Susan Johnson (9 page)

“Now why would I care to tell you that, Catherine?” Roxane blandly replied. “I can’t imagine it would do you any good.”

“The boy’s such a young cub,” their hostess declared, not about to be deflected from her uncharitable mockery. “He must be refreshingly different from his older brother, who’s refined debauchery to a fine art.”

“Are you actually expecting a response to that?” Roxane casually remarked.

“Oh, dear,” Catherine said with an artful moue. “Did I overstep propriety?”

“Since you have no idea what propriety is, Catherine, I can’t expect you to recognize it.”

“Don’t be bitter, darling. A woman your age can’t afford to frown. Do
you
find youthful lovers refreshing, John?” she went on, feline and catty, gazing pointedly at Roxane, who was seven years older than she. “They seem to be all the rage.”

“I find beauty at any age refreshing,” Argyll replied, smiling down at Roxane. “Particularly redheads.” He took Roxane’s hand. “Would you like a glass of wine, my dear?”

With the commissioner’s blunt change of subject, their hostess was forced to postpone her malice. Although Catherine Haddock didn’t long curtail her nastiness.

She placed her guests of honor, Argyll and Queensberry, to her left and right at dinner, and despite her effort to exile Roxane to the far end of the table, Argyll insisted she be seated beside him.

Queensberry maintained an affable expression throughout dinner, although that cordiality didn’t extend to his chill, shuttered gaze. And his conversation, while civil, required a noticeable effort in the company of his archrival.

With her elderly husband absent in Aberdeen, Catherine Haddock’s seduction of Argyll was so obvious and blatant that bets were taken by the guests on the duration of Argyll’s resistance. Her voice when she spoke to him was lush with suggestion, her gaze limpid and warm. She took every opportunity to touch his hand or arm as emphasis to her conversation, which weighed heavily in favor of Argyll’s most successful battles on the Continent.

During an interval when Argyll was once again
obliged to give his attention to Catherine, Queensberry remarked to Roxane in an undertone, “It’s like watching a play, isn’t it?” His gaze flickered to his hostess, and when it returned to Roxane, his eyes held a genuine amusement.

“Absolve me from any involvement in this discussion of battles and troop maneuvers,” Roxane mildly observed. “I’m here only for dinner.”

“You like Catherine’s cook?”

“Let’s just say there’s a certain safety in the guest list.”

“In your escort, you mean.”

“Did I say that, James?” she sweetly returned.

“The news is all around town,” he casually noted. “The young Carre won’t be able to hide long.”

“You may have your spies, but you don’t have loyalty from anyone, particularly the Scottish populace. I’m not so sure you’re right.”

“Perhaps I only have to watch you,” he asserted, his tone sinister and low.

“Do it with discretion, then, because Argyll comes to call. Did your spies tell you? He ate breakfast with us and found some sumptuous lilies, so early in the spring, from someone’s hothouse, no doubt. Be careful, James.” Her warning was softly put.

“I’m not certain I believe you. You don’t look at him the way he looks at you.”

“Surely you’re not thinking anything so romantical as love is involved? I’m surprised, James. I’d thought you cynical to the bone.”

“While you’ve never struck me as cynical at all, my dear.”

“Perhaps we both have something to learn.”

“Learn what?” Catherine inquired with excessive sweetness, taking note of Argyll’s wandering attention.

“The countess and I were discussing the differences between love and amusement,” Queensberry urbanely remarked.

“And between cynicism and romance,” Roxane lightly added. “James is uncertain, I think, of the distinction.”

“Love—how quaint.” Catherine’s pale brows arched delicately toward her blond hairline. “Do you believe in love, Argyll?” They’d both married for reasons other than love; she felt sure they’d share a common sympathy.

“I’m beginning to entertain a fascinated interest in the subject,” he murmured, turning a charming smile on Roxane. “Tell me, Countess, do you believe in love?”

