Susan Johnson (53 page)

“It sailed this morning. They’re scouring the country for you. The cargo was on board; they couldn’t wait.”

“Eight days, then, to return from Veere.”

“Or a fortnight, depending on the winds and gales this time of year.”

“So I don’t have to get up this morning,” Johnnie said with a grin.

“Wait a day or so,” Munro suggested with a pleased smile.

But the next morning Johnnie insisted he be helped into a chair. It took two men to bring him upright on the side of the bed, and he sat braced by his arms until he could unclench his teeth. Pale sweat beading on his brow and upper lip, he walked with assistance the short distance to the chair and eased himself down, using the chair arms for support.

Several minutes passed before the color returned to his face, and a short time more was required before his breathing had subsided to normal. And then his pale blue
eyes lifted to the circle of anxious faces surrounding him. “I’m not going to fall over,” he said with a faint grin. “At least not for five minutes or so. Does my nursing staff think a glass of wine might be good for my health, because I’d prefer it to the morphine for pain.”

Six people moved at once, and shortly Johnnie was drinking a very fine claret.

His recuperation was swift, his youth an asset to the speed of his recovery, Roxane’s apothecary skilled in those medicinals and herbs most useful in treating wounds. Often called upon to treat the hotheaded bucks who settled their arguments with duels, he understood how to heal brutally maimed flesh.

Roxane continued her social activities, albeit on a somewhat reduced schedule, so as not to call attention to her household. She managed to put off the Earl of Brusisson on the few occasions she met him in public, apologizing for her cancellation of his planned visit, explaining her children had taken ill and she wasn’t accepting callers.

In public she was able to curb his demands to see her, for they were never alone, and politesse sufficed in those group drawing-room conversations. Her children had been surreptitiously sent off to one of her country estates the morning after Johnnie was brought into her home. Although the older children understood the subtleties of politics and the need for silence, the younger ones were incapable of discretion. To the children’s friends they were simply indisposed by illness.

But she didn’t admit that her decision to send the children away for a fortnight might have been predicated by her irrepressible passion for her young lover.

She and Robbie spent most of their time in her rooms, although they appeared often for luncheon in the Ravensbys’ suite. It was obvious to all they were mad for each other, although both maintained a public silence about their feelings. But they seemed often oblivious to others even at times when they were in company, and they touched each other with that special privilege reserved for lovers. As a couple, they were striking, their coloring so similar, they had a conspicuous resemblance,
like brother and sister. Even in likeness they bore a corresponding general conformity of classic features, although Roxane’s dark eyes were a deep violet and Robbie’s a rich, vivid brown, nearly black, and her hair was touched with gleaming flame while Robbie’s held darker auburn tones. And gender differences were manifest in their skin tones—hers supremely pale beside his as if she were a hothouse flower and he of rugged, less cultivated stock, bronzed from the sun and sea.

But in terms of ingenuous desire they were equal counterparts. Unaffected and natural, they’d given themselves up to love.

One night when Elizabeth had fallen asleep, when Roxane was out and Robbie was pacing restlessly waiting for her return, Johnnie asked him, “Are you bringing Roxane to Holland?”

“No.”

“It’s not serious then?” He was surprised. Appearances suggested otherwise.

Robbie stopped for a moment in his perambulations, his gaze on his brother, who lay on a chaise near the fire. “I told her we should be back by summer. Leaving would be too disruptive for her children anyway. But yes, it’s serious. And don’t mention her age, because I don’t want to hear it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Roxane had been older than he as well, and he had a great affection for her. “We may not be back by summer though. It could take longer to arrange things.”

Dropping into a nearby chair, Robbie grimaced at the unwelcome news. “Regardless,” he muttered, “I’ll return earlier, and we can decide then what to do.”

“You’re sure now.”

“You of all people to ask that, with Harold Godfrey’s daughter your wife.”

“You’re right, of course. Forgive me.”

