Susan Johnson (2 page)

“There’s no later, Robbie Don’t you understand?” Her in-laws from her first marriage to Jamie Low had given warning they intended to protect their four grandchildren from the taint of the Carres. The Erskines, the family of her second husband, Kilmarnock, had practically threatened to have her thrown into the Tolbooth if she spoke one word to any of the Carres. They wanted nothing to blemish the chance of Kilmarnock’s only issue, Angus, being given an English peerage.

“We’ll make certain no one sees us together.”

“This isn’t sport, Robbie. The Erskines are rabid Queensberry supporters. They’d like nothing better than to see your whole family drawn and quartered in their castle courtyard.”

“Why would they suspect that I’ve returned?”

“Because you’re a hotheaded Carre.”

“Hot-blooded, more like,” he said with a grin. “How soon can you rid yourself of your guests?”

“Robbie!” she wailed. “Listen!”

“Darling, darling,” he soothed her, gently brushing her mouth with his fingertip. “I’ve heard every word. Now go be a gracious hostess to all the treacherous cutthroats downstairs, and I’ll be here when you return. No one knows I’m in the country.” He leaned
forward so his breath was warm on her mouth, then his lips met hers in a delicate, restrained caress, a butterfly kiss of politesse and affection. “So you’re safe, your children are safe.” His bronzed fingers curled over her silk-covered shoulders, pulled her close. “There now, that’s better.” His arousal was blatant against her belly, black leather and lilac silk gliding against each other in the smallest of undulations—invitation, enticement, potent memory in the exquisite drifting impulse. He murmured deep in his throat—half groan, half sigh, paradise regained after months in the wilderness. As he leaned into her soft, voluptuous body, his kiss subtly changed, deepened, his mouth slowly forcing hers open, his tongue gently exploring, tasting, sliding far into her mouth, prelude to the more tantalizing offer of his virile body hard against hers.

A scorching heat ignited deep within her, her response immediate, extreme, so fierce with memory and need she moaned, a soft, low, animal sound that gave voice to the urgent desire burning through her senses.

“A month’s too long,” he whispered, rubbing against her, crushing a handful of skirt in his hand and lifting it up.

Panicked at the sensation of cool air on her thighs, she twisted her mouth away, swiftly brought her hands up to push him away. “No! Please, Robbie, no.”

Immune to her pleas, he recaptured her mouth, the pressure of her hands insignificant against his strength. Like a man intent on claiming what was his, he branded her with a demanding, possessive kiss that burned away reason, brought the throbbing between her thighs to fever pitch, made her forget everything but reckless desire.

They were both breathless when he finally released her. With his erection straining his black leather breeches, it required a deep breath to master his rash impulses. “Go now,” he whispered. “But don’t be gone too long.”

Shivering, she clung to him, fear and longing a chaos in her brain, the feel of him tantalizing, his body toned, hard, exquisitely tempting—like his arousal. And knowing how he could make her feel, how insatiable his sexual appetite and stamina, she wondered if she was capable of leaving him.

But she’d survived as a widow in a man’s world because she rarely let impulse overwhelm the practical considerations of her life. Inhaling to steady her dizzying susceptibilities, cautioning herself against succumbing to reckless urges, she lifted her head from his chest and gazed up into his dark eyes. “Darling Robbie, if I allow this, I put my children in jeopardy. No matter how much I want to make love to you, I can’t.”

“Do you think I came from Holland only for that? I wouldn’t have to go so far for sex.”

“I understand,” she acknowledged. “But how can there by anything more with the limitations curtailing me? And you shouldn’t have written, not with Queensberry’s spies everywhere.”

He took a half-step back, scrutinizing her with an inquisitor’s fierce regard, all the grace and charm stripped from his face. “The letter was sent through Roxburgh. Are you saying he’s suspect now? I think you found someone new.” His voice took on a rough, flinty edge. “That’s what I think.”

