Susan Johnson (12 page)

A dozen men stood, a dozen voices thundered as one, glasses were emptied, chairs reclaimed, and Johnnie’s smile of contentment re-echoed on each man’s face.

“But then I’ve always brought you luck,” Robbie facetiously noted, his grin evidence not only to the good news from Berwick but to three days of imbibing the best wines from Goldiehouses’s cellars.

“For once I’m a believer,” Johnnie replied, pouring Jervis another drink. “Some of your other escapades haven’t been as profitable. This last one could have been a financial disaster.”

“Godfrey’s men were over the border, Johnnie, by five miles or more. It’s God’s truth. I’d not ride alone into Sassenach land.”

“Even for Emily Lancaster?”

“Not since last Parliament session—my word on it.”

They’d gone over the minutiae of Robbie’s capture a dozen times since his return. The English troopers had been illegally in Roxburgh, it appeared; for what purpose was still unclear.

“Send some spies to Harbottle to ken their intent,” Kinmont suggested.

“And find out what happened to the fair Elizabeth,” a young lieutenant in a mellow frame of mind declared. “I wouldn’t mind abducting her again, Johnnie. What say we ride south tonight?”

“She’s returned to Redesdale,” Johnnie said.

And even inebriated, every man understood what that simple sentence implied.

“So tell us, Johnnie, my fine stud,” Munro dramatically murmured, his brows rising into his hairline, “how exactly you have possession of that information?”

And a dozen pair of eyes, in various degrees of
drunken languor, all consumed with curiosity, trained themselves on their young chieftain.

“A paid informer brought me the information.”

“You paid someone to follow Elizabeth Graham.” Munro seemed flabbergasted.

“I felt some responsibility for her.”

“But not for any other woman.” Munro was pressing slightly, his glass set aside, his tone interrogative.

“Her father’s dangerous.”

“Did you hear, then, if Redmond met her in Harbottle?” Robbie roguishly inquired. “The one with the skinning knife,” he said as reminder to the table at large, the story of Elizabeth’s threat a source of fascinated conversation after the exchange at Roundtree.

“As a matter of fact, he did.” Johnnie appeared more sober suddenly, or perhaps simply less jovial. And those not completely in their cups noted a new edge to his voice. “And regardless of everyone’s avid interest,” he lazily drawled, his steady glance sweeping around the table, “I have nothing more to say about Lady Graham.”

Despite his indolent tone, despite his quiet delivery, the coolness in his eyes prompted each man to understand the subject was closed.

“So tell us, Jervis,” Adam Carre diplomatically inquired into the sudden silence, “do the ladies of Macao still favor those interesting positions?”

The return of the
Raven
set into motion a busy spring of trading, for two more of the Carre ships cleared the roads at Leith in the following weeks. Both brothers made individual trips to their warehouses in Rotterdam and Veere, to Bordeaux and Ostend, with portions of their Eastern goods. Tea from Canton, spices from the East Indies, Japanese silk out of Macao, Chinese porcelains—the sale of luxury goods was always exceedingly profitable, while the war on the Continent made all items more dear. Their return cargoes were primarily French wines; London merchants came to Edinburgh to buy the finest vintages.

One day at their warehouse in Leith, after having gone over their accounts with their factor, Johnnie said to his brother, “If this war runs on another two or three years, we’ll be indecently wealthy. You can set yourself up as a bloody nabob at your property in East Lothian.”

“Well, don’t tell anyone. There’re enough simpering misses with panting mamas chasing me already. I prefer being simply the Master of Graden with a modest living.”

“It’s easy enough to avoid those pursuing mamas,” Johnnie said with a grin.

“Easy for you because you take pleasure in saying shocking things to prudish matrons. But admit, it only deters a minimum of determined mamas. The rest are still measuring you for the marriage bed despite your disreputable ways. The Carre fortune overrides even
your
propensity for scandal.”

Johnnie cast his brother a speculative look. “Atholl’s wife withdrew her daughter from the running.”