“Lord,” Robbie exclaimed, “will it take
that
long to
regain the estates?” Impatient, not wishing to be thwarted in his designs, he’d been more optimistic.

“Queensberry has the court behind him. We, however, hold bills of exchange from every man of wealth in Scotland. We also factor their trade and handle most of their credit in Europe. And with the French privateers out in force, the international price of exchange has gone to extravagant heights …” Johnnie smiled. “We control their exchange rate too. The potential for ruin becomes more powerful with each passing day.”
¹⁰

“Being the Continental banker for most of Scotland has its advantages,” Robbie murmured. The Carre commerce and banking contacts stretched from Paris and Bordeaux to London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Hamburg, Danzig, and Stockholm.

“Don’t forget we’re financing some of the Scottish regiments in Marlborough’s war as well.” Several officers banked with him in Rotterdam. “Coutts has made my position clear to everyone; I expect an urgent petition to be presented to the Privy Council within the month.”

Robbie sighed. “But they’ll still have to set a date for the trial, and hell, who knows how long that’ll take.”

“Not necessarily. The Privy Council can simply abandon the process. No trial, no conviction … and Queensberry can move out of Goldiehouse. And then there’s Godfrey.” Johnnie’s voice went very quiet. “I look forward to killing him.”

“What of Elizabeth?”

“I haven’t talked to her about it, and I won’t. Godfrey’s too dangerous to my family, regardless of how she might feel. Think of our child … what he might do to it.”

“Perhaps she won’t know.”

Johnnie shrugged. “It depends on how public the occasion.”

“When you have your estates back, you mean.”

“And my title …”

“As early as next summer perhaps.”

Johnnie’s smile was dangerous. “Wouldn’t that be pleasant?”

• • •

The following days passed serenely at the Countess Kilmarnock’s home. Johnnie’s health was steadily improving, Elizabeth’s pregnancy moving very near term, and the Countess and Robbie exploring the rarefied world of new love.

And then the
Trondheim
sailed into the roads at Leith one sunny March afternoon.

And the guests at Kilmarnock House made ready to leave.

It took some days for the
Trondheim
to clear customs and have her cargo unloaded, time for those at Kilmarnock to ready themselves for the voyage. Food had to be brought on board and arrangements made for a doctor and midwife to accompany them. Although convalescing well, Johnnie was still not completely restored to his former strength, and Elizabeth was so near delivery, the baby might not wait until they reached Rotterdam.

Roxane continued to appear at those social affairs she couldn’t politely refuse, and the night before the
Trondheim
was due to sail, she attended a dinner party at Countess of Sutherland’s. A friend of long standing, the Countess was hosting an engagement party for her eldest daughter. Roxane intended to stay only for the small dinner party preceding the ball, having begged off from the larger entertainment open to an extended guest list.

She was in fact waiting in the entrance hall for her carriage to be brought up when Harold Godfrey arrived with the Duke of Queensberry.

There was no avoiding them, and she dared not
anyway, should her behavior arouse suspicion. While the initial widespread pursuit after Johnnie’s escape had abated, a search was still in progress. So her smile was gracious as they approached her.

“You’re just arriving too?” Queensberry said, bowing over her hand.

“Actually, I’m leaving,” Roxane replied. “My children are ill, but I’d promised Jean I’d come for dinner.”

“A shame,” the Duke politely said, his attention suddenly caught by one of his aides waving him over to a group of guests at the foot of the staircase. “We’ll miss your lovely company. Excuse me, Countess,” he added, “Fenton seems agitated.” And sketching a bow, he moved away.

Harold Godfrey didn’t follow him but stood large, solid, and glaring directly in front of her. “You’ve managed to avoid me, Countess, for many days.” The heat in his voice matched the blaze-red damask of his lace-trimmed coat.

“I’m not avoiding you, Godfrey. With my children sick, I’m not receiving visitors.” She caught her orchid velvet cloak closer in unconscious protection.