A sudden hush descended on the table as though everyone’s ears had pricked to attention at Argyll’s startling query. He was known as a man of eminent practicality and loose morals, while news of Roxane’s companion last night had generated the most sensational gossip.

“Of course, I do. Every woman of passion believes in love,” Roxane smoothly replied. And while Catherine glowered, purse-lipped, she added, “The dilemma facing both James and myself is finding the right man.”

“You must tell me what style of man appeals to you,” Argyll declared, as though he were alone with her. Arrogant, he ignored her allusion to Robbie as well as the other guests’ avid interest.

“Someone who makes me laugh,” Roxane answered.

“I must begin to sharpen my wit, then.”

“I didn’t know you liked humorous men,” Catherine sneered, her eyes ice cold.

“I find, with the independence of widowhood, I prefer amusement to excessive ardor.”
⁵

“Really,” Queensberry interposed, mockery in his tone. “The Carres are known for their excess.”

“Do you think so?” Serene and unruffled, she gazed across the table at him. “I’ve always found them men of enormous refinement.”

“You’re obsessed with the Carres, Queensberry,” Argyll bluntly charged. “Pray overcome your lurid alarm. They’re only one family, not the devil’s host.”

“They can put a personal army in the field as large as your Campbell troops.”

“But they won’t. They’ll see to the return of their estates in court like any sensible man would. I’d suggest you concern yourself with your lawyers’ competence first. The Carres haven’t lost a lawsuit, as I recall.”

Queensberry scowled. “Treason is a serious charge.”

“You still have to prove it.”

Queensberry had no intention of relying on the law to secure his appropriated Carre properties. But his voice was neutral when he spoke. “I must rely on Scottish justice—like you, John, in your quest for a union treaty.”

Both men knew better—bribery and collusion were the means of their ultimate goals. Argyll’s gaze went blank. “Then we can both expect success with such high-minded principles at work.”

Specious words for men who regarded the cause of justice as incidental to their pursuit of power, and for
that precise reason had been chosen as the English court’s anointed. Once their work was accomplished, however, the English ministers would decide whether the rewards they’d promised would actually be granted.
⁶

It was a dirty game—completely without honor.

D
INNER HAD BEEN ESPECIALLY TEDIOUS, ROXANE
thought, riding back from Catherine’s, but at least Queensberry had been apprised of Argyll’s degree of protection. Argyll had importuned, of course, the moment they’d settled into the carriage, and it had taken considerable finesse to curtail his eagerness. He was a large man.

Only Roxane’s reminder of his given word as a Campbell finally caused him to release her.

Shifting away, he lounged in the corner, his half smile a flash of white in the flicker of the carriage lamp. “It was a tactical mistake to give you my word.”

“But then I wouldn’t have gone to dinner with you,” Roxane pleasantly replied, readjusting the lace on her decolletage.

“I can see this is going to require a degree of wooing,” he drawled, his smile teasing.

“Why bother, when Catherine will oblige without cavil? I’m sure she’s still up.”

“I’m sure she is. She asked me to come back.”

“There, you see—all your carnal urges neatly fulfilled, no wooing required.”

“Like any of the servant girls at my headquarters.”

He was called Big Red John by all the local maids,
with giggles of delight, she knew. “If You’re so well supplied with amorous partners, you don’t need my company.”

“But I particularly
wish
your company. What is it going to take to entice you?”

She was tired. Catherine’s venom had been enervating, her previous night sleepless, Argyll’s pursuit unflagging as she’d known it would be. So she spoke more plainly than she might have under different circumstances. “Why don’t we say independence for Scotland, reversing the false charges of treason against the Carres, curbing Queensberry’s interest in my personal life. None of which you can do.”

“Scotland aside, I can do the rest,” he said as plainly. “Is that the price for your passion? Tell me—for if it is, we have a bargain.”

She was stunned. He’d offered an enormous payment for her amorous friendship, and could he be compelled to perform first on her requirements, the possibilities were astonishing.

