It never happened. She pushed him back so quickly and forcefully that he lost his hold due to surprise.
“You promised!”
He sat up, raking a hand through his hair in a manner fraught with impatience and chagrin, yet his voice was a study in tranquillity. “Kindly remember, my dear, that this role of confidant is new to me and will take some getting used to.” And then, with a sideways glance that caught the fury of her eyes, “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t fry me for conditioned instincts. It won’t happen again, you may depend on it.”
She stood up, faced him, gripping her parasol as if it were a weapon that could hold him off. “If you have nothing more to tell me—”
Oh, sweetheart, if only you knew that it is my will alone that keeps you safe for the time being. “Fact will have to be sifted from rumor. Give me a week or two—”
“One week.”
He leaned back again, propping both arms behind him on the sofa, eyeing her languorously. That she was still speaking to him, still willing to depend on his advice, told him enough. She wasn’tthatangry with him.
“Fix your hair, my dear, and I’ll escort you down to the lake.”
He choked back a laugh at her murmur of exasperation on finding her coiffure once more disturbed by him. With impatient fingers she tightened the effect, then smashed her bonnet down over it. He did laugh then, gaining a murderous stare from her that only amused him the more.
But a few minutes later, as they strolled across the back lawn, she was treated to the full brunt of his charm, which had her smiling helplessly again, quite willing to forgive him his lapse. Only it didn’t last, her improved humor. She hadn’t realized how it might look, her having stayed behind, his having stayed behind, while everyone else rode to the hunt. But one look at Justin’s bemused frown as they approached the gathering at the lake, and she was brought up short.
“I really don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be seen together,” she said in an aside to Anthony as she caught sight of several more of her gentlemen in the party.
“I would agree if we were anywhere but here, my dear,” he replied. “Here I am a relative of the hostess and quite naturally am expected to socialize.”
His total lack of concern suddenly annoyed her, for Lord Grahame and Lord Fleming, having arrived for today’s entertainments, had both noticed her as well. Whether they thought there was anything untoward in her tardy arrival on Sir Anthony’s arm, she couldn’t guess. But neither could she help remembering Regina’s friendly warning to the gist thatanylady seen to have gained this particular rake’s interest was raw meat for the gossip mills.
At any rate, his escort down to the lake after theyboth had missed the hunt couldn’t help her cause, not when the men she was in actuality “courting” would surely wonder about it. Anthony should have known that. He was much more experienced in these things than she was. And so her annoyance was directed solely at him, enough to want to burst his bubble of nonchalance.
“You know, Anthony, even if I do find myself bored with my husband, that doesn’t mean you’re going to benefit from it.”
He seemed to see through her deliberate taunt, at least his grin so indicated, and his answer sent a tingling thrill of apprehension down her spine. “On the contrary. Youwilleventually be my mistress, sweetheart. If I weren’t absolutely certain of that, I never would have agreed to help you.”
Chapter Thirteen
“No! Dear Lord, let me be dreaming!”
It was in fact a nightmare, to wake up in a room she had not gone to sleep in, to be unable to recall how she came to be there. Roslynn looked around wide-eyed, praying she wasn’t really awake, yet knowing she was. Stained and peeling wallpaper. A chipped basin of water with a cockroach scurrying up the pitcher sitting beside it, resting precariously on a three-legged table propped in one corner because the fourth leg was missing. A single narrow bed, coarse woolen blanket covering her to her waist. Bare floor, bare walls, bare window.
How was this possible? She pressed her palms to her temples, trying desperately to remember. Had she been ill? Or had an accident? But all she could recall was last night, if it was last night and not days ago, with the time in between unaccounted for.
She had been unable to sleep, an annoying happenstance, recurring ever since she had met Anthony Malory. She and Frances had returned from the country three days earlier, but she had been unable to forget the time she spent with Anthony there, nor his unexpected about-face in offering to assist her, rather than seduce her.
And yet, despite his promise to end his pursuit of her, at least until after she married, he still hadn’t left her alone that day. Oh, he had relinquished her so she could circulate with the other picnickers and work her wiles on her gentlemen, but whenever shenoticed him in the crowd, her eyes met his, as if he were constantly watching her. That night, to her chagrin, he danced not once but three times with her, all in the guise of socializing. And he danced with no one else, not even his niece.
She had been furious when she realized what he was doing, but by then the damage had been done. Lord Grahame, the Earl of Dunstanton, had begged off from taking her to the theater after they returned to London, an engagement he had only made that afternoon. He claimed he had suddenly recalled a previous commitment, when it was so obvious he was simply intimidated by Anthony’s blatant interest in her.
Yes, she had been unable to sleep last night, full of furious energy, because not one of her gentlemen had called since her return to London, and she didn’t deceive herself that they were merely too busy. Anthony’s innocent “socializing” had seriously set her back.
So if she remembered all that, how was it possible that she couldn’t remember how she came to be here in this horrid little room? Anthony wouldn’t…no, he wouldn’t. And she doubted Frances had gone mad and somehow arranged this. That left only one alternative, unless she was so ill that this was all part of a delirium, and it was too real for that. Geordie had her. Somehow, some way, he had managed to abduct her right out of the house on South Audley Street in Mayfair, and where she was now was anyone’s guess. Inconceivable, yet what else was she to believe?
Only there was a part of her that was unwilling to accept that Geordie had won, a part that was too optimistic, hoping there might be some other explanation. So her surprise was genuine when she saw the truth with her own eyes. Her fear was real too, nearly choking her with the tightening of her throat, her palms breaking out in a sweat. Geordie Cameron, in the flesh, walked as nonchalantly as you please into the room, a look on his face that was unmistakable triumph. And after all the things she had imagined would happen if he ever got hold of her, it was no wonder she was so overcome with anxiety that she could do no more than stare at him.
“Och now, it’s glad I am tae see Mrs. Pym was right, that ye’re awake at last. She’s been sae obliging, sitting outside yer door, waiting tae hear ye stir sae she could come and tell me. She knows how impatient I’ve been, though the coppers in her pocket improved her diligence too. But dinna be thinking she’ll be receptive tae yer blathering, lass, fer I’ve spun her a fine tale, I have, of rescue and returning ye tae the bosom of yer family. She’ll no’ believe a word ye try tae tell her if it differs from my tale.”
After saying all this, he smiled, reminding Roslynn why she had never been able to abide this particular Cameron. His smiles were never genuine, always jeering or mocking, or more often sly, and they brought out the malicious evil in his icy blue eyes, eyes that could have been lovely otherwise.
Roslynn had always thought him tall until she met the Malorys, who were much taller. His carrot-red hair had grown shaggy since last she’d seen him, but then she doubted he’d had much time to attend to his grooming with the merry chase she had led him. He wasn’t fat, no, not at all, but there was a beefiness about his body that she knew could overpower her if it came down to her fighting her way out of here. And yet he bore the Cameron good looks, at leastwhen his true self didn’t emerge from behind his expression; looks, sadly, that closely resembled Duncan Cameron when he was Geordie’s age, so testified the only portrait of her grandfather at Cameron Hall.
“Ye’re awful quiet, ye are,” Geordie prodded her when she continued to just stare at him. “Have ye nae warm welcome fer yer only cousin?”
