Susan Johnson (3 page)

“Then we must become friends,” he cordially said. “I hear the Erskines are hoping for an English earldom.”

“And I’m the means to that peerage?” she sardonically observed.

He shrugged, his epaulets shimmering with the movement. “Let’s just say that, as commissioner, I have enormous latitude in … a variety of areas, peerages included.” His smile was open, warm. “I’m sure we can come to some agreement.”

“I prefer keeping my distance from the entire Erskine family.”

“You don’t want an earldom for your son?”

“Not if the price is my independence.”

“I could easily discourage Agnes’s involvement,” he
perceptively replied, his voice solicitous. “Would you like her sent to the country?”

Roxane smiled faintly. “You amaze me, my lord, with the extent of your powers. The queen was generous.”

“I was under no illusions as to my value to the court when I bargained for this commissionership.”

“You have carte blanche?”

“Very nearly. Certainly enough to send Agnes to her country estate if you but give me leave.” Innuendo was prominent in his words.

“You tempt me, Argyll, if for no other reason than to nonplus my malicious mother-in-law.”

“I’m at your service, my dear Roxane, in whatever capacity you wish. Just say the word.”

She understood, in her few minutes of conversation with the young head of the Campbell clan, how he’d accomplished the remarkable feat of not only bringing Queensberry back into the government against the queen’s wishes, but also gaining the broad powers he’d been granted by Her Majesty, Queen Anne. He was remarkably charming, and willing to do whatever was necessary to obtain his objectives. While a political novice, he was neither naive nor inexperienced in the art of diplomacy. His offer of liberation from the grating control of her mother-in-law was extremely persuasive.

“I’ll consider it, my lord,” she smoothly returned, her own arts of persuasion and politesse honed to a fine pitch after years of adroitly evading advances from powerful men familiar with having their way.

“Could I interest you in a country dance, my lady,
while you’re considering my proposal?” He was content with the progress of his campaign. It was May, and the long Parliamentary sessions would continue through the summer and early fall. He needn’t rush. The enchanting Roxane’s resistance would eventually succumb to his persuasion.

Y
OU’RE SMILING,” DOUGLAS COUTTS SAID, ASSESSING
the presumptuous young man who’d risked his life to return to Scotland. “You must have seen her already.”

“I have, and she’s as bonnie as ever.” Robbie beckoned the man in the doorway into the study of the Carre apartment. Lounging in shirtsleeves and breeches, his leather jack discarded, he had neither the pose nor look of a harried outlaw. “Roxie’s hosting Queensberry and Argyll tonight for her nasty Erskine in-laws, as it turns out. I considered two bullets through the drawing room windows,” he cheerfully said, “but the bastards kept moving and the grounds were crawling with guards.”

“You’re quite rash to have even shown yourself in the gardens.” Coutts sat down across from Robbie, near the grate where a small fire kept away the chill of the spring evening. “Both Argyll and Queensberry move about only with a full complement of Highland guards and swordsmen.”
¹

“Evidence of the great esteem with which they’re regarded,” Robbie drawled, leaning forward to offer his guest a glass of whiskey.

“The reprisals would be severe should they be
assassinated,” the Carre family lawyer cautioned. “That threat keeps them alive more than the guards. So don’t be reckless”—he smiled faintly, raising the glass to his mouth—“and make the lovely Roxie a widow for the third time.”

“Amen to that.” Robbie lifted his glass to the man who was coordinating the Carres’ defense against the treasonous charges brought against them. “Although she’s being skittish at the moment.”

“With good reason,” Coutts said, in acknowledgement of the fluid state of political alliances. “Be careful. I wouldn’t doubt that the Erskines have put informers in her household.”

“I’m always careful”—Robbie winked—“or at least well armed. Now tell me of the latest maneuvers in the courts and Privy Council concerning our case.”

“You brought the documents I requested?”

“A full saddlebag.” Robbie slipped down into a more comfortable sprawl and gazed at his visitor from under his long dark lashes. “Every account of every merchant and burgess in Scotland, along with letters pleading for the release of their funds.” The men faced financial ruin, their bills of exchange unrecoverable from their accounts held by the Carres’ bank in Rotterdam.

“Even Queensberry is affected, you know,” Coutts observed with a half smile. “He invested heavily in the last cargo of wine from Bordeaux.”

“Not enough to repay his confiscation of our properties, though,” Robbie gruffly replied. “Personally, I’d prefer he repay us with his blood.”

“You’ll hurt him more by beggaring him, my lord. His vanity is his greatest vice.”

“As is Argyll’s. I hear he’s sold himself dear to the English court.”

“And he got what he asked for. His commissionership is a case of
pis aller.
All the other experienced political magnates are unacceptable to either the court or Parliament. We’ll see what he can do.”

“It depends on how much money the queen is willing to spend to buy votes.”

“Unlike last session, rumor has it the money is going to be forthcoming this time. Godolphin ordered Seafield to move on arrears of salaries and gratifications.”

“Then I see Scotland sold away.” A deep scowl gave indication of Robbie’s resentment. “Are there any patriots left who can’t be bought?”

“Fewer than last session. The court is systematically recruiting those most necessitous. William Seton the younger, of Pitmedden, was bought for a hundred pounds a year.”

“So everyone has become suspect, Roxburgh a case in point.”

“Agreed. You see how little it takes for some. They’re also creating new peerages with an extravagant largesse to bolster the court’s interests.”

“Merde”
Robbie softly swore, gazing into the remnants of the whiskey in his glass. “It’s damned depressing.”

“Gossip is Hamilton himself has sold out.”