“Only because that daughter was about to jump into bed with you without a marriage ring. They trundled her off to one of their remoter estates until she finds you less alluring.”

“Really.”

“You didn’t notice, of course.”

“Was she the tall brunette with the improved version of the Murray nose?”

“No, that’s Talbot’s daughter. Fortunately for the pretty chit, Atholl’s daughter doesn’t resemble anyone in her family. So with the exception of your unattainable hand, they’ll be able to find her a husband easy enough, although with her heated desires, she might find one herself up in the Highlands.”

Johnnie had lost his air of concentration several sentences ago, and at the smallest pause in Robbie’s discussion of local courting rituals, he unceremoniously said, “I dislike this subject intensely. Enough of eligible young women; they’re all a dull lot. Have you heard Hatton’s plans? Is he coming up to Parliament early?”

“He, Dunston, and Fenshaw will all be in a fortnight beforehand. Are you expecting Munro to come for the excitement?”

“He tells me yes, although with the expected fight on seating, I don’t know if he’ll be allowed in. Tweedale has orders from London to seat no one save the members.” Johnnie stretched comfortably in his chair. “I’m pleased for Hatton; his fiery brand of English baiting appeals to my irrepressible dislike of London’s iron fist. And I’m anticipating Munro will probably come back with me. With the walls up on the new addition, I’ve orders to appear at Goldiehouse to give my approval. I don’t suppose you’re interested in joining me.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Maybe after Mrs. Barrett returns to her husband in Inverness?” Johnnie smoothly inquired.

Robbie grinned, his tanned skin touched with a pink flush. “Yes, after that would be much better for me,” he said, consideration of his newest paramour prompting a smile of satisfaction.

“I don’t suppose I need lecture you on discretion,” Johnnie remarked. “Barrett may be old, but not senile.”

“A lecture on discretion from you would be fascinating. What would you suggest?” Robbie inquired. “Not bedding the Chancellor’s wife on High Street at noon?”

“I was thinking more seriously,” Johnnie said in a temperate tone, “of keeping your sword close at hand, or at least your boot dirk. It’s small enough to slip under a pillow. Barrett doesn’t fight his own battles anymore, and the men he hires to settle his accounts aren’t known for their honor.”

“I’ll be careful,” Robbie replied with the nonchalance of youth.

“Why not take a few men with you to your nightly rendezvous with Mrs. Barrett?”

Robbie’s amusement altered to a mild scrutiny. “You’re serious.”

“You weren’t here last year when your inamorata was entertaining herself with one of the Glendale Armstrongs. He was savagely attacked leaving her house.”

“Wat Armstrong?”

“Yes, and he’ll never use his right arm again. He hovered near death for weeks.” Johnnie closed the account book in front of him, leaned back in his chair, and
gazed at his brother sitting across from him with a rare earnestness. “I’m not saying
Mrs. Barrett’s
dangerous, but don’t discount her husband’s sense of insult.”

The window behind Johnnie overlooked the busy harbor of Leith, their trading house conveniently located on the shore of the Firth of Forth. Gazing past his older brother at some distant point, Robbie said very softly, “Do you think that’s part of the excitement?” For a moment Robbie’s dark eyes seemed unfocused on the maritime scene, and then suddenly his gaze returned to Johnnie. “The possibility of violence …” he speculatively murmured. “Do you ever experience that intense arousal when a forbidden lady’s sighing and trembling under you, and your exposed back is to the door?”

Johnnie smiled faintly but said, “No,” to his young brother, who didn’t need further encouragement in vice. “Never.”

“Right. And that’s why you’ve fought six duels in the last few years.”

Johnnie shifted uncomfortably in his chair, awkward in his position of protector. “Well, I’m not recommending it, regardless. So take a guard with you. Please.” His deep voice diminished in volume. “For me.”

Robbie hesitated for a moment, youthful indiscretion struggling with moderation. Then he nodded.

His brother visibly relaxed. “Good,” he said, gratified. “And now you’ll live longer to enjoy the bountiful charms of Mrs. Barrett. I’ll leave half the men with you when I ride to Goldiehouse in the morning.”

