The Rambunctious Lady Royston (3 page)

"What? Tears? Oh, no, perhaps I've been too hasty. It appears you're just like any other female, resorting to weeping when things go wrong. I must have misjudged you."

Samantha picked up her aunt's sewing basket—the closest thing to hand—and aimed it at his head as if to throw it.

"Ah, I thought not. You've restored my faith in you, Sam. Don't forget to advise your father of my impending visit. I'm assured he will arrange to be at home for me."

"I hate you!"

He executed a graceful leg in acknowledgement of her declaration. "And I feel nothing at all for you. Interesting, is it not? Good day, my dear."

All this commotion finally served to wake Aunt Loretta. "Oh, dear," she cried, rubbing at her eyes. "Has the Earl gone, then? I hope you made my apologies."

Samantha sent her aunt a withering look. "You are of about as much use as a chaperone as a stuffed owl. That odious man just proposed, and you slept through the whole thing!"

"Proposed? But where is Isabella? I must congratulate her! This is the catch of the season, I vow it is." Aunt Loretta hastily began gathering her shawls around her.

"He didn't propose to Izzy," Samantha said acidly. "It's me he wants."

Her aunt's agitated movements came to an abrupt halt. "But you're barely out of the schoolroom. Whatever can he want from you, Samantha dear?"

"Two things, Aunt," she told her dryly. "Entertainment and sons. It seems he sees me as a cross between a court jester and a brood mare. Isn't that romantic?" Samantha turned on her heel and left the room.

"Entertainment and sons?" her aunt repeated dully to the empty room. "I really mustn't stay up so late at night. The most interesting things seem to be happening in the daytime."

It did not surprise Samantha a whit that her father all but fell on the Earl's neck when he asked for Sir Stephen's troublesome younger daughter's hand in marriage. Neither tears nor threats could sway him from his stand that with this marriage their fortunes would be made. Isabella was certain to be snatched up almost immediately once her sister the Countess presented her to Society, and he and Loretta could retire at last to peace in the country. As for Wally, he had wanted to purchase a commission and surely his brother-in-law the Earl would be more than happy to be his patron. Oh, yes, it was a grand match!

There was only one slight problem: Samantha was being difficult, as only Samantha could be. She sulked in her room for hours on end, refusing to be fitted for the many gowns the Earl had ordered, and sometimes she disappeared from the house for hours on end with not even Daisy knowing her whereabouts. As the wedding day drew nearer, Sir Stephen was holding his breath for fear that the Earl would have second thoughts about the whole thing and cry off.

Samantha's treatment of the Earl was the worst part of the whole problem. She sat stiffly on the sofa when he called and refused to speak. Even when he pushed his ancestral betrothal ring—a dazzling diamond and ruby cluster supported by a magnificent gold setting—onto her slim finger, Samantha's only remark was that it was "gaudy."

Sir Stephen loved his daughter and would not have forced her to marry against her will, except that he felt sure the Earl would have a steadying influence on his rather high-flying child. Admittedly, the Earl had been a bit of a rakehell in his youth, but once he hit his thirtieth birthday he had calmed down considerably. He no longer kept more than one mistress at a time, and he had not dueled in at least six years—ever since the day he was almost forced to fly to America, when his opponent seemed mortally wounded. Luckily, the man had not died. The Earl was forgiven, but he'd vowed to raise no weapons save his fists if ever challenged again.

Sir Stephen had sung his praises of the Earl to his daughter on several occasions, but he knew his words fell on deaf ears. As Sir Stephen watched his youngest daughter being handed into her fiance's coach as they departed for a ball at Lady Brandyce's, he uttered a silent prayer that she would not antagonize the Earl overmuch tonight.

Only three more days and the two would be safely married. He raised his eyes to heaven and whispered, "I tried, Heather, I really did, but she has been too much for me. She needed a mother's guidance."

Meanwhile, in the coach, Samantha was keeping to her side of the plush seat and totally ignoring St. John. This was not easy as his presence, always intimidating, was in these close quarters almost overpowering. She stole a glance out from under her long, dark lashes, and decided he was a very handsome man in his evening dress. No fop, he. His simple clothes were well tailored and set off his strong body to advantage.