“You’re wrong,” she responded coolly. “Everyone’s suspect since the bribes from London have escalated.
And I’ve slept alone the last month, if you must know.”

His smile was instant, unutterably warm, like a brilliant ray of sunshine after a storm. “Alone? For me? I’m honored.”

“Don’t be presumptuous,” she retorted, testy after his accusations, not inclined to allow him such simplistic guidelines of right and wrong. “I’ve been busy trying to keep my in-laws’ clutches off my children since you left for Holland. It didn’t give me time to invite any men into my bed.”

“I’m just arrived in Edinburgh, the spies haven’t sent in their reports yet.” Indulgent to her temper now that his jealousy was assuaged, he repressed his smile of satisfaction. “So your children are safe.”

“For how long?” Determined to resist his dangerous temptations, she moved away.

He could have stopped her but he let her go, half turning to follow her progress.

“Don’t be here when I return,” she quietly ordered, reserve in her tone, the Countess of Kilmarnock speaking now. “I
can’t
see you.”

He didn’t reply beyond the merest inclination of his head, but he’d felt what she’d felt when they’d kissed.

As if reading his thoughts, she spun around and faced him, her hands clenched at her sides. “Damn you, Robbie, you can’t have everything you want.”

“But then I don’t want everything,” he murmured. “I only want you.”

Snatching up her tiara from the carpet, she swung the glittering diamond headpiece in the curve of her fingers, disturbed, agitated, out of temper with her conflicting needs, with the impertinent young man
smiling at her. “This isn’t a game, Robbie.” Vexation showed in her violet gaze. “I’m not available—for a score of reasons you wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly. I’ll take care of them all.”

“If you’re not hung first.”

“We’ll have our estates back by fall,” he replied, undisturbed by the menace in her words. “You worry too much.”

“And you don’t worry enough.” Setting the tiara on her titian curls, she glanced in her dressing table mirror and adjusted the glittering ornament minutely, “I have my children to consider, not just my carnal urges. I’m sorry,” she briskly added, as if her bracing tone would strengthen her resolve. “I can’t become involved with you.” Turning from the mirror, she twitched the folds of her skirt into order, looked at the young Earl of Greenlaw for a breath-held moment, and then, in a swish of lilac silk, walked from the room.

M
OVING SWIFTLY DOWN THE CARPETED HALLWAY
, she could hear her heart beating like a drum, the sound echoing in her ears, the heated flush on her face indication of her dread, lust, pleasure at seeing Robbie again. He’d come back to her as he said he would, she thought—and so quickly. An irrepressible smile appeared on her mouth at such charming, ardent impetuousness.

She’d missed him the past month, really missed him.

Which several of her friends had noticed. Not that they understood whose absence was affecting her, but they realized she’d lost interest in the usual crowd of men hovering around her.

Unfortunately, with Roxburgh’s defection, her Erskine mother-in-law had been apprised of Robbie’s correspondence with her, and the gulf between her wishes and reality was vast.

Catching a glimpse of herself in a passing mirror, she came to an abrupt standstill. The image in the glass was that of a young girl giddy in love—glowing skin, sparkling eyes, breathless with passion. Her bosom rose and fell in fevered cadence, and the throbbing
between her legs had only marginally diminished. A shame love was impossible, not to say dangerous, she reflected, making a small moue of disappointment. Although, even ruthless politics could be overlooked, Robbie was still much, much too young to love.

“There you are,” an abrasive, female voice declared.

Spinning around, Roxane took note of her Erskine mother-in-law mounting the stairs, her thin, narrow face bright red with the exertion of the long climb.

“Argyll … is asking … for you,” the elderly matron gasped, resting on a stair to catch her breath. “I should think … you’d know better … than to leave … your guests unattended.”

Roxane often wondered how the old woman maintained life in her withered body; simmering bile no doubt. “I needed a moment of quiet.”

“Kindly remember … where your duty lies.” The Dowager Countess Kilmarnock’s voice was like acid. “Kilmarnock’s son needs court patronage … and Queensberry and Argyll are critical to … that patronage.”