“The treason charges are the grossest distortion anyway,” he casually noted. “Everyone knows that.”

“And yet you’d let Queensberry have their lands.”

“His dispute doesn’t impinge on my undertakings.” He shrugged. “I can’t involve myself in every property disagreement in Scotland.” Sliding upright from his lounging pose, he moved closer to her. “Why don’t I send Agnes away first, as indication of my intense … interest,” he suggested, his strawberry blond hair pale in the lamplight. “And we’ll negotiate the terms of our involvement from there.” His smile was close, gratified. “I’ve been doing this for months, darling, with
deal-makers of such wiliness and guile, our bargain will be in contrast the height of benevolence. I see no need to quibble when I want you.” He’d spoken to the queen the same way, rumor had it—his demands plain, his wishes unequivocal. He wasn’t like Queensberry, who was enigmatic and sly.

He went on. “And if you wish your lover’s family safe from prosecution and restored to their titles and lands, well, we’re both adults. I don’t expect your heart and soul.” A faint smile underscored his level of accommodation. “Once our bargain is made, I expect only your loyalty.”

“You’ve been doing this much longer than I,” Roxane declared, still astonished. He’d made the offer for her companionship so extravagant he knew she couldn’t refuse. But she needed time to digest the tumultuous events, and she needed proof as well of his pledge. Anyone who dealt with the English couldn’t be trusted. “I’ll have to consider your offer.”

“Why don’t I see that Agnes is gone by noon,” he suggested, cordial and obliging. “We’ll be able to discuss this in more congenial surroundings without the Erskines.”

“I’m intrigued, naturally,” Roxane murmured, “but I’ll have to speak to counsel first.”

“Speak to whomever you wish. Let young Robbie know,” he casually offered. “I don’t care whom you tell. Once you’ve decided, we’ll draw up the necessary papers.”

“So certain, Argyll?”

“We both know what we want and what we can give. It’s manifestly simple, my dear.”

Fortunately the carriage came to rest at that point, for her state of mind was highly unsettled. “Ill need some time, of course.”

Argyll’s smile was especially warm; he understood better than most when negotiations were going his way. “Take whatever time you need.” He signaled the footman to open the door. “I’m not unduly impatient.”

After alighting, he helped Roxane down and stood for a moment with her hand in his. “Send for me this afternoon. I’ll bring a clerk to draw up our agreement. Add the moon and stars if you wish.” He grinned—at twenty-five he wasn’t yet completely blase. “You see how eager I am to have you.”

“While bartering myself away makes me anxious,” she said.

“Think of our alliance as an act of Christian charity, darling. I’m sure the Carres will thank you.”

O
N THE CONTRARY.

When Robbie first read Roxane’s note, he crumpled it into a ball and flung it away in disgust—which necessitated a summary smoothing out, in order to reread it and discover if she’d truly written what he thought she’d written.

His second perusal was no better than the first, and he swore under his breath as he scanned the shocking words. Phrases like “for the best, I’m sure you understand, it’s a small price to pay” brought his temper to fever pitch.

“Holmes!” he shouted, his voice thundering through the closed door, down the corridor and stairwell, rolling through the kitchen where its explosive
fury vibrated the surface of the tea in Mrs. Beattie’s teacup. She glanced across at Holmes, who was about to join her in a cup. “I’d say he’s naught pleased with the countess’s note.” She nodded briskly at Holmes. “Ye’d best run.”

“The Kilmarnock caddy says the footman overheard Argyll promise her the moon when they alighted from the carriage outside her house,” Holmes declared, quickly rising. “Maybe she was tempted.”

“I’d say from the sound of his lordship’s bellow, she dinna’ send him words o’ love.”

I
WANT COUTTS HERE
IMMEDIATELY
,” ROBBIE SAID
when Holmes entered the room. “Damn this confinement when I can’t do things for myself. Wait,” he added as Holmes turned to go. “Take a note to Lady Carberry, too.”