If only he weren't so old! she thought. But Papa said I need the wisdom of an older man to keep me in line, she reminded herself. Bah! The man is a full dozen years older than I, a veritable greybeard.
Lecher!
she accused silently, slanting a look full of outraged sensibilities in his direction.

The Earl was watching Samantha's face out of the corner of his eye. She was certainly giving him a thorough going over tonight. These past weeks had been quite a trial, with Samantha fighting him at every turn. She has taken me at my word: that is sure, he thought. I told her not to love me, and she shows no signs of falling for my fatal charms. Right now she looks like she could plunge a dagger into my chest with no compunction at all. Pretty chit, though. Even I'm surprised at how well she turned out. Who said it took more than fine feathers to make a fine bird? No matter. I'm anxious to see the St. John emeralds around that ivory neck.

"What are you thinking, Samantha?" he finally questioned, breaking the tense silence.

"You don't want to know, my lord." Samantha answered with a smirk.

"Ah, but I do, you secretive puss. I find I have a great need to know what goes on in that fiery head."

"Very well, my lord, as long as you remember you did persist after I said no. I was just thinking that you are a lecherous old man."

The Earl appeared unmoved by her announcement, and this upset Samantha no end. "Did you hear me, my lord? I said I think you old."

"I heard you, child. I am just trying to think of a way to convince you I'm not quite that far along into my dotage. Perhaps I should alight from the coach and race you on foot to Lady Brandyce's," he suggested. "No, I fear I'm not dressed for such exertion. A pity. Ah, well," he sighed, "there's nothing else for it, then, is there; this will have to do instead."

So saying, he slid his arms around her and brought his lips against hers in a crushing embrace that showed no concern for anything save his own pleasure.

Samantha tried in vain to push him away, but he was much too strong for her. His lips were bruising hers as his hand came up to force her jaws open. She could feel his heartbeat against her breast, and as his kiss deepened those beats increased to match the birdlike flutterings of her own heart. He cared not if she responded to his passion; this was merely an exercise in domination on his part, and she knew it.

Yet somewhere deep inside her a flame began to flicker and grow. She could feel her limbs dissolving against him, and the experience was so pleasant she decided not to fight it. Only his sudden chuckle of amusement brought her back to her senses. Immediately she bit down hard on his probing tongue and tasted warm blood in her mouth. The Earl jumped back and cursed shortly while reaching in his pocket for a handkerchief.

It was Samantha's turn to chuckle, and she forced herself to do it—though truly her heart wasn't in it. "Do forgive me," she purred sweetly. "You are not all that ancient, my lord. The 'lecherous,' however, I let stand."

The Earl sat silently for a few moments, and then began to laugh softly. The laughter grew and grew until it filled the small coach, and didn't stop until he and Samantha had arrived at the ball.

He spent the entire evening by her side, refusing to have others dance with his betrothed—much to the consternation of the many acquaintances she had made in the three short weeks she had been making the social rounds with her fiancé. Since her new friends and the frolic of the light conversations with young members of the ton—both male and female—were her only amusement in coming to such affairs, she was mightily put out, and took his action to be a form of punishment.

In that she was only partly right. It was true: the Earl did not wish to take the chance that Samantha might say something indiscreet about their engagement while she was in such an obvious temper, but he had another reason for staying so close by her side.

That other reason was the unexpected appearance of his latest mistress, Lady Lorinda Foxx. Although he had promised her that his affections (superficial as they might be) would still be hers, she was extremely jealous of Samantha. Lord Foxx was a fool (everyone knew it), but he was a fool encumbered with more money than he could spend in three lifetimes, which was precisely why Lorinda had married him.

The Earl had thought the dratted woman would understand that it was time he set up his nursery, but she had proved extremely irksome. There was no telling what she would say to Samantha had she the chance, and he had trouble enough without that particular complication.

Unfortunately for St. John, the lovely Lorinda spied Samantha alone later in the evening—when he was called away by Prinney, a request he could hardly deny. Samantha was sitting dejectedly at one side of the room, bored to distraction because no one seemed willing to dare the Earl's displeasure by approaching her after he had made it so very plain that he did not wish his betrothed to dance. However, every eye in the room was on Lorinda as she crossed the room to the girl and sat down beside her.