“I’m well aware of that, Agnes. And if I hadn’t been, your constant reminders have engraved it on my liver.”

“I told Kilmarnock he was making a mistake marrying you, but he wouldn’t listen,” she snapped, rude as always about her son’s marriage. “Now you will do your duty to the Erskines and my grandson, or I’ll see that Angus is taken from you and raised in a God-fearing home.”

“Except for my marriage settlement, of course, which disallows that,” Roxane coolly returned. But she was bluffing and she knew it; the Erskines had enough influence in court to make the outcome of any legal fight uncertain.

“I don’t think you’d care to put that scrap of paper to the test,” the old lady tartly noted. “Now, remember, Argyll likes docile women.”

“Meaning?” A barely repressed fury trembled in the single word.

“Meaning I expect you to be docile, my haughty daughter-in-law.” The dowager’s voice was cold as ice. “In any way that’s necessary.”

How easy it would be to push her down the stairs, Roxane thought, the fleeting impulse quickly overcome by the moral strictures of a lifetime. But it was damned tempting; she wondered if the old bag of bones would explode in a puff of dust on impact. “I’ll be polite to Argyll, but my duty to the Erskines ceases at that point. I hope we’re clear on the definition of politeness. And if you don’t like it, I’d be happy to tell the young duke that you’re pimping in your old age.”

“I wouldn’t suggest you take me on, young lady. And don’t think pimping in a thousand different forms hasn’t contributed to many an aristocratic fortune. I’ll be watching you, so make sure you’re suitably gracious to the queen’s new commissioner.”

Checkmated again, Roxane bitterly noted—her frequent position since the discovery of Robbie’s letter. But she didn’t have to give the old dragon the satisfaction of thinking she’d won the argument. “I’ll consider it,” Roxane casually replied, moving down the stairs. “But I wouldn’t press my luck right now, Agnes. If a
woman your age tripped and fell down these stairs, who knows what might break.”

There was satisfaction in seeing the old witch clutch the banister with both hands. Roxane allowed herself a small smile of triumph, even while chastising herself for such wickedness.

But she wasn’t allowed her minor victory for long. Within minutes after entering the drawing room, she found herself face-to-face with the Duke of Argyll, her smiling mother-in-law at his side.

“The duke tells me your brother Colter served him well as ADC in Holland.” The dowager countess lightly tapped her fan on the duke’s arm and offered him a warm smile, then returned her gaze to Roxane. “I’m sure you have a number of questions you’d like to ask him about Colter. Kilmarnock always said you two were so close, my dear.” She looked past Roxane. “Ah, I see Lady Frances waving at me,” she mendaciously went on. “I beg your leave, Argyll, but I’m sure Roxane will entertain you in my absence.”

As the duke bowed over the old woman’s hand, Agnes cast Roxane a gloating look.

“She’s not very subtle,” Roxane said as her mother-in-law walked away. “And Colter and I have agreed to disagree since he left to serve Marlborough.”

“A patriot, and so beautiful,” John Campbell murmured, gazing down on his hostess with the eyes of a predator. “The queen’s court holds no appeal for you?”

“I don’t need her money.”

“A direct cut.” His smile was gracious. “I should be offended.”

“Please do, and release me from my mother-in-law’s designs.”

“But then my designs would be curtailed as well.”

“Your wife doesn’t mind?” Roxane lightly queried.

“I’ve never asked her.”

“I see.”

A small pause ensued while the young duke took in the full glory of the flame-haired woman before him. The reigning beauty of her time was even more dazzling at close range. “Should I ask you directly?” he said, thinking she fairly glowed with sensual allure.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“But if I should?”

“I would be forced to be evasive, my lord.”

He smiled. Already a brigadier general at twenty-five, he understood tactical offense better than most. “The Parliament should be in session most of the summer. Do you like to sail?”

“Only with friends.”