Susan Johnson (24 page)

“He’s resisting amorous intrigue tonight,” Janet lightly countered, although her frustration at being interrupted was apparent in her gaze.

“Maybe he’s only resisting you, darling,” Mary Duncan observed. Her voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “No one’s at home for a week, Robbie, dear. We’d have great leisure to entertain you.”

Roxane could see the fawning ladies around Robbie, the Duncan sisters and Janet so adulatory they looked like purring cats rubbing against him. Which of them would he choose? she fretfully wondered, and when he disentangled himself from them instead, she chastised herself for feeling such satisfaction.

She understood she couldn’t expect him to remain celibate. But maintaining that practical logic was infinitely easier when remote from the blatant infidelities of the fashionable world.

When the dance came to an end she wished above anything to quickly escape the crowded ballroom and the parade of females intent on capturing Robbie. Unprepared for the extent of her resentment, she couldn’t bear another minute of the ostentatious display. As the introductory chords to the next set began, Johnnie politely
inquired, “Would you like to dance again?” Roxane shook her head.

Nettled to see two more ladies join Robbie’s admiring throng, she crisply said, “I’m ready to go.”

“Good, I’m more than willing to leave this crush.” Placing his hand on her waist, Johnnie began guiding them through the milling dancers.

They’d managed to wend their way through the press of guests, responding to conversational gambits with only minimal answers or polite smiles and brief nods. The door was within sight when Robbie stepped into their path.

“Give me five minutes,” he murmured, slightly breathless after having swiftly shouldered his way across the crowded room.

“Are you sure you have time?”

He didn’t pretend ignorance of the number of sexual overtures offered him tonight, but he had no intention of arguing. “I’ve all the time in the world. Please talk to me.”

“I’m more in the mood to box your ears.”

“Be my guest,” he proposed, leaning forward, brushing his long hair aside, turning his cheek to offer her a better target. “I’m completely at your disposal.”

“Save your suave charm for all the others.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “There aren’t any others.”

“It appeared as though there were a bevy of hopefuls at least.”

He wasn’t about to discuss that highly charged topic. Turning to her, he softly said, “I sent you dozens of letters and tried to call countless times. I’ve really missed you.”

The husky undertone in his voice brought sudden tears to her eyes, instantly obliterating a fortnight of practicality, and she wondered whether it was possible to ignore wisdom and judgment for this inexplicable craving.

“Don’t say that.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.

“Do you know how many times I tried to see you?”

Someone coughed, the sound loud, and glancing up, Robbie took note of their attentive audience. “Could we go somewhere? They’re all waiting for a fight, and I don’t want to fight.”

She hesitated, trying to stem the rush of emotion he provoked.

“They’re betting on the outcome.”

“Don’t they have something better to do?” she muttered, offended by the hopeful malice in everyone’s eyes.

“Not at the moment. We’re center stage, darling.”

Her violet eyes sparked. “I’m not your darling.”

She’d always be his darling, he thought, but conciliatory and obliging, he diplomatically said, “Forgive me. Come and talk to me.” He nodded toward a nearby anteroom. “In there.”

“For only a minute,” she agreed, nervous, aggrieved, taut with conflicted feelings.

“Whatever you say.”

She cast him a searching glance. “Such unreserved appeasement.”

“I offer you any and all appeasements, now and always.” Putting his hand out, he waited, his heart in his eyes.

She’d seen him last like that at the lodge and she
could no more resist than she could resist the inexplicable joy that began filling her heart. Her fingers grazed his heated palm, the merest tactile contact, and she felt a miraculous wonder, as though happiness had been restored to her soul.

Cautioning himself not to frighten her with the intensity of his need, he closed his hand tenderly over hers and, with a deferential nod to his watching brother, Robbie drew Roxane away. He navigated a path through the buzzing crowd, his shuttered look discouraging conversation, his size and power intimidating to any who considered interfering.

After escorting Roxane into the small chamber, he shut the door on the fascinated and curious, on all the raised brows and titillated glances, and a sudden quiet settled over them. Aware of her strained patience, the undercurrent of disagreement palpable, he spoke immediately. “Whatever you want, I’ll do. Whatever you need, I’ll give you. These last weeks have been desolate without you.”

