Susan Johnson (23 page)

When her circle of admirers turned to follow her gaze, they had brief seconds to step aside or be bowled over—or worse, from the glowering look on Robbie Carre’s face. A space immediately opened up before Roxane as they scrambled to withdraw.

“Are you done pouting?” Curt and hard, his words struck her like a blow.

Fuck you, she mouthed, which elicited a small gasp from her audience, and then she added in a sweet voice, “You must be mistaken, my lord. I never pout.”

“Then we can talk.” An emperor’s fiat would have been more gentle in tone.

Bristling at his arrogance, she crisply said, “I’m afraid I’m busy.”

“Really.” His dark gaze swept the ranks of her suitors and, aware of Robbie’s reputation as a duelist, they quickly retired, his look a caveat to all but those most reckless with their lives. “There now,” he softly declared. “You’re no longer busy. Come, we’ll find some privacy.” He stood before her elegant as a courtier, yet unmistakably threatening, the width of his shoulders blocking the room from her view, his height shadowing her.

She surveyed him with flashing anger in her eyes. “I find it inconvenient right now. Though you may intimidate others, I’m not afraid of you.”

“Perhaps you should be,” he silkily murmured, reaching out to take her arm.

“How nice to see you back in society, Roxane,” Johnnie interposed, smoothly insinuating himself between Robbie and Roxane, brushing his brother’s hand aside.

Flicking open her fan, she smiled at the Laird of Ravensby and spoke in a temperate voice. “Thank you. My congratulations on your success in court.”

“It was just a matter of time,” Johnnie replied with a deprecating shrug.

“And … money,” Amelia added, arriving slightly out of breath after having rushed across the entire length of the room in an effort to defuse what looked to be a nasty encounter.

“Always money,” Johnnie agreed. “A necessity for the proper functioning of the wheels of justice, is it not?”

Glancing at Robbie’s surly expression, Amelia quickly suggested, “Why don’t we adjourn to the dining room. I see Carter giving me the signal,” she mendaciously added, her majordomo nowhere in sight. She took Robbie’s arm and turned her gaze to Johnnie. “If you’ll escort Roxane, Robbie will see me in. How handsome you look tonight,” she said, her attention back on her escort, her smile bright with cheer, as though she were immune to the crackling tension in the air, blind to the rapt curiosity of their audience.

As they moved toward the dining room, the silence was so profound their footsteps rang out. Even the musicians had stopped playing, until Amelia gestured sharply to them with a whisk of her fan. The remainder of their gauntlet through the fascinated guests proceeded to the accompaniment of a brisk country air.

After Roxane and Amelia were seated and the
dining room began filling with guests, Johnnie took his brother to one side. “I expect you to behave,” he said. “Roxane’s not your personal property.”

“So I surmised from all her ogling suitors.”

“She’s allowed admirers.”

Robbie’s mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. “We’ll see.” He shook his brother’s hand off. “You’ve done your duty. I’m warned.”

“I won’t have you embarrass her.” But he understood jealousy, too. “Look,” Johnnie kindly said, “if you want to talk to her, just do it with a degree more courtesy.”

“Like the courtesy you extended to Elizabeth when you took her from the church on her wedding day?” Robbie insolently noted.

Johnnie sighed. “It’s not exactly the same.”

“Pretty damned near. Although we have less of an audience tonight—far from the five hundred soldiers and wedding guests watching you.”

“I can’t justify what I did,” his brother gently said. “But do me the favor, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Out of courtesy to Amelia and David, if nothing else.”

A slow grin lifted the corners of Robbie’s mouth, shameless in its effrontery. “Why didn’t you say so. And here I’ve been rude.”

“Keep it up, baby brother, and David and I will haul your ass out of here.”

“That would be
really
interesting.”

“How much have you drunk?” The Laird of Ravensby scrutinized his brother.

“Not enough, if I have to watch Roxane flirt with a
roomful of men.” Robbie lifted his dark brows in warning.