“She spent a year at Versailles,” Robbie said, recalling Mrs. Barrett’s charms. “Did you know that?”

Johnnie knew; he also knew some of her particular excesses that year. But his brows rose in polite inquiry, and he softly repeated, “Versailles, you say.” His voice took on an amused intonation. “
That
accounts, no doubt, for your acute interest. The Court of Versailles is unrivaled in superlative vice. How nice of Mr. Barrett to occasionally share his wife with the world.”

“How nice for me,” Robbie pleasantly agreed. “Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight? She speaks French with a delightful small lisp.”

“Thank you,” Johnnie courteously replied, “but I’m already engaged.” The possibility he and Mrs. Barrett could meet in friendship was remote after their last conversation, when she’d flounced away in a sulky pet. He’d simply pointed out to her one day last week, in the sumptuous privacy of her apartment subsidized by Robbie’s generosity, that he had no problem with her cajoling expensive gifts from his young brother, but Robbie hadn’t the experience of a Versailles courtier, who considered honesty a personal failing. And if she tried to blackmail Robbie as she had young Tallier, he would see that she spent the rest of her life in Inverness with her aged, bad-tempered husband.

“Are you seeing Roxie tonight?”

Johnnie nodded. “She has a gift for conversation.”

“Among other things.”

“Yes, of course,” Johnnie acknowledged with a roguish smile, “among other things.” Roxie was Edinburgh’s reigning belle, and while he was enchanted by her beauty, he also enjoyed her cosmopolitan intellect. She kept him amused with all the latest gossip, scandal, and news from the Continent. And as a wealthy, twice-widowed young matron with a large brood of children and a penchant for independence, she wasn’t in the market for a third husband. It was a decided factor in their long friendship.

“So I’ll see you next when Parliament sits.”

“Or two weeks earlier, if I have my way and Goldiehouse affairs allow.” Raising an admonishing finger, Johnnie jabbed it once at his brother. “Remember the guards now. I don’t usually press you on your style of living, but on this I will.” A niggling unease still lingered.

“My word on it,” Robbie soothed. “Rest easy. I’d just as soon keep the use of my sword arm intact. And now, if you don’t have any more advice for me,” he said, rising and picking up his riding gloves from the table spread with sailing charts and account ledgers, “I’ll begin my evening of dissipation.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Johnnie said, looking up at his fair young brother. “I’m completely out of advice.”

“And if we don’t run into you at one of the evening soirees, give Roxie a kiss for me.”

Johnnie grinned. “I’ll give her two. She thinks you’re sweet.”

Robbie groaned.

“
Au contraire
,” Johnnie contradicted. “Her tone of voice definitely implied a compliment. Actually, if I recall,” he went on with a smile, “she also said, ‘I have a penchant for young men with red hair.’ ”

Robbie’s expression brightened.

“So you see, when you lose interest in your Mrs. Barrett, consider the exquisite Roxie.…”

A flare of excitement touched Robbie’s eyes. “Would you mind?”

“Why would I mind?” Johnnie calmly responded.

“Well … I just thought … that is … you’ve been seeing her for so long.…” Robbie shrugged. “Oh, hell …” he muttered, thwarted by the casual scope of his brother’s reply, “I’ll see you in two weeks.” And on that confusion of half-formed thoughts and baffled frustration, he waved and left.

In the meantime, while the Carre brothers were adding to their fortunes, Elizabeth Graham had diminished her hidden gold by a third. But willingly.

Since her return to Harbottle last March, she’d reached an uneasy truce with her father—for a price. With the understanding that he would discontinue harassing her about marriage to any and all men who might possibly be advantageous to his advancement at Court or his finances, she’d agreed to turn over to him one third of her cash inheritance. Twenty thousand pounds had been sufficiently tempting to Godfrey. So her attorney had immediately drawn up the necessary papers to protect her in court from his machinations. By law, she already had legal right to control the money left to her by Hotchane, but the added security of her father’s signature on their agreement was well worth twenty thousand pounds.