Susan Johnson (33 page)

“And now this one will be born premature,” the Countess of Lothian snidely cooed.

“That’s enough, Janet,” her husband curtly ordered. “You’ve had too much wine.”

For a moment the Countess seemed to debate how to respond to her husband; her fine dark brows drew together, her red mouth tightened into a hard straight line. But the Earl of Lothian, a distinguished figure despite his years, exuded a forceful command beneath his dignity.

His wife slowly leaned back in her chair and theatrically lifted her glass to him in mock deference.

She didn’t participate in the conversation after that, although she drank heavily through the remaining courses, and Johnnie anticipated further trouble before the evening was over. Janet Lindsay in her cups was a volatile explosion waiting to detonate.

After a minimum interval in the drawing room after dinner, Johnnie excused himself and Elizabeth, citing her pregnancy as excuse for retiring early. The Lindsays were staying the night as neighbors often did, distances between homes being considerable and rough roads making travel difficult after dark. But they’d stayed before; the servants would see them to their suite.

“I hope we don’t have to entertain too many of your old lovers,” Elizabeth said lightly as she and Johnnie entered their bedroom. “They become so sullen after their
tenth
glass of wine.”

It was a comment intended to provoke, and Johnnie discarded several replies while contriving to find a non-combustible answer. The alarming truth was, there were several ladies in the neighborhood falling into that category who probably
would
be calling with their husbands in the near future. “I’m sorry,” he finally said with utter simplicity. “It’s damned awkward.”

“How can I compete like this?” Elizabeth said, the annoyance suppressed all evening now simmering in her voice. “She’s right, you know, the drunken bitch. I
will
be fat and clumsy soon and forced to watch every flirtatious hussy in Roxburgh over tea or dinner insinuate how
close
you and she have been.”

Standing before the cheval glass, she grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. Well-cut burgundy velvet and ivory lace aside, her waist was beginning to thicken, the increased fullness of her breasts adding a new plumpness to her body.

Coming up behind her, Johnnie quietly said, “You’re more beautiful than any of them. I love you very much—and I like you pregnant.”

“You’re just saying that.” Even as she uttered the petulant remark, she knew she sounded like a sullen child. But after several exasperating hours contemplating Janet Lindsay’s porcelain beauty and voluptuous form she felt surly. “And she’s a blatant tart,” she moodily added.

Which had been her attraction, Johnnie reflected, although his interest in Janet Lindsay was in the past tense now. “I’ll see that they leave in the morning.” He
touched her arm lightly, wary of his welcome after the difficult visit.

Spinning around like a tautly wound top, Elizabeth scowled at him. “I don’t think the Countess
wants
to leave.”

He’d learned long ago never to respond to pettishness in a woman’s voice. “Why don’t I talk to Culross tonight?” he suggested, his voice soothing, “Just to be certain.”

“You’re going to see
her
again!”

“No. Lord, no. I wish they’d never come.” He glanced at the clock. “Anyway, Culross will be playing billiards with the men by now.”

“And what will
she
be doing,” Elizabeth heatedly queried, “or what did she
normally
do while Culross played billiards? Wait for you in her room?”

Her intuition was remarkable, Johnnie ruefully reflected, feeling strangely guilty for a man who’d never questioned his notorious conduct in the past. “It was all a long time ago,” he said quietly. “Look, send Helen down with me as chaperon; she can be my watchdog. I swear, I just want to talk to Culross. He’ll understand.”

“About your wife’s jealous tantrum, you mean.”

“No, about my wanting them to come next time with other people.”

“Or not at all,” Elizabeth tersely declared.

“I can’t do that to Culross.” His voice was composed but firm. “He was a friend of my father.”

“Maybe he’ll divorce her.” Emotion had overcome logic by now.

“That’s possible.” His words were infinitely guarded.

“But then the men whose wives you’ve slept with can’t all divorce their wives now can they?”

Now would they care to, Johnnie wished to say. Masculine privilege was a fact of life; he wasn’t the only one who’d slept with married women. “I didn’t know you then; it won’t happen now,” he said, uncomplicated and plain. “Do you want Helen to go with me?”

“Yes. No. Yes, dammit … I’m going to be a jealous wife.”

“Then call her.” He understood jealousy; he was even resentful of her dead husband.