“You didn’t look desolate with all the flirtatious ladies around you.”

“I’m not interested in them.”

“And I should believe you?”

“It’s the truth. Look, I don’t want to fight about other women. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

“I’m not sure you can give me what I want.” But her voice was hushed, his nearness disturbing to all her carefully wrought arguments.

“Make me understand, then. Tell me how you could walk away from what we had.” He didn’t touch her; he knew better, although it took every ounce of will he possessed to restrain himself.

“For a host of reasons, some of which wouldn’t make sense to you, maybe not even to me. Lord, Robbie, this isn’t the time or the place, with everyone waiting with bated breath for that door to open.”

“When, then?”

She sighed, the tumult in her mind immune to logical assessment.

“Tomorrow morning.” His voice was insistent, tight with restraint. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine.” She opted for the safety of her home, as if her feelings would be less volatile and chaotic in her drawing room.

“Early. You rise early as I recall.” His long lashes drifted downward for a moment, insinuation in his gaze.

“Don’t. It’s not right that you have only to stand before me and all my resolve is gone. That you have but to remind me of our time in the Cheviots and my resentments fade.”

He smiled. “I wish I had known that sooner.”

She made a small moue. “Don’t be urbane when I’m still struggling with my anger.”

“I’m being honest, not urbane. Making up was always … the sweetest pleasure.”

“We
haven’t
made up. I’m not so easy as Janet Lindsay and all those other fawning females tonight. I hate them all, by the way.”

“I understand. Lord Jeffrey was very close to being skewered with my butter knife at dinner. You were smiling at him much too often.”

“I find it unnerving—this adolescent, temperamental yearning. I dislike intensely how you’ve disrupted the tranquility of my life.”

“What I feel for you has nothing to do with tranquility. Not since that first night on Johnnie’s yacht.”

“Don’t remind me. I should have had better sense.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“It was slightly difficult, with your insatiable libido.” She could feel the blush warming her cheeks; that night of unbridled passion would be emblazoned forever on her memory.

“I wanted you to remember me,” he said with a faint smile.

She blew out a great exhalation, frustration, skepticism, a host of disconcerting perplexities running riot in her brain. “I wish I could deal with our relationship more casually.”

“So it would be safer.”

“More impersonal,” she added with an ironic glance.

“I
could
call you Lady Kilmarnock.”

She suddenly grinned. “Damn you. I hate these wretched complications.”

“Or I
could
call you the love of my life,” he said. “And I’d take care of all the complications.”

Her gaze instantly narrowed. “I don’t
want
to be taken care of.”

He groaned. “Strike those last words. Please. I temporarily lost my mind.”

“Tell me, why is this so difficult? I should just walk away from you and save myself a lot of aggravation.”

“I could kiss you for that uncertainty”—his mouth quirked in teasing—“but I won’t, because I’m on my very best behavior.”

“Meaning you haven’t tried to bed me yet?”

“Meaning I’ve become innocent as a choirboy for you.”

Her eyes widened. “Really.”

“Word of God,” he quietly said. “Ill tell you all the sordid details in the morning. Come, let’s escape all the curiosity seekers now and enjoy what’s left of the evening.”

“How tempting, but there’s a veritable gauntlet to run,” she noted with a grimace.

“I’ll brazen it out with the gossipmongers. You slip out the back way and meet me downstairs in a few minutes.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“The men will be careful what they say to me,” he said, knowing his reputation for dueling would serve as a deterrent. As for the ladies, he’d perfected the art of evasion years ago.

“I wonder if I drank too much tonight. I’m actually agreeing to everything you say, after I swore I’d—”

“Hush,” he murmured, daring to brush her mouth with his fingertips. “You can bring out your list of demands tomorrow morning.”

“The list is long.”

“Then, we’d both deal with it better when we’re sober,” he said with a grin. “I’ll see you in five minutes.”

