The Rambunctious Lady Royston by Kasey Michaels

Author:Kasey Michaels
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-07-23T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Samantha—still somewhat out of breath, having been hauled out of the carriage at Portman Square, dragged willy-nilly up the wide staircase (past a snickering Carstairs and two bemused footmen), and thrust unceremoniously inside the main bedchamber—could only sit and goggle wide-eyed as her husband prowled back and forth across the carpet like a near-to-charging lion.

"Do you—do you," he bellowed at last, finally coming to a halt in front of her, "have the slightest idea of the enormity of what you have done?" He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "Oh, God, why do I ask such obvious questions? Of course you don't, do you, Samantha? How else could you sit there, looking just like a cat stretched at its ease next to an empty bird cage, with—with feathers sticking out of its mouth?"

He whirled away from Samantha and then whirled back again. "This is all just a lark to you, isn't it? Well, let me tell you," he leered, waving a finger in her face, "this little episode of yours tonight won't just blow over in a puff of smoke. Lorinda Foxx is very well thought of in some quarters, and there will be many to take her side in this shabby business. Don't you care about your good name?"

Samantha's attention was at first centered on that wagging forefinger, and her head bobbed up and down as she followed its movements. But at the Earl's words her head jerked up and a contemptuous sneer curled about her full lips. "Well thought of, is it, Zachary? In some quarters, you say? Whose, pray tell, that of the Fifth Foot? And as to my good name, husband, my name is St. John—so don't try to tell me your concern is for me!" she retaliated swiftly, sticking out her chin and daring him to take another stab at browbeating her. Go on, her expression screamed, just you try it!

This sudden turnabout, with Samantha suddenly going on the offensive, disconcerted St. John for a moment, cutting in as it did on his righteous anger. He could only mutter darkly, "How is it, madam, with your behavior so obviously at fault, that I have suddenly become the villain of the piece?"

To Samantha's reasoning the answer was so apparent she almost threw up her hands in mute disgust. But silence (especially when anyone of any sense could see silence was called for) was a stranger to Samantha's personality. She unhesitatingly counted off on her fingers: "One: you are the reason I—a mere nursling, if that titled vixen is to be believed—am in Society at all, cradle robbing lecher that you are. Two: and I dare you not to flinch at this home truth: it is your involvement with that same dubious lady that has made me the target of her viperous tongue. Three: —"

St. John reached out and grabbed his wife's hands, pleading mockingly, "Enough, enough, hellcat! You've made your point. My actions do have some bearing on the unfolding of tonight's events, but this admission does not totally absolve you of blame, you know.

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