Robbie’s lashes slowly lifted and his eyes were much too cynical for his years. “He’s always strapped for cash. I heard his agents in London were trying to negotiate a deal for him. It seems,” he said with a small sigh, “even the great patriot Hamilton has his price.”
²

“The Carre integrity is more easily maintained.” Coutts was as aware as anyone of what it took to afford to be a patriot. “Your family assets, once regained, will maintain the Carres in opulence. You needn’t feel the pressures others do.”

“I know. Our shipping fleet generates more than enough wealth. And the new tobacco depots in the American colonies are proving lucrative.”

“Exactly. So you have no need of English money. Even your case before the Privy Council should be settled with a minimum of expense,” he noted with the frugality of a Scottish lawyer. “Paying for the Privy Council’s cooperation is unnecessary when you already hold the wealth of much of Scotland in your Dutch banks.”

Robbie glanced at the clock on the mantel. Sliding upright in his chair, he set his glass aside. “Use the Carre money to buy what loyalty you can, and let me know how I can best help. This apartment is secure; the servants are loyal. Any message you wish to leave will be relayed to me.” Rising, he moved to a chest set against a wall. “Take the back way when you leave. Holmes will guide you through the passages.” Sliding a key from his pocket, he unlocked the painted chest, took out the saddlebags he’d brought from The Hague, and carried them over to Coutts. “I’m not certain exactly where I’ll be. It depends on the countess’s degree of apprehension.”

“And on the Erskines’ threats.”

“I suppose,” Robbie brusquely retorted. “Damn their mercenary hides. Leave a message with Holmes, should you need me to twist arms or cajole those wavering
in their loyalty to Scotland. And I’ll keep in contact with you.”

“Be cautious, Robbie. Your death would be very profitable to Queensberry.”

A flashing smile graced the Earl of Greenlaw’s handsome face. “I have no intention of dying, now that I’m back with Roxie.” A wicked gleam shone in his eyes. “Or at least not in the conventional sense. Wish me good fortune with my reluctant lover.”

“I don’t doubt your good fortune with the countess. The Erskines, on the other hand, may prove formidable opponents. Watch your back. They’re lying scoundrels, submissive to Queensberry’s every whim.”

“So long as they stay out of Roxie’s bed, I don’t expect to see them.” He paused. “I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow in case you have any questions about the documents I brought. I bid you good night now. Roxie’s soiree should be over soon.”

“Take care, Robbie,” Coutts cautioned. Robbie Carre was still eighteen and though long a full-grown man, gifted and capable, he didn’t have the experience of a devious schemer like Queensberry.

“I’m armed to the teeth, Douglas, and the Edinburgh streets at night will offer obscurity,” he assured his friend. “Let me know if you have any further word from Johnnie. My brother talked of coming over, although I discouraged him. Elizabeth’s still uncertain. Their son is not a month old.” He looped his sword baldric over his shoulder and quickly tested the draw of his weapon, the Toledo blade sliding in and out of the scabbard like silk on silk. Picking up his two pistols, he jammed them through his belt, checked the dirk
tucked into his boot, and, straightening, tipped his head in adieu. “Ill see you tomorrow.”

The door opened and closed so quickly he seemed to disappear before Coutts’s eyes.

A moment later the lawyer heaved himself out of his chair with a sigh, offering up a silent prayer for Robbie Carre’s safety. England was playing a dangerous game to neutralize Scotland’s independence. Human life was being sold cheaply, and utterly ruthless men were making the bargains.

I
THOUGHT I MIGHT HAVE TO SHARE YOUR BED
with Argyll tonight,” Robbie sardonically murmured as Roxane entered her bedroom suite an hour later. He was leaning against the wall very near the door, his arms folded across his chest, but his dark eyes held none of the languidness of his pose.

“He followed me upstairs. I didn’t invite him. And you shouldn’t have listened if it bothered you.” She took note of his challenging gaze and went on, with a challenging look of her own. “Furthermore, after spending the entire evening resisting the duke’s advances, I’m not in the mood for any more male possessiveness. You’re not supposed to be here in any event.” She moved away, walking toward her dressing table.

“He’s married, you know.”

“Like your Mrs. Barrett. And don’t say that was different.”

He pushed away from the wall. “Very well … although it was.”

Her acerbic moue was visible in the mirror over the mantel. “Don’t remind me of male hypocrisy. I’m not
currently disposed to listen. Kilmarnock’s mother, by the way, is serving as pimp for Erskine interests. I’ve been instructed to be gracious to Argyll in any manner he chooses.”

“Fuck that.”

“My sentiments exactly.” She kicked off her slippers, sending them across the room in her fury.

“Should I stay out of your way?” Robbie teased, his jealousy mollified by her response to the duke. He stopped in the middle of the room as if in wait for her answer, still fully armed—an incongruous sight in the silken bedchamber, a dark specter against the celadon damask and gilded furniture.

“You’d better. You’re not on Agnes’s list of useful paramours.” She unclasped one diamond earring from her ear and tossed it on her dressing table. “As if I give a damn about the Erskines anyway. Kilmarnock was an unmitigated ass, and I more than paid my dues to that family by living with him for two years.”

“My condolences.”

“I should have received soldiers’ wages for surviving that family for so long.” She tossed the second earring on the tabletop and, turning around, smiled at him for the first time that evening. “I thought about pushing Agnes down the stairs a few hours ago.” Her expression was cheerful. “You may not want to associate with a reprobate like me.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s considered ways to put Agnes Erskine in her grave. Don’t they say the good die young?”

“No doubt the saying was coined with her in mind. Help me with this necklace.” She turned her back to him.

“With pleasure. I brought you something that will go equally well with that gown.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t have.” She smiled. “Actually, you shouldn’t be here at all.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t come out and punch Argyll. I was being circumspect—for you, for your children … for the Carres, for God and country.” He grinned. “Why is this all so damned complicated?” he murmured, stripping his gloves off.