B
UT IT TOOK LONGER THAN THAT FOR ROXANE TO
make her way down the back corridors, since she had to wait for an amorous couple stealing a kiss in the hallway to return to the ballroom. Once they were gone, she rushed down the back stairs, feeling
strangely liberated, not only from the evening’s entertainment, but from the melancholy of the days past. She briefly chided herself for not demonstrating more restraint, but decided a moment later she much preferred this joyful elation to the dreary pragmatism of the last fortnight.

Running through the enfilade of parlors, she arrived at the entrance hall. Searching for Robbie, she twirled around, her arms flung out in lighthearted abandon, her ball gown flaring wide, a jubilant cheer warming her senses. Until she froze in midturn.

Half-concealed in the shadow of a column, Robbie and Janet Lindsay were locked in a heated embrace.

Her arms dropped to her sides, and it seemed for a moment as though she were suffocating. But a second later, she drew in a ragged breath and rage flooded her mind. “Forgive me for intruding,” she said with bitter sarcasm, “but I’d like my cloak.” She gestured toward her silk wrap, which was folded over Robbie’s arm, trailing down the countess’s back.

Robbie’s head came up at the sound of her voice, and she saw the shock of his face.

He swore—not an apology, she thought, only annoyance for being caught. Furious, she castigated herself for her gullibility.

Janet turned around slowly, her body brushing against Robbie’s tall frame. Her lips were wet from his kiss, her eyes taunting. “Let her have her cloak,” she drawled.

A small, wretched cry escaped Roxane’s lips. Humiliation flared crimson on her cheeks and, spinning around, she fled.

“Jesus, Janet, look what you did now,” Robbie
growled, pushing her away in disgust. “You and your fucking games.” Brushing past her, he sprinted after Roxane.

Could there have been more perfect timing? the Countess of Lothian mused, a satisfied smile on her face as she watched Robbie dash through the door held open by a footman. Poor Roxane had looked
rather
displeased, she cheerfully reflected, which meant Robbie Carre would require a great deal of consolation tonight. A pleasant thought, with Culross away from home for a few days. Times like these actually made one consider the possibility of a God. Beckoning for a footman, she ordered her carriage. Now would Robbie prefer wine or whiskey? Should she be fully dressed or in dishabille? What of food? Should she wake her chef? So much to do …

R
OXANE’S HOUSE WAS NEAR, HER PORTICO IN
sight, when she heard Robbie’s shout. His cry only impelled her to more speed, reinforced her desperation to reach the sanctuary of her home. Humiliated, outraged at being so easily deluded, she never wanted to see him, never wished to be the recipient of his seductive charm, hoped never,
never
to be so mortified again.

Dashing into her house, she gasped, “Lock all the doors! The windows, too. Hurry!” She ignored her servants’ shock, not caring if they thought her mad or drunk or both, so long as they kept Robbie out of her house.

Just in time her porter slid the bolt home on the
front door, for a second later Robbie’s fists slammed into the stout oak.

Turning to her footmen and porter, she grimly said, “Don’t let him in. Not now, not ever.” Turning away, she walked across the white marble floor to the staircase. Immune to the stares of her staff, she ascended the carpeted steps to the floor above, wanting to remove herself as far as possible from the man who manipulated her feelings with shameless ease, destroyed the hard-won equilibrium of her life. Reaching her apartments, she dismissed her maid with a polite excuse and, shutting the door, leaned against it, feeling hurt, exasperated, utterly weary—of the Janet Lindsays of the world, of the men who welcomed them, of the whole gamut of fashionable amusements that passed for pleasure.

But perhaps more, she felt a self-loathing for her rank credulity about a man whose libertine reputation was legendary. She’d not soon forget her shame at Janet Lindsay’s impudent smirk. How could she have been so ingenuous, accepting Robbie’s sweet smile and facile gallantry like a damnable, grass-green maid. Renewed anger surged through her at the brazen insult. Damn him and damn his careless charm and damn most of all his shameless taste for vice. At least he’d found a suitable companion in Janet Lindsay—along with the Duncan sisters, who spent more time in bed than the whores at Madame Meline’s brothel.

The thought brought a modicum of relief. Thank God she’d witnessed that embrace before she’d naively welcomed him back and added her name to the list of his female houris.