His After-Hours Mistress(9)

Warming to her theme, Ginny slipped her arm through Roarke's  proprietorially, and kept smiling at the other woman. 'You really should  be careful who you get snagged on, Mrs Adams.'

Jenna might have been temporarily knocked off her stride, but she was  not the sort of woman to remain so for long. She rallied instantly,  looked Ginny up and down, then tossed her head dismissively. 'And you  are?' she asked disdainfully, which made Ginny's lips twitch.

'Ginny Harte,' Ginny introduced herself, holding out her hand.

Jenna deigned to touch it briefly. 'You must be Roarke's latest,' she  said snidely, but that only got Ginny's dander up. It wasn't often that  she took an instant dislike to anyone, but she was willing to make an  exception for Jenna Adams. The woman was trouble with a capital T. She  had been poured into a glittery red dress that clung to every curve  lovingly, leaving little to the imagination.

'That's right,' she said brightly. 'And you're Jenna … his father's wife.'

The reminder caused Jenna to flash her eyes at Ginny, sizing her up as  she realised Ginny was possibly a force to be reckoned with. 'Roarke,  darling, she sounds positively possessive. I'd be careful, or she'll be  putting a ring through your nose before you know it,' she teased with a  gurgling laugh, but she was far from amused.

Roarke smiled faintly and covered Ginny's hand with his own. 'I'll take my chances.'

Jenna's lips parted in surprise, and the flash in her eyes became almost  feral as she looked from one to the other. 'My, my, she must have  something all your other women didn't.'

Roarke glanced down at Ginny, and secretly winked at her. 'She certainly  does,' he agreed with feeling, and Ginny almost laughed because she  knew what he meant and Jenna didn't.

Jenna took a deep breath, which put her dress under great strain. 'Do  let us into the secret. What has she got that the others don't?'                       
       
           



       

Ginny looked her squarely in the eye. 'Well, for one thing, I don't have  a husband,' she said with the precision of a master swordsman, not  caring if she offended the other woman or not. It was plain as the nose  on her face that Jenna wouldn't like any woman Roarke had. She wanted  him for herself.

In response, Jenna laughed grimly. 'Darling, don't think you've almost  got one yourself. Roarke isn't going to marry you. He isn't the marrying  kind,' she warned, no holds barred.

The statement hung on the air, destined never to be countered, for, as  if on cue, a male voice called out from further along the corridor.

'Ah, there you are, Jenna,' Lewis Adams exclaimed. 'I thought you were  going to wait for me,' he added just a little testily as he came level  with the doorway.

Quick as a flash, Jenna smiled lovingly at the older man and slipped her  arm through his. 'Sorry, darling, but I just had to come and say hello  to Roarke and his latest lady friend.'

There was a moment when Lewis Adams did not look best pleased, but then  he smiled at his son, and Ginny believed she could see genuine warmth  there. 'Good to see you, Roarke. And you, too … ' He smiled at Ginny and  she could see where Roarke had got his charm.

'Ginny,' Roarke introduced her, and Ginny found her hand swallowed in a firm male one.

'Hope you enjoy your stay here, young lady. Now, we'd better get  downstairs before your mother pitches a fit,' he added with a  significant glance at his son. 'She's been in diva mode since this  morning.'

Roarke urged Ginny out of their room ahead of him. 'Never let it be said  she missed an opportunity, Dad,' he responded to his father, who was  leading the way with his wife sashaying on his arm.

Ginny attempted to remove her hand from Roarke's arm, now that the need  for it was past, but he quickly closed a hand over hers again, and when  she glanced up he shook his head. Which was just as well, for Jenna  looked round then