He found Culross in the billiard room as he’d expected, playing with Adam and Kinmont. Munro had left for Edinburgh that afternoon in search of an engineer to fix the lock between the ponds and the river. And Janet, as Johnnie had known, was in her room. She disliked watching the men play.

The two men sat down in wing chairs near the fire with a new cognac just in from La Rochelle. Helen stood at a discreet distance, not exactly certain she was capable of chaperoning the ungovernable Laird. But Lady Elizabeth had given her orders and the Laird had quietly listened as his wife spoke, so she gravely kept her eyes on him. The men spoke for a few minutes about the merits of the brandy and their favorite vineyards; then Culross gently said, “Janet is an old man’s vanity.”

“I understand,” Johnnie replied. “I’d do the same thing.” He wouldn’t, though.
Never
. He didn’t have the temperament to watch his wife with other men. “It’s just that Elizabeth is more emotional now with the pregnancy,” he explained. “As you see, I have a duenna tonight.”

Culross lifted one brow. “You indulge your wife. It must be love, although it’s clear to see—even if Roxburgh wasn’t awash with dramatic stories of your unorthodox courtship. And I know how
enceinte
women respond,” he added. “My Jonetta was high strung the entire nine months.” Culross smiled in remembrance of his long deceased first wife, who’d borne him six children all grown now with children of their own.

“I don’t want Elizabeth to be unhappy,” Johnnie said, turning his brandy glass in his hands.

“Did you think it would ever happen, my boy, when you were tasting the surfeit of the world—that love would strike?” The Earl of Lothian surveyed his young neighbor with a clear gaze.

Johnnie flushed beneath his bronzed skin at the
keen observation. “One doesn’t know it exists at the time—or care—”

“
Until
it steals away your capacity for vice.”

“Yes,” Johnnie noted with faint smile. He looked at the brandy in his hands for a moment and then at Culross. “But strangely,” he added, “there’s no regrets.”

“I’ll take Janet home in the morning so your wife can sleep well tonight,” the earl kindly said.

“I’d appreciate that. Please forgive Elizabeth if she doesn’t see you off. She sleeps late.”

“Of course. No need for her to rise early on our account,” Culross politely replied to the obvious falsehood. “Janet may be difficult for a time,” he calmly went on. “She’s a woman who dislikes rejection and she doesn’t understand the concept of love. Your marriage won’t be a deterrent to her.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Johnnie said. And that was the closest the two men came to openly acknowledging they’d shared the same woman’s favors.

As the men were savoring their second drink, Elizabeth answered a sharp rapping at her bedroom door and found herself face to face with Janet Lindsay.

“I want to talk to Johnnie,” the Countess of Lothian brusquely said, a glass of wine in her hand as she stood impressively splendid in white satin, framed by the carved garlands bordering the portal.

“He’s not
here
.” Elizabeth couldn’t keep the faint shock from her tone.

“Where is he?”

“He’s not
here
,” Elizabeth repeated, about to push the door shut.

“You’re lying,” Janet retorted, sailing across the wide threshold and walking straight across the large chamber to the dressing room door with a familiarity that bespoke former residence. Opening the door, she peered inside, then moved to the entrance of the adjacent sitting room which she also surveyed. Swinging around, she taunted, “Does he often leave you alone at night?”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business.” Elizabeth hadn’t moved far from the doorway, her temper barely in check with Johnnie’s rude ex-lover standing in her bedroom.

“He’ll never be faithful,” she warned with a sneer.

“I don’t expect he ever was to you.” Elizabeth felt a profane pleasure in being equally rude.

“Don’t be naive, darling. He won’t be to you either.”

“My husband’s fidelity isn’t your concern.”

Janet Lindsay laughed, a triumphant sound. “Johnnie Carre’s fidelity. That’s a rich phrase … like England’s charity, or the Pope’s children. You sweet child,” she murmured, “I’ll give you a month more. Your figure isn’t completely gone yet. He’s never wanted children, you know.”

“Perhaps he never wanted your children.” But Elizabeth’s stomach had lurched at the Countess’ confident tone.

“On that we agree. Can you see him with a squalling brat? He’s never even touched a baby.”

“How would you know?” And immediately after she’d uttered the words, she wished she could have retracted them.