“I should have found you an accommodating wench tonight and left you home.”

“I can find my own accommodating wenches, thank you”.

“You have to consider, though, Roxane might have really changed her mind,” Johnnie quietly declared. “You know her children mean the world to her.”

“This has nothing to do with her children. They like me.”

“Whatever it is, she seems convinced.”

Robbie’s eyes narrowed.

“Well see.”

“Promise me,” Johnnie cautioned.

Robbie shook his head. “Not a chance.”

Johnnie sighed. It was going to be a long evening.

A
MELIA HAD SENSIBLY PLACED A TABLE LENGTH
between Robbie and Roxane, and while she’d also arranged that Janet Lindsay be well away from Robbie, she’d not taken into account Janet’s boldness. The predatory countess had quickly exchanged places with Lady Paton, and Amelia inwardly groaned, watching Janet slip into the chair next to Robbie.

Roxane, thin-skinned and moody, took a more acrimonious view of the Countess of Lothian’s advances. She shouldn’t, she told herself. She should be indifferent to Robbie’s dinner partner. But a sharp-set jealousy remained, despite her attempts to quell it.

And to make matters worse, true to form, Janet was whispering in Robbie’s ear before the first course had
been served, her invitation eliciting a sidelong look. “That’s damned plain, Janet.”

“I prefer being direct,” she purred, leaning forward to more fully display the plump ripeness of her breasts.

“I’ll have to let you know,” Robbie evasively replied, his gaze drifting away from her bounteous bosom to the only woman who held his interest.

Unfortunately, Roxane happened to be laughing with Lord Jeffrey at the time and, warnings or not, social courtesy be damned, he felt an overwhelming urge to thrash her dinner companion and wipe the smile from her face. His knuckles went white on the silverware he was holding, and he gently placed the knife and fork down before he did something unforgivable.

“Not hungry?” Janet murmured. “I can think of something you might like to eat.”

His gaze flickered sideways at such blatant invitation. “You’re persistent.”

“But then you have something I want.” Her gaze drifted downward to his crotch and she delicately licked her lips.

“Your husband continues to be understanding. I’d not allow my wife such indiscretions.”

“I doubt
your
wife would wish them. Although,” Janet went on, aware of his wandering attention, “I’m not sure Roxane is the type of woman to settle down.”

“Perhaps the choice won’t be hers.”

Her brows arched. “Are you going to be outrageous like your brother and imprison her?”

Robbie’s smile was bland. “I’ve been warned to behave.”

“But will you?”

His long lashes lowered marginally, shuttering his dark eyes. “That depends.”

“You could imprison me anytime you want,” she whispered with a little frisson of pleasure.

He laughed. “That stirs your lust, does it?”

“Everything about you stirs my lust, you darling boy. How old
are
you, by the way?”

“Old enough to fuck you, Janet, should I fancy the notion.”

“Please do, you sweet,
sweet
boy.”

Their murmured conversation engaged the interest of many of the guests, for Janet’s breasts were nearly falling out of her gown as she leaned toward Robbie. And knowing her reputation for amorous adventure, the guests had no doubt of her intentions. Understanding better than most how determined she could be in pursuit, Johnnie found himself feeling uncomfortably like a chaperon, trying to constrain personalities too unruly and volatile to control.

Roxane included. She was responding to Janet’s open coquetry with a brittle flirtatious air, her temper high. And her wine glass had been refilled too many times for his peace of mind.

He found himself monitoring the liquor his brother and Roxane consumed like a butler with the keys to the wine cellar. And becoming more uneasy with each glass.

He met Amelia’s amused gaze as his own glass was being refilled. Seated to his left, she sportively murmured, “Need a drink, do you?”

“Or a dozen,” he responded with a grin.