“You’re out occasionally,” he gruffly declared. “You could come to my apartments.”

“I’m sorry.” She tried to project a courteous blandness to such coarse bluntness. “But my time is very limited at the moment. I attend only those functions that are absolutely necessary. With five children, my Lord, all in various stages of smallpox,
¹¹
my social engagements are much curtailed. Perhaps later.”

“Perhaps, madam, you could find the time now.” He grasped her upper arm through the velvet of her cape, his grip painful.

“Really, Godfrey, I dislike aggression.” Her violet gaze held his steadily. “Kindly unhand me, or I’ll call for assistance.”

He held her arm for a moment more to indicate his capabilities. “I don’t intend to wait much longer, madam.” His tone was silky with malice as he released her.

“You’ll wait, Godfrey,” Roxane softly replied, unable to disguise her rising temper, “upon my convenience.”

“We’ll see.” His grey eyes, framed by his powdered, full-bottomed wig, were utterly cold.

“Indeed we will,” she replied, her posture regal, her eyes meeting his boldly. And with the barest inclination of her head, she swept toward the doors, not caring whether her carriage was ready or not, raging at his brutish rudeness. Damned English! And damned Queensberry, too, for all his smooth courtesy. She was sick to death of men with no principles.

The following evening Roxane was writing a note to her children when Johnnie walked into the drawing room. She was surprised to see him on the main floor. Regardless of his miraculous recovery, he was still weak.

She smiled across her small writing desk. “You managed three flights of stairs.”

“As you see.” He held his arms out briefly. He’d not regained all his weight yet, and he was leaner than he’d been in the past, but his smile was the same.

“You’re ready to leave?” He wore an embroidered russet leather coat for travel, and his sword gleamed at his side.

“As soon as everyone returns from last-minute errands. They waited till dusk to go out.” Strolling across the candlelit room, he dropped onto a high-backed sofa opposite her. “I wanted to come down and thank you again before I left.”

“You’re very welcome.” Her smiled flashed. “It was a pleasure to thwart Queensberry and Godfrey.”

“You don’t wish to join us in Holland, Robbie tells me.”

She set aside the pen she was holding and folded her hands on the inlaid desktop before she answered. “I can’t consider it, with the children—although I shouldn’t consider it at all if I were sensible. He’s much too young.” She gazed across the small distance to where
Johnnie rested, her mouth in a thoughtful moue. “I’m allowing myself to be very foolish about him.”

“I probably would have agreed with you a year ago, when I didn’t understand there were pleasures beyond those of a casual nature. But if you care about him, it’s not foolish. Good God, Roxie, certainly you and I can distinguish the difference between love and
amour
. We’ve spent enough years practicing one and avoiding the other.”

“It’s different for a man in our world. A young woman’s a delectable prize, as available to him as any
bijoux
he cares to possess.”

Johnnie grinned. “Do you wish to possess my young brother?”

She smiled back. “Honestly, yes. Wouldn’t that be simple? I could just add him to my collection of fine things and bring him out to admire when it suited me.”

“If you didn’t love him,” Johnnie quietly volunteered.

“Yes—and therein lies the complexity. He wouldn’t be docile, would he, like a young mistress?”

Johnnie laughed. “Knowing my brother, you’d he hard-pressed to find that word serviceable.”

“It’s a damned dilemma.” Leaning back in her chair, she sighed.

“It doesn’t have to be … if it’s only society that causes you misgivings.”

“I wouldn’t have considered myself so timid or vain. I’m surprised at myself.”

“You’re a beautiful woman familiar with adulation,” Johnnie softly said, taking in the splendor of her pale skin, rich copper hair, her extravagant womanly body adorned in opulent green Genoa velvet. “Fear of mockery has to be a novel sensation for you. But consider, darling, once we’ve wrested our estates back from Queensberry, you’ll have Robbie and myself to discourage any disparaging remarks.”