; while he waited for the ink to dry, he opened the drawer and extracted one of the rolls of banknotes. ‘The sooner, the better.’ He pushed the money and the paper across the desk’s surface to McEwan, who folded the paper before slipping both into his pocket.
‘And while you are gone I will see what I can discover from my mother.’
Hunter waited until his mother and her companion had finished their breakfast and were playing cards within the drawing room before he approached.
His mother was dressed as smartly as ever, not a hair out of place in her chignon, her dress of deep purple silk proclaiming her still to be in mourning for his father,although it had been nine months since his death. Miss Allardyce sat opposite her, wearing the same faded blue dress he had last seen clutched raggedly against her breast, on the face of it looking calm and unruffled, but he saw the flicker of wariness in those tawny eyes before she masked it.
‘If you would excuse me for a few minutes, ma’am.’ Miss Allardyce set her cards face down upon the green baize surface of the card table and got to her feet. She smiled at his mother. ‘I have left my handkerchiefs in my bedchamber and find I have need of them.’
His mother gave a sullen nod, but did not look pleased.
‘Well?’ she asked as the door closed behind her companion. ‘What is it that you have to say to me?’
Hunter walked over to Miss Allardyce’s chair and sat down upon it. ‘How are you finding it being back at Blackloch?’
‘Well enough,’ she said in a tone that would have soured the freshest of milk. She eyed him with cold dislike. ‘There are no amends that you can make for what you did, Sebastian. You cannot expect that I will forgive you.’
‘I do not,’ he said easily and lifted Miss Allardyce’s cards from the table. He fanned them out, looking at them. ‘Is Miss Allardyce to play?’
His mother gave a grudging nod.
Hunter gestured for another card from the banker’s pile. And his mother slid one face down across the baize towards him. He noticed the arthritic knuckles above the large cluster of diamonds that glittered upon her fingers, and the slight tremor that held them.
‘I did not know you had taken on a
‘Is it a question of her honesty?’
‘Possibly.’ Hunter thought of her lies about the coach fare,
Evelina,
her absence at the seaside trip, all of which were trivial and might be explained away by a myriad of reasons. But his instincts were telling him otherwise. And that was not all his damnable instincts were telling him of Miss Allardyce. A vision appeared in his mind of her standing in the upstairs passageway, her shift clinging damp and transparent, and the pile of clothing that hid little, and he almost groaned at the pulse of desire that throbbed through him. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth to martial some control and felt anger and determination overcome the lust. When he opened his eyes again McEwan was staring at him.
‘Everything all right?’
Hunter schooled himself to dispassion. ‘Why would it be otherwise?’ He saw the compassion that came into McEwan’s eyes and hated it. ‘We are talking of Miss Allardyce,’ he said and knew he should curb the cold tone from his voice. Jed McEwan was his friend and the one who had helped him through those darkest days. The man did not deserve such treatment. ‘Forgive me,’ he muttered.
McEwan gave a single nod and the expression on his face told Hunter that he understood. ‘What do you want to do about Miss Allardyce?’
Hunter narrowed his eyes slightly. ‘Find out a little more about her. There is a man I know in Glasgow who should be able to help.’ A man he had used before for less honourable pursuits. ‘Would you be able to act on my behalf?’
‘Of course.’
Hunter scribbled the man’s details on a sheet of paper; while he waited for the ink to dry, he opened the drawer and extracted one of the rolls of banknotes. ‘The sooner, the better.’ He pushed the money and the paper across the desk’s surface to McEwan, who folded the paper before slipping both into his pocket.
‘And while you are gone I will see what I can discover from my mother.’
Hunter waited until his mother and her companion had finished their breakfast and were playing cards within the drawing room before he approached.
His mother was dressed as smartly as ever, not a hair out of place in her chignon, her dress of deep purple silk proclaiming her still to be in mourning for his father,although it had been nine months since his death. Miss Allardyce sat opposite her, wearing the same faded blue dress he had last seen clutched raggedly against her breast, on the face of it looking calm and unruffled, but he saw the flicker of wariness in those tawny eyes before she masked it.
‘If you would excuse me for a few minutes, ma’am.’ Miss Allardyce set her cards face down upon the green baize surface of the card table and got to her feet. She smiled at his mother. ‘I have left my handkerchiefs in my bedchamber and find I have need of them.’
His mother gave a sullen nod, but did not look pleased.
‘Well?’ she asked as the door closed behind her companion. ‘What is it that you have to say to me?’
Hunter walked over to Miss Allardyce’s chair and sat down upon it. ‘How are you finding it being back at Blackloch?’
‘Well enough,’ she said in a tone that would have soured the freshest of milk. She eyed him with cold dislike. ‘There are no amends that you can make for what you did, Sebastian. You cannot expect that I will forgive you.’
‘I do not,’ he said easily and lifted Miss Allardyce’s cards from the table. He fanned them out, looking at them. ‘Is Miss Allardyce to play?’
His mother gave a grudging nod.
Hunter gestured for another card from the banker’s pile. And his mother slid one face down across the baize towards him. He noticed the arthritic knuckles above the large cluster of diamonds that glittered upon her fingers, and the slight tremor that held them.
‘I did not know you had taken on a
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