And so the evening progressed through numerous courses, an undercurrent of debacle shimmering beneath the banter and repartee, the level of noise rising
as the wine bottles emptied.
¹⁷
Janet became more shameless in her actions, Robbie drank two bottles himself, and Roxane felt unsure if she should laugh or cry in her unsettled mood. One moment she wanted to slap Janet’s face, the next moment Robbie’s. And more than once she wished to flee all the curious, avid attention of the other dinner guests and retire to her country estate, away from indecision and tangled emotions and the frenzy of society.

But once the last sweet was served and the final toast was drunk, the seemingly interminable dinner concluded, putting an end to the painful proximity of Robbie and his flirtatious dinner partner.
¹⁸

With dinner over, dancing was about to commence, and the overwhelming question on everyone’s mind was whether Roxane would take Robbie Carre’s hand in a dance or offer him a set-down. No one questioned whether he would ask her; his smoldering attention had been fixated on the Countess Kilmarnock despite Janet Lindsay’s concerted efforts to the contrary. When Amelia said, “Are we all ready to dance now?” the guests rose en masse as though anticipating a command performance.

Johnnie made a point of reaching Roxane before his brother.

“I’m hoping Robbie’s not going to be difficult tonight,” he said, offering her his arm.

“He seems to have been well occupied during dinner.”

“Everyone knows Janet,” Johnnie said with a dismissive shrug.

“And everyone’s waiting for her to seduce him before our eyes.”

“I doubt he’s interested. You should tell him it bothers you if it does.”

“
She
bothers me.”

“He’s
tried
to see you, as have I.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh.

“I practically had to tie him down to keep him away.”

“I’m not sure what I want. I’m not sure of anything.”

“Tell him that. Tell him something.”

“I have. Angus’s illness was utterly terrifying. I told him that. Guilt still eats away at me—at my selfishness, at my willingness to yield all to passion. What if my son had died?”

“Argyll was to blame.”

“And myself—for not being with my children.”

“I’m not trying to change your mind.”

“Thank you. And I’m not willing to become dependent on anyone again.”

“I’m not sure Robbie will give up until he understands. Until you make him understand.”

“It looks as though Janet is doing her best to distract him at the moment,” Roxane sarcastically said, nodding toward the dining room. Draped across his chest, Janet was feeding Robbie a morsel of cake.

“Should I go and get him?”

“Not for me. He’s old enough to know what he wants to do.”

“Or drunk enough not to know what he wants to do.”

“Dance with me once, and then I’m leaving,” Roxane murmured, dragging her eyes away from the dissolute spectacle. “I shouldn’t have come.”

T
HE FIRST DANCE, A FRENCH CONTREDANSE
with improvisations of the Scottish reel, was well under way before Robbie appeared in the ballroom, Janet clinging to his arm. Ill-tempered and moody, he stood near the doorway, a scowl drawing his dark brows together, the sight of Roxane in his brother’s arms galling.

“Why don’t we leave,” Janet murmured, twining her fingers through his. Leaning into his arm so her breasts swelled above her decolletage, she swayed closer.

Glancing down, he took in the deliberate display, his gaze neutral. “You’re wasting your time, sweet.” He eased his fingers from hers and unclasped her arm. “Now be a good girl and find someone else to seduce.”

“If you’re waiting for Roxane, she doesn’t seem to be grieving,” Janet snidely noted. “Maybe you’re wasting
your
time.”

His eyes flared wide for a moment, both in astonishment and pique, and then he smiled faintly. “I make it a point never to waste my time.”

“You might with Roxane, my pet. She eats up little boys like you every day.”

His glance flickered to the dance floor briefly before returning to her. “Well have to see who eats whom.”

“Who’s eating what?” Giselle Duncan flirtatiously queried, coming to within inches of Robbie and tapping her closed fan on his chin. “And I do hope some salacious topic is under discussion.”

Her sister, arriving a step behind, leaned against Robbie’s free arm and gazed up at him. “Do come home with us, sweetheart. We have a
very
large bed.”