"Good evening, my dear," she said, smiling her condescension as she arranged the folds of her red-striped satin gown about her. "I am Lady Foxx. No doubt you have heard of me?"

Samantha took a long look at the raven-haired beauty. "I'm sorry, madam, but I must confess I have not."

The older woman's eyebrows lifted for a moment in mock surprise. "How strange. Surely Zachary has mentioned me."

"I assure you, my lady, that the Earl has not spoken of you at all. Is there perhaps some special reason he should?" No, the Earl had not spoken of Lady Foxx, but Isabella had. Samantha decided to continue her pose of innocence nonetheless.

Unless the woman pushed too far, of course, at which point, best intentions to one side, Samantha would have no compunction at cutting her off at the knees.

"I must offer you my congratulations on your upcoming nuptials, my dear," Lady Foxx said with honeyed sweetness.

"I believe your congratulations should be saved for the groom, my lady, and best wishes offered to me."

Lady Foxx was slightly taken aback by Samantha's bold answer, but she proceeded with the arrogance she used as part and parcel of her name and position. "Not so, my dear, for snagging such a catch as Zachary is a feat worthy of congratulations," she countered, slapping Samantha lightly on her folded hands with an ivory sticked fan. "Of course, we all know he's doing it simply to get himself an heir. But the St. John jewels should be ample compensation for becoming a breeding machine."

And there it was: the push too far.

"M-e-o-o-w!"
Samantha offered in her best imitation of their pet kitten, Muffet.

"What did you say, child?"

"I said 'meow,' Lady Foxx. It is the sound a jealous feline makes. Please forgive me if I cannot imitate a vixen, as I believe a bitch fox is called."

"You impudent brat! How dare you insult me in that way!" the insulted lady fairly shrieked.

"I imagine I just chose it from the several ways you presented to me, my lady. It was really quite simple." Samantha told her in a so-demure voice.

"Nonetheless, it is true what I said about Zachary. He does not love you, you know."

"And for that I go down on my knees nightly and give thanks. It's sufficient that I bear him a son quickly so that he can return to your bed and the many others he has frequented. Perhaps then I can enjoy being a Countess. I too believe my new role in life has its compensations. I wish you well of the Earl, my lady, and can hope you do not get trampled in the crowd of willing females once the great Royston whistles to his light-skirts for comfort."

"Samantha. You will apologize at once." She hadn't seen the Earl approaching but was not at all discomfited that he had overheard her.

"For what exactly should I apologize, your lordship?" she queried without a blink as she looked up into his face. "I did not see you come up behind me, and have no idea what you heard."

"None of it bears repeating, Samantha," the Earl said in an undertone. "Just apologize."

She was not imagining the glint of humor in his dark eyes. He was marrying her to be entertained: she had it from his own lips. She decided to see if he meant it. She turned to face the infuriated Lady Foxx and said in a clear voice, "I apologize for mewling in your presence and for using the term light-skirt in front of a woman who could have no idea what it means. I am sure you will forgive me for my feeble attempt at feline imitation, and if you ever desire a definition of the other, please allow me to enlighten you. Oh, yes, and again, thank you for pointing out that the Earl is not in love with me. I imagine you speak from a like experience and are to be trusted to know his lordship sufficiently to make such a statement."

She raised her rounded eyes to St. John and asked, "Is there anything I forgot?"

"Yes, scamp. You forgot that you have to ride home alone with me. You also forgot it is legal for a man to beat his wife. Your father's failing will not be mine." He turned and bowed over Lady Foxx's trembling hand. "My deepest apologies, Lady Foxx. I fear my bride-to-be had her first encounter with strong spirits tonight and was unprepared for its effect on the immature tongue. I shall definitely restrict the child to lemonade henceforth. May I call upon you tomorrow to reiterate my apologies?"

Lady Foxx smiled sweetly at the Earl, willing to overlook a multitude of sins if they were to gain her his company. "You are most welcome to come, but I fear my husband is still in Bath," she inserted smoothly.