“Because I’ve known him, my darling girl, since before he became Laird.
I
know him and you don’t.”

“A shame, then, he didn’t marry you.”

Janet Lindsay’s anger suddenly showed, the smooth bright malice replaced by a fiery indignation. Her white skin turned an ugly red. “You pale-haired bitch,” she hissed, “I’ll have him back in a fortnight.”

“Have you lost your way, Janet?” Johnnie’s voice, bland and cool, came from the darkened hallway.

Both women turned to see his tall form materialize out of the shadows. He stood framed in the ornate doorway, the light from the room casting a sheen on the terracotta velvet of his jacket. His faint smile had no warmth. “I spoke to Culross about you,” he said softly. “He’s very understanding. He once had a wife he loved.” His voice turned rough-edged. “Now get out.”

Without waiting for an answer, he moved from the
threshold and walked the short distance to where Elizabeth stood. “I’m sorry again,” he quietly murmured, not certain he dared touch her, unsure of her response.

“Damn you to hell!” the Countess of Lothian cried, flinging her glass of wine at him. “What do you know about love!”

With lightning speed, he pulled Elizabeth out of the way of the flying missile, shifting a second later to intercept Janet’s headlong charge.

She’d drunk too much to be docile—not that she ever was—and Johnnie caught her by her flailing arms. “Don’t think you can turn me out! You damned—” She struggled against his hold but he firmly shoved her out the door. Swiftly slamming it shut, he turned the key in the lock.

“It’s your turn now,” he said with a sigh, leaning back against the door. “Scream, attack me, any wife would after a visit like that; there’s no suitable apology for Janet’s gall. But you needn’t ever see her again. I’ll visit Culross somewhere else.”

“Not on your life,” Elizabeth sharply said.

His brows winged up in surprise.

“She’ll be there too, knowing her. I’m possessive as hell. He can come here. Alone.”

One dark brow arched provocatively. “You’re my warder?”

“Damn right I am. Perhaps you should warn all your other ex-lovers in the neighborhood that they come here at their own risk.”

He laughed. “My leash is to be short, then.”

“A choke collar, I’d say.”

His smile was amused. “It sounds wickedly indecent. Should we try it tonight?”

Elizabeth grinned. “Don’t think you can distract me. I’m serious. You’re mine, Johnnie Carre, I don’t mean to share you.”

“How nice,” he whispered, pushing away from the door and strolling toward her. “I look forward to this proprietary faithfulness. It conjures up a certain—closeness.” He stood only inches away from her now, very large and dark and beautiful. “I love you more each
day,” he said, his previous irony displaced by a scrupulous candor, his words utterly plain. “And I regret the years I’ve wasted without you. You may possess me and gladly.”

“I know that,” she said with her own straightforward simplicity, her temper dissipated, the Janet Lindsays in her husband’s past relegated to their proper insignificance. After years bereft of love, Elizabeth divined the blissful wonder of it with more clarity than most.

“So sure?” he teased.

“Absolutely.”

“Who knows?” he said with a smile, bending so his mouth was very close to hers, his kiss only a breath away. “We may set a new fashion … in faithfulness.”

Shipping quieted on the North Sea after November, the winter gales restricting merchant activity to a minimum. And Johnnie and Elizabeth settled in at Goldiehouse for Christmas, welcoming Robbie home from a last trip to Rotterdam just before the holidays. The festivities were extravagant despite the Kirk’s admonitions against the pagan and popish celebration; the Carres had always observed Christmas from the days before the monasteries.

Johnnie gave his new wife a gift of jewelry on each of the twelve nights, although she protested as early as the third evening that he was spoiling her.

“This is too extravagant, darling,” she murmured, lifting the enormous pearl ear-drops from their box. It was hushed in their bedchamber, although the noise of the revelers drifted up the staircase from the great hall below. The scent of pine boughs and holly perfumed the room. She smiled at him as he lay beside her. “These are so costly—”

“They’re Scottish pearls,” he noted, “and I can buy my wife jewelry if I wish.” His grin was angelic. “Put them on now, so I can see you undressed in pearls.”

“Libertine,” she whispered.

“I know.” One dark brow rose the merest fraction. “Isn’t it nice we get along so well?”