'You're part of the family, even if only a few of us know it,' he informed her when she attempted to protest. 'You have more right than some to be here.'
To which she had no response. And seeing the annoyance on the Brigadier's face did make her feel better. Of course, she didn't move when the groom's family were called for, because that would raise some pretty difficult questions.
There was, however, no getting away from the traditional greeting of the guests by the bride and groom and their immediate families, when the guests moved on to the hotel where the wedding reception had been arranged. If anyone thought it odd that the bride should greet her as warmly as she did her brother, whilst the groom barely shook her hand, nobody remarked upon it.
Naturally, Jenna took advantage of the situation to kiss Roarke far too enthusiastically, which brought a dark look to Lewis Adams's face, despite the fact that Roarke pulled himself free almost immediately. At his side, Ginny could feel his anger and when it was her turn to shake hands with the woman, she gripped her hand tightly so that Jenna was forced to look at her.
'Do that again, Mrs Adams, and you'll be sorrier than you can possibly imagine,' Ginny promised softly, attaching a friendly smile to the words that didn't reach her eyes.
'I don't know what you mean!' Jenna protested her innocence, trying to free her hand without drawing attention to herself.
'I'm not Roarke, Jenna, and I have no qualms about calling a spade a spade,' Ginny had time to add before finally releasing the other woman and moving on.
This brought her to her sister, who gave her a swift smile and an even swifter shake of the hand. Sir Martin was next, and Ginny made no attempt to shake his hand. 'Brigadier,' she said coolly, before passing on to her mother.
Emily Beavis was patently nervous, and looked everywhere but directly at her eldest daughter, which saddened Ginny. 'James looked very handsome today, Mum. You must have been proud of him,' she said, willing her mother to say something, anything.
Her mother jumped, but at last she did meet her daughter's eyes. 'Oh, yes … I … er … '
'Emily!' Sir Martin's stern warning lashed out, making his wife blanch.
'Oh, dear!'
Ginny could have killed him for that, but she took pity on her mother and, defying the man standing by, she gave her a brief hug. 'I love you,' she whispered gruffly, then quickly turned away.
Her eyes were dazzled by unshed tears, and it was just as well that Roarke slipped an arm about her waist and guided her away from the group by the door, because she couldn't see where she was going.
'Here, take this.' He urged a glass into her hand, and Ginny took a bracing sip of what turned out to be a fine champagne.
'Sorry about that,' she apologised a little while later, once her composure had returned. 'I hate to see her so cowed, but I can't really remember her any other way.'
'Why doesn't she leave him?' Roarke asked the obvious question.
'Because he has her so much under his thumb, she can't do a thing without his approval. Besides, the family and her home is all she has. If she had any courage once, he's bullied it out of her by now,' Ginny answered dispiritedly.
'Just as well you got away from there when you did,' Roarke observed grimly.
'Amen to that,' she answered with a heartfelt sigh.
'So now all we have to do is make sure your sister Lucy breaks free too,' he went on, causing her to stare up at him.
'We?' she queried with a tiny frown.
'Did you think I was going to let you go into battle for her alone?' Roarke challenged, and Ginny's heart did a strange little flip-flop in her chest.
'It isn't your fight, Roarke,' she reminded him, at the same time feeling oddly unsettled inside.
'It is now,' he insisted calmly, and Ginny didn't know whether to be pleased or angry.
Her laugh sounded odd to her own ears. 'Because your sister married my brother?'
Roarke shook his head, and the look he held her eyes with was compelling. 'Because that man has done all I intend he should ever do to hurt you, sweetheart. What he does to your sister hurts you, and that's all I need to know. Got it?'
Oh, she got it all right, but she didn't believe it. He took her breath away. He made it sound as if how she felt was important to him, and she wasn't used to that. Not from anyone, least of all Roarke Adams. She had no idea what to say.
'Why are you doing this?' she had to ask, though her voice was a croak, her throat was so tight.
'Because somebody has to,' he responded forcefully.
Ginny drew in a very shaky breath. 'I'm having trouble seeing you as a white knight.'
Roarke's laugh was wry. 'That's because you've painted me as an unsavoury Lothario ever since you met me. If I did a good deed, you would have ignored it.'
He wasn't far off the mark, and that made Ginny feel uncomfortable. 'You're right, and I apologise. You aren't all bad.'
'Damned with faint praise,' he exclaimed in amusement.
She had to smile ruefully. 'It's hard to let go of the image I have of you.'
His brow quirked. 'That's the one of me bed-hopping and writing notes in a little black book?'
It did sound like a ridiculous stereotype put like that. 'It's more comfortable thinking of you that way,' she admitted reluctantly.
'I know what you mean,' Roarke put in feelingly. 'I'm trying to hold on to my image of you as a cold-blooded harridan, but this sexy redhead keeps getting in the way!'
The whole of her body seemed to jolt at his description of her, and her stomach knotted. She could feel heat flooding into her cheeks. 'Cut it out, Roarke!' she ordered thickly. 'I'm not … what you said!'
'Sweetheart, you should try looking at yourself from my point of view,' he drawled huskily, setting her nerves tingling like crazy.
She didn't dare when she was having her own problems. When he was just Roarke Adams, vile womaniser, she could pigeonhole him and carry on her way. Since he had become Roarke, the man who could make her blood sing, she didn't know what to make of him, and he was impossible to ignore. Now she also had to try and forget the fact that he thought her sexy. They had come a long way in a very short time, and the end result was far from ideal.
At least she had recovered from the emotional turmoil of the brief meeting with her mother. Which, now she came to think of it, might have been his intention all along. Proving yet again that he was not the man she had always thought him. There were layers to him that she had never suspected, and each time she uncovered one her idea of him changed, making it impossible to dislike him. It was very disconcerting, because her dislike of him had been a fire wall behind which she had hidden. With that removed, she was once more in danger of feeling the heat of her sensuality.
Like now, for instance. Roarke wasn't watching her, giving her the chance to observe him unobserved. There were lines beside his eyes and mouth, which suggested he laughed easily and often. She liked men who laughed. Her father was a sober man, too full of his own importance to damage his dignity by laughing. Roarke's eyes twinkled, too, at thoughts he generally kept to himself. Physically, he looked powerful, but she knew how gentle he could be, and that was a big turn-on. There didn't seem to be an inch of her that wasn't aware of every inch of him. She had never experienced so strong a pull, and it was downright scary.
'Have I grown another head?' The amused question reached her ears and brought her out of her reverie.
Naturally she looked up and green eyes met grey. She was getting a little more used to the thrill that went through her whenever that happened, but it didn't stop her nerves from tingling.
'No, thank goodness. One of you is enough!' she returned with heavy irony.
His lips twitched. 'Really? I thought you might be memorising my features so you can dream about me later,' he countered equally mockingly.
'I don't need to do that. Your face is unforgettable. More likely to bring on a nightmare than a pleasant dream.'
'Now, that wasn't nice. It was also untrue,' Roarke dismissed easily, not in the least offended. 'You're no more afraid of me than I am of you. I know what gives you nightmares, remember, and I'm not it.'
'In that case, it's awfully big-headed of you to assume I'd dream about you,' she told him in her coolest tone, to which he merely laughed.
'Sweetheart, I doubt you can get me out of your head any more than I can get you out of mine, right now,' he remarked dryly, and she knew what he meant. He was occupying far too much of her thoughts.
'Well!' she exclaimed with false brightness. 'This isn't turning out at all the way I expected!'
'Oh, yeah!' Roarke agreed. 'Life has a way of knocking the ground out from under you all right.'
She grimaced at him helplessly. 'Why did you have to turn into a nice guy?'