Susan Johnson (28 page)

The Carre brothers always drew attention when they arrived, not only for their physical splendor, but for their provocative sensuality. They’d stand on the threshold surveying the room, Johnnie looking for Elizabeth, a graceful smile forming as he caught sight of her, Robbie examining the array of ladies vying for his favors with a shameless audacity, as if knowing they were all his for the asking.

Of late, he’d been giving considerable attention to young Miss Lauder of Fountainhall—a tall, dark, slender girl from the country who liked to perform in amateur theatricals. Rumor had it he was about to propose.

He and Roxane met by chance one night, at a production
of Love Makes the Man
held in the Countess of Marischal’s small theater. It was decorated by Grinling
Gibbons with such splendor, the carved ornament partially distracted from those on the stage. Although Miss Lauder played the young ingenue with considerable enthusiasm, she stood apart in terms of eagerness alone.

Less engaged in the performance than others, many of whom were Lauder relatives, Roxane had slipped away through a side door as the first act was coming to a close and, returning some time later, came upon Robbie in the unfrequented back corridor. She smiled with what she hoped would pass as civility.

Capping the flask from which he was drinking, he bowed, moving aside marginally to let her pass in the confined space, the skirt of her gown brushing his leg. “I wouldn’t go in right now. You’ll interrupt the soliloquy.”

Stopping, she half turned. “You’ve seen this before?”

“Delphine’s been rehearsing.”

“She’s very … good,” Roxane said as pleasantly as possible, trying to picture Robbie listening to the young girl rehearse in her high, childish voice.

“No, she isn’t, but thank you for your courtesy.”

“She has other charming qualities, no doubt.”

“Are you asking?” he lazily drawled, a touch of mockery in his voice.

“Not at all.”

“Do your escorts have charming qualities?” His piercing gaze belied the languidness of his words.

“Some more than others.”

“Callum, for instance.”

Her lashes came up suddenly at his brusque tone,
her wide violet gaze fully revealed, and his stomach lurched for a moment at the haunting memories in that lush glance. “For instance,” she agreed, her blase tone forced. At such close quarters, his scent filled her nostrils, and she wondered with a twinge of regret whether Miss Lauder knew how warm his skin was to the touch and how his hair brushed your cheeks when he lay over you. How he smiled like no other man in the world so it seemed as though nothing could dispel your happiness.

“Where is he tonight?”

It took a moment for his question to penetrate her musing. “Callum’s gone north on business.”

“You’re free, then.”

“I’m always free. I understand, though, Miss Lauder has clipped your wings, of late.”

“Hardly.”

“Gossip errs?”

“Doesn’t it always? Unless you’re truly sleeping with Argyll.”

“And
you’ve
taken up with his wife,” she countered.

His head dipped in waggish acknowledgment. “When she’s still in London, tucked away where she can’t bother him. Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Slept with him.”

“After what he did to my children? You can’t be serious.”

“He came to call, though.”

“Are you spying on me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Amelia mentioned it.”

“Well, then, she should have mentioned as well
that I threw him out, along with his fulsome apologies and false promises. As I did with another man of my acquaintance.”

“If You’re snidely referring to me, I resent being compared to that traitor. At least I earn my money honestly. So if not Argyll,” he blandly drawled, “does Callum have your undivided attention?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Just beginning, darling. I won’t be drunk till morning.” But he had enough whiskey in him to ask the next question. “Is he keeping you satisfied?”

“Is Miss
Lauder
enough for your carnal appetites?”

“I can always make time for you.” He glanced up and down the secluded hall. “We have a few minutes now, if you wish.”

“I’ve never been interested in speed. You must be thinking of someone else.”

“Would you like to go someplace where we can take our time?”

“Wouldn’t you be missed by all the Lauders of Fountainhall? The audience is awash with them.”

“I’m not particularly concerned.”

“I suppose your wealth overcomes your iniquities.”

“I suppose it does. Should we go?”

“I’m charmed, of course, by your gallantry,” she sardonically replied, “but perhaps some other time, should I ever become desperate for a quick fuck.”

He smiled. “I didn’t say quick.” A fleeting tenderness shone in his eyes. “Ours never was, was it?”

“But then that’s your specialty, is it not?” she lightly noted, forcing herself to ignore his gentle gaze.

“I thought it was yours,” he said, a roguish amusement replacing the transcient compassion. “What the
hell,” he added, cheeky and bold, “at least have a drink with me for old times’ sake. That amateur performance is so damned boring, there’s no point in going back until we have to.” Opening his silver flask, he offered it to her with an unreserved grin. “It’s your favorite blend.”

“From your brewery at Inverness, you mean.” She smiled back, unable to resist his simple candor. The play was unbelievably boring. “I suppose there’s no point in feuding.”

“None at all, my darling Roxie, when we’ve escaped from those insipid dilettantes for a moment and have half a flask yet to enjoy.”

“You always were a man of insight.” She took the small silver container from him and drank. The taste of his sweet tobacco mingled in her mouth along with the liquor. “You’re smoking again?”

“I’m indulging in any number of vices to pass the time.”

“And your sweet young miss doesn’t disapprove?” She passed the flask back to him.

“The lure of the Carre fortune curtails her disapproval. She never argues with me. Unlike you.”

“Which no doubt accounts for your boredom.”

“Do you think so? Is that the problem?” He poured a generous portion into his mouth.

“How should I know? I was never a sweet young miss.”

“No, you weren’t.” His dark gaze took in the splendor of her voluptuous form, elegantly displayed tonight in embroidered plum-colored silk that set off her glowing skin to advantage. And he felt an overwhelming urge to touch her. When he handed her the
whiskey instead, their fingers lightly brushed, and he sucked in his breath as though he’d been burned.

She tried to take a step back, but the narrow hall restricted her movement.

“You’re caught,” he whispered, pocketing the flask.

“No,” she breathed, flustered, alarmed, trying to shift away to the side.

He moved swiftly, planting his palms firmly on the wall on either side of her head, capturing her between his arms. “
Now
you’re caught.” He leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers. His lower body swayed lightly against hers, and they both felt the familiar wild thrill. Maybe he was drunk or simply more impulsive, but he moved a step closer, his hands slipping downward, closing on her hips, pulling her hard against his body so she could feel his arousal. Then he bent his head low and took her mouth in a fierce, invasive kiss that reminded them both of the glorious pleasures they’d shared, and made them forget all but riveting sensation.

“Oh, there you are!” a light, high voice cried.

Roxane wrenched her mouth away and pushed against Robbie’s solid weight. “Let me go.”

For the briefest moment she wasn’t sure he’d release her.

Nor was he.

“I’ve been looking all over for you!” Miss Lauder cheerfully exclaimed.

The candlelight in the narrow passage was dim enough to partially conceal the activities taking place. “Let go,” Roxane ordered Robbie. “Are you actually
looking
for scandal?”

He shot a quick glance at his advancing inamorata,
and while she may not have deterred him, when he saw her formidable mother turn the corner of the doorway into the corridor, he stepped back.

“Thank God someone can intimidate you,” Roxane murmured, taking in the large-boned woman in magenta crepe striding toward them like a hunter stalking her prey.

“I think she outweighs me.” His voice was sportive. “And I wouldn’t want you to get hurt if she starts swinging.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle Caroline Lauder. The question is, can you?”

He rolled his eyes and grinned. “It’s a toss-up.”

Roxane had a moment more to straighten her bodice before Miss Lauder and her mother, eyes flashing, descended upon them.

“You missed my soliloquy, darling,” Delphine chided, taking Robbie’s hand in hers and lightly rapping his knuckles.

“The countess and I were discussing our racers,” he said, tactfully easing his hand from hers. “She and I both have thoroughbreds running tomorrow in the stakes.”

“And that’s more important than my performance?” the young girl inquired with a dramatic lift of her brows.

“Roxie and I haven’t seen each other for some time.”

Caroline Lauder didn’t like the intimate sound of his reply, and like a general intervening when the outcome of a battle begins to look dicey, she immediately said, “I’m afraid everyone is going in for dinner now, and Lady Marischal is waiting. You’ll excuse us, won’t
you, Countess?” She backed against the wall so she could shoo her daughter past her. “Are you coming, my lord?” she pointedly inquired.

Robbie glanced at Roxane, Lady Lauder noted with displeasure.

“Please go,” Roxane quietly said to him. “Ill be along later.”

“There, you see,” Caroline promptly asserted. “Deh phine, take my lord Greenlaw’s hand. It’s so very dark in here.”

But my lord Greenlaw didn’t so easily comply; he kept his hand to himself, and on the way into dinner he fell into a moody silence.

Roxane joined her friends shortly after, and found if she didn’t look at the company at the duchess’s table and if she listened carefully to the conversation going on around her, she could pretend for even minutes at a time that Robbie Carre meant nothing to her. But she wasn’t able to maintain that studied equilibrium once the dancing began, because the young girl in Robbie’s arms looked up at him with such innocent yearning, she was eaten with jealousy.

She excused herself early, allowing Lord Crosbie to escort her home because if she didn’t he was likely to make a scene. But once they were away from the party, she made it clear to him that his advances were unwelcome.

He wasn’t a complete gentleman with two bottles of wine in him, but then she wasn’t completely a lady in her current surly mood. While her protests weren’t enough to deter him from trying to seduce her, her carefully placed kick left him prostrate on his coach seat and fully aware of her feelings.

She entered her house in high dudgeon, wishing for a moment Callum was back from his trip north. Although she had no strong attachment to him, he was entertaining, and he indulged her capricious moods. They rode, they hunted; he played chess with her, and they both were ardent farmers. A widower with children of his own, he understood the demands of her family.

In the following weeks, she and Callum enjoyed each other’s company, while Robbie seriously diminished his supply of Inverness whiskey and continued to elude Caroline Lauder’s marriage net. He and Roxane met occasionally at social functions, but never again in private.

Just as well, Roxane thought, aware of her susceptibility.

And while Robbie considered approaching her on occasion, Callum was always by her side. Like a husband, he grimly thought.

Then, abruptly, Roxane disappeared from the social whirl. Her children wanted to be in the country for the rest of the summer, rumor had it. Or she’d slipped away with Callum, others said. But she was gone.

And Robbie’s black mood darkened.

J
OHNNIE AND LORD CARBERRY, BREAKFASTING
together prior to the September first session, were discussing the day’s agenda for Parliament. It was early, the sun barely risen when Robbie walked into Amelia’s breakfast parlor, his evening attire causing mildly raised eyebrows.

“I’ll change later,” Robbie said, responding to their examining glances. “Right now I need some food.” He walked over to the covered dishes on the sideboard and, taking a plate, filled it to overflowing. Nodding at a servant pouring coffee for David, he said, “Bring some brandy.” And sitting, he murmured, “The Duncan sisters wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’m exhausted.”

He ate in silence while Johnnie and David resumed their conversation concerning the issue of treaty commissioners and the number of votes they hoped to carry. They’d written down the names of those who could be counted on to oppose the queen’s right to nominate, and those who would not, as well as those lairds still evasive or looking for payment for their votes. And last but not least, the direction of the equivocating Duke of Hamilton was discussed.