Tender Rebel

by Johanna Lindsey

  Roslynn just stood there, rendered speechless. Not even the brilliant smile Frances gave her, a smile like one she hadn’t seen for years, could make her believe what she had just heard. The tears denied it. The tears…

  “Then why are you crying?”

  Frances laughed shakily. “I can’t seem to help it. I’ve been such a fool, Ros. George says he loves me, that he always has.”

  “You—you believe him?”

  “Yes.” And then with more force, “Yes!”

  “But, Fran—”

  “You’re not trying to change her mind, are you, Lady Malory?”

  Roslynn started and turned to see the most unfriendly look she had ever received from a man on George Amherst’s handsome face as he sauntered forward. And his tone had been rife with menace too, the gray eyes positively frigid.

  “No,” she said uneasily. “I wouldn’t dream—”

  “Good!” The transformation was immediate, the smile blinding. “Because now that I know she still loves me, there isn’t anyone I would let come between us.”

  The implication was there, as plain as the warmth now generating from his eyes, that “anyone” also included Frances. And it was also plain to see that Frances was thrilled by the subtle warning.

  She hugged a bemused Roslynn, whispering happily in her ear, “You see now why I don’t doubt his sincerity? Isn’t he wonderful?”

  Wonderful? Roslynn wanted to choke. The man was a rake, a libertine. It was Frances herself who had warned her about trusting such men, and here was her friend, willing to marry the very one who had broken her heart.

  “I hope you’ll forgive us for running off, m’dear,” Frances was saying as she stepped back, a becoming blush staining her cheeks as she finished. “But George and I have so much to talk about.”

  “I’m sure she understands how we’d like to be alone just now, Franny,” George added as he put an arm about Frances’ waist, drawing her indecently close. “After all, she’s newly married herself.”

  Roslynn did choke this time, but fortunately, neither of them heard, too involved with gazing into each other’s adoring eyes to pay attention to much else. And somehow she must have said the appropriate thing in reply, for less than a minute later she found herself alone in the parlor, staring dazedly at the floor, bombarded with so many conflicting emotions that not one of them could dominate to eliminate her bewilderment.

  “I see you’ve received the good news.”

  Roslynn turned slowly toward the door, and for a moment every single thought in her head deserted her at the sight of her husband. He had done himself up fancy in a dark emerald coat of satin, with an abundance of snowy lace spilling from his throat. And he had combed his hair back in defiance of the current favored style, but it was so soft it refused discipline, already falling forward over each temple in thick ebony waves. He was stunning, there was no other word for it, so handsome she felt her heart trip over.

  But then she noticed the stance, one very familiar to her now, the shoulder braced against the doorjamb, the arms crossed over his chest—and the smugness. Hell’s teeth, it fairly dripped from him, the self-satisfied smirk, the laughter in his cobalt eyes, made so much bluer in contrast to the dark green of his coat. He was peacock-proud of himself, the scoundrel, and flaunting it with his usual male arrogance.

  “Nothing to say, sweetheart, after you made so much fuss over nothing?”

  Now he was taunting her, rubbing it in. Her teeth slammed together, her fingers curling into fists on her hips. Her emotions had found their channel. Fury. But he wasn’t finished. He had to go for blood.

  “It must be disconcerting to have the very woman who fostered your distrust of men turn traitor and trust one. Rather puts a new light on things, doesn’t it?”

  “You—” No, she wouldn’t do it. She refused to yell like a fishwife again for the servants’ amusement. “Actually,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, “there’s no comparison between my case and hers.” And then she hissed, “She’ll come to her senses in the morning.”

  “Knowing old George, I doubt it. The only thing your friend will have on her mind in the morning is how she spent the night. Sound familiar?”

  She tried to fight it, to hold it back, but her cheeks bloomed with color despite her effort. “You’re disgusting, Anthony. They left here to talk.”

  “If you say so, sweetheart.”

  The condescending tone infuriated her. He was right, of course. She knew it. He knew it. It had been so embarrassingly obvious why George and Frances were in such a hurry to leave. But damned if she’d acknowledge it to him!

  Tightly, she said, “I believe I’ve developed a headache. If you’ll excuse me….” But she had to stop when she reached the door, the space still blocked by his casual pose. “Do you mind?” she asked scathingly.

  Anthony straightened up slowly, amused when she gave him her back by twisting to squeeze past him without touching. “Coward,” he said softly and grinned when she stopped halfway across the hall, shoulders stiffening. “And I believe I owe you a lesson in a chair, don’t I?” He heard her gasp just before she broke into a run for the stairs. His laughter followed her. “Another time, sweetheart.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Approaching the wide double-door entrance of Edward Malory’s grand ballroom two nights after Frances’ defection to the enemy camp, as Roslynn had come to think of her reunion with Amherst, Roslynn was brought up short, dragging her two escorts to a halt as well. The many carriages in front of the Malory mansion should have given some indication, but even so, they wouldn’t have accounted for the nearly two hundred people gathered in the large room before her.

  “I thought this was only to be a quiet affair of friends and family,” Roslynn remarked to Anthony, unable to keep the stiffness from her tone. After all, this party was for them. She should have been given some kind of warning. “‘Nothing too big,’ I recall were your brother’s very words.”

  “Actually, this is small for one of Charlotte’s entertainments.”

  “And I suppose these are all your friends?”

  “I hate to disillusion you, sweetheart, but I’m not that popular.” Anthony grinned. “When Eddie boy said friends of the family, I believe he meant friends of each individual member of the family, or so it appears. You’re dressed accordingly, my dear.”

  She wasn’t worried about how she was dressed. The moss-green gown of silk crepe, with black lace over satin bandings around the cap sleeves, the deep-scooped neckline, and the high waist and hem, was suitable for any ball, and that was certainly what this had turned out to be. Black evening gloves and satin slippers completed the outfit, but it was the diamonds, dripping from ears, neck, wrists, and several fingers, that made her presentable in her mind, even for a presentation to the Prince Regent.

  She said no more. Anthony wasn’t exactly paying attention anyway, leisurely scanning the room, which gave her a moment to gaze at him, but only a moment. She forced her eyes away, gritting her teeth.

  Arriving with Anthony and James, two of the most handsome men in London, she should have been immeasurably proud, and would have been if she had considered it. But the only thing on Roslynn’s mind was how soon she could escape her husband’s presence. After the intolerable ride over here, during which she had been forced to sit next to him in the carriage, she was now a mass of screaming nerves.

  The ride wouldn’t have been so bad, the seats were certainly wide enough, but Anthony had deliberately pulled her close, draping an arm firmly about her shoulders, and she couldn’t do anything about that with James sitting across from them, quietly observing them with his misplaced humor. But then that was why Anthony had done it. Because he knew very well she wouldn’t make a scene in front of his brother.

  But it had been hell, tortured bliss, feeling his thigh burning against hers, his hips, his side pressed so close. And his cursed hand wouldn’t be still for a minute, the fingers constantly caressing her bare arm bet
ween the short sleeve of her gown and her elbow-length glove. And he knew exactly what it did to her. Even though she was as stiff as a board, she couldn’t stop the quickened breath, the hammering of her heart, or the telltale gooseflesh that appeared again and again under his fingers, bringing one shiver after another to tell him how effective was his innocent touch.

  The ride had seemed to take forever, when it was no more than a few blocks around the corner from Piccadilly to Grosvenor Square, where Edward Malory lived with his wife and five children. And even though they had arrived and Roslynn could breathe normally again by putting a distance between herself and Anthony, she still knew it would be a while yet before she could escape him entirely. With the party in their honor, they would be forced by etiquette to remain together for introductions, and now she saw how long that was going to take, with so many guests to meet. But the very moment she had met the last one…

  All the Malorys were present. She saw Regina and Nicholas standing with several of Edward’s offspring; Jason and his son Derek by the refreshment table, along with Jeremy, who had come over earlier to help his aunt Charlotte with the last-minute decorations, which by the looks of them had entailed raiding Charlotte’s garden of every single flower in bloom. She noticed Frances and George, and several other people she had met since arriving in London.

  And then she realized the hush falling over the room. They had themselves been noticed, and she groaned inwardly, feeling Anthony’s arm slip around her waist to present a very loving picture. Was there to be no end to the liberties he was going to take tonight? It seemed not, for he didn’t release her when Edward and Charlotte appeared at their side with a small group of people in tow, and the introductions began. The only interruption was when they had to start off the dancing together as the guests of honor, and that was another excuse for Anthony to torment her with his closeness.

  She soon met his friends, the sorriest bunch of lecherous rakes imaginable. There wasn’t one who didn’t ogle her shamelessly, flirt with her, or banter with wicked insinuations. They were amusing. They were outrageous. And they managed to get her away from Anthony’s side with one dance after another, until when she finally begged for a moment’s respite, Anthony was no longer in sight. At last, Roslynn felt she could relax and enjoy herself.

  “See here, Malory, either you’re going to play cards or you’re not,” the Honorable John Willhurst said in exasperation as Anthony rose from the table for the third time in less than an hour.

  The two other players tensed as Anthony placed both hands on the table and leaned toward Willhurst. “I’m going to stretch my legs, John. But if you’ve a problem with that, you know what you can do.”

  “No—not at all,” John Willhurst got out. He was a neighbor of Jason’s and so knew from past experience the explosive tempers of the Malory brothers, having grown up with them. What had he been thinking of? “Could use a new drink myself.”

  Willhurst hurried away from the table himself while Anthony shot the other players a look to see if there would be any more objections. There weren’t.

  Calmly, as if he hadn’t just been on the brink of challenging an old family friend, Anthony picked up his drink and left the card room. He stopped at the place he had stopped at previously, the entrance to the ballroom, his eyes scanning the crowd until he found what was repeatedly drawing him back here.

  Damnation take her, he couldn’t even play a simple game of cards with Roslynn in the same vicinity. Just knowing she was near, but where he couldn’t keep his eye on her, destroyed his concentration, so much so that he had already lost nearly a thousand pounds. It was no good. He couldn’t stay near her without touching her, but he couldn’t stay away from her either.

  Across the room, Conrad Sharp nudged James in the ribs. “He’s back again.”

  James glanced in the direction Connie had indicated and chuckled to see Anthony scowling at his wife as she whirled by on the dance floor. “A face worth a thousand words, that. I would say my dear brother is not at all happy.”

  “You could remedy that by having a little talk with the lady and enlightening her to the truth.”

  “I suppose I could.”

  “But you’re not going to?”

  “And make it easy for Tony? Come now, Connie. It’s so much more fun watching him muddle through this on his own. He hasn’t the temperament for rejection. He’s bound to dig the hole deeper before he finally crawls out.”

  “If he can crawl out.”

  “Where’s your faith, man? Malorys always win in the end.” And here James grinned. “Besides, she’s already weakening, if you haven’t noticed. Can’t keep her eyes from searching the room for him either. If ever there was a woman smitten, it’s Lady Roslynn.”

  “She just doesn’t know it, I suppose?”

  “Quite so.”

  “And what are you two grinning about?” Regina asked as she and Nicholas joined them.

  James gave her a brief hug. “The foibles of man, sweet. We can be such asses sometimes.”

  “Speak for yourself, old man,” Nicholas retorted.

  “I was excluding myself, actually,” James replied, a quirk to his lips as his eyes moved over his nephew by marriage. “But then you’re a prime example, Montieth.”

  “Famous.” Regina sighed in exasperation, glaring at both before she ignored them to hook her arm through Conrad’s. “Connie, would you rescue me with a dance? I’m tired of getting splattered with the blood from their slashes.”

  “Love to, squirt.” Connie grinned.

  James snorted as he watched them twirl away. “She puts it rather plain, don’t she?”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Nicholas grumbled, more to himself. “Try sleeping on the sofa when you have a wife annoyed with you.”

  James couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. “Good God, you too? That’s rich, lad. Damn me if it ain’t. And what have you done to merit—”

  “I haven’t forgiven you, that’s what.” Nicholas scowled at this amusement at his expense. “And well she knows it. Every time you and I have words, she lays into me later. When the devil are you leaving London, anyway?”

  “My, but that’s becoming a source of keen interest.” James continued to chuckle. “If it’ll keep you on the sofa, dear boy, I may never leave.”

  “You’re all heart, Malory.”

  “I like to think so. If it’s any consolation, I forgave you a long time ago.”

  “How magnanimous, when you were at fault to begin with. All I did was best you on the high seas—”

  “And land me in gaol,” James replied, no longer quite so amused.

  “Hah! That was after you landed me in my bed to recover from your thrashing, nearly making me miss my own wedding.”

  “Which you had to be dragged to,” James pointed out sourly.

  “That’s a bloody lie!”

  “Is it? Well, you can’t deny my brothers had to do a little arm twisting to get you there. Would that I’d been here at the time—”

  “But you were, old man—skulking around alleys trying to waylay me.”

  “Skulking? Skulking!” James blustered.

  Nicholas groaned. “Now you’ve done it with your bloody shouting.”

  James followed the direction of his gaze to see that Regina was no longer dancing. She was standing in the middle of the dance floor watching them and looking none too pleased, with Connie next to her, trying to look as if he hadn’t heard their raised voices too.

  “I believe I could use another drink,” James said abruptly, grinning. “Enjoy your sofa, lad.” And he deserted Nicholas for the refreshment table. Passing Anthony on the way, he couldn’t resist commenting, “You and Montieth ought to compare notes, dear boy. He suffers from the same complaint as you, don’t you know.”

  “Does he?” Anthony scanned the room until his eyes lit on Nicholas. Dryly, he added, “If he does, he’s obviously discovered how to correct it.”

  James chuckled, seeing Nich
olas kissing his wife with flagrant disregard for the audience they were attracting. “Damn me if he hasn’t got something there. Regan can’t very well rail at him if she can’t get her lips free.”

  But Anthony wasn’t there to hear this comment. He had heard once again, and one time too many, Roslynn’s throaty laugh at some sally her present partner had made. Weaving his way through the dancers until he came to the pair, he tapped Justin Warton on the shoulder none too gently, bringing them to a sudden halt.

  “Is something amiss, Malory?” Lord Warton asked cautiously, sensing the underlying menace in Anthony’s stance and expression.

  “Not at all.” Anthony smiled tightly, but his arm shot out to catch Roslynn as she started to edge away. “Just retrieving what’s mine.” And with a curt nod, he whirled his wife into the waltz that was still in progress. “Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?”

  “I was,” Roslynn retorted, keeping her eyes averted from his.

  The only indication that the insinuation had struck home was a slight tightening of his fingers on her waist. “Shall we leave, then?”

  “No,” she said too quickly.

  “But if you’re having no fun…”

  “I’m—having—fun,” she gritted out.

  He smiled down at her, watching her eyes dart about the room, anywhere but up at him. He drew her closer, and saw the pulse beat quicken at her throat, and wondered what she would do if he followed Montieth’s strategy.

  He asked her. “What would you do, sweetheart, were I to end this dance with a kiss?”

  “What?”

  He had her eyes locked fast to his now. “That sends you into a panic, does it? Why is that?”

  “I’m no’ panicked, mon.”

  “Ah, and there’s the brogue, a sure sign—”

  “Will you shush!” she hissed, his teasing alarming her so, she missed a step in the dance.

  Anthony grinned delightedly and decided to let her off the hook for now. Starting something in a ballroom was not only in bad taste but would get him nowhere.