Carre: Outlaw Part 24

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 gla.s.s 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 d.a.m.ned 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 b.i.t.c.h. 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 gla.s.s, 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 Roch.e.l.le. 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 b.i.t.c.h," 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.

"d.a.m.n you to h.e.l.l!" the Countess of Lothian cried, flinging her gla.s.s 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 d.a.m.ned-" 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 h.e.l.l. He can come here. Alone."

One dark brow arched provocatively. "You're my warder?"

"d.a.m.n 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?"

She giggled. "You do indulge me."

A special warmth shone from his eyes. "My husbandly duty, if I recall."

"Am I too demanding?"

He laughed. "Don't worry, darling. I think I can keep up."

One cold frosty afternoon Elizabeth had stayed at Goldiehouse to nap when Johnnie had ridden into Kelso with his men for the races. Two of his barbs were running in the holiday meets.

The sun was gone when she woke, and she lay amidst the down comforters and pillows, drowsily contemplating the winter twilight outside her windows. She missed Johnnie; his absences were rare since their marriage.

Snuggling deeper into the warmth of the bed, she wished him home beside her or, actually, inside her, she thought with a dreamy, luxurious self-indulgence. Her senses, her body, her skin, and her nerves seemed on constant sensual alert, and she wondered if other pregnant women were as single-mindedly focused on pa.s.sion. There was no one she dared ask-certainly not Helen or Mrs Reid. And Johnnie only took delight in her s.e.xual appet.i.te.

She stretched languidly, infinitely aware of the smooth warm linen rubbing against her nude body. Glancing at the clock on the mantel, she saw the delicate gold hands balanced at half past four. It was almost dark. The racing should be over soon. She stirred restlessly.

For five minutes more she lay abed watching the minute hand move sluggishly across the painted and filigreed face of the clock. Should she ring for Helen to light the candles, or call for food, or have her help her dress? Did Johnnie have plans for the evening, were guests coming? She couldn't recall in the frenzied bustle of the Christmas schedule what had been planned. She wasn't hungry or thirsty or inclined to Helen's company at the moment so she fretted, fidgety, agitated.

She wanted Johnnie.

Then she smiled to herself in the depths of the enormous bed because a flash of an idea had come to her. Something to pa.s.s the time while she waited for his return. Something to please her husband and ultimately please herself.

Inspired, she threw off the covers and climbed from the bed. She lit a few candles herself so she needn't call Helen and added coal to the grate because she wanted the room warm.

Because she didn't want to be cold-later.

Then she gathered the gifts of jewelry Johnnie had given her over the past days and walked into the dressing room.

With a taper from the fire burning in the small swedish tile stove set in the corner, she lit the two candles on the brackets of the cheval gla.s.s and smiled at herself in the Venetian mirror. Her skin was still rosy from sleep, her tousled hair in need of a brushing. Later, she lazily thought, moving to the ornate candlelabra on the dressing table. The five candles set in the silver holder added considerable light to the interior as did the candles in the crystal sconces on both sides of the doorway.

Easing the dressing room door almost shut, but leaving it open a fraction so she could hear when Johnnie came back, she tossed the taper into the green porcelain stove and began implementing her idea. Shifting the mirror so her reflection was visible from the dressing table, she reached for her pearl earrings in the jumble of jewelry piled on the table top.

But the earrings didn't show, she decided, with her hair falling on her shoulders, so she brushed her wayward curls and pinned them up with the new green jade hairpins Johnnie had given her last night. The precious ornaments, owned long ago by a T'ang princess, were smooth as satin, lush to the touch, intricately carved with floral motifs.

There ... she decided with satisfaction. Now the Scottish pearls were visible-huge tear-drops dangling from diamond rosettes. She turned her head from side to side so they moved and gleamed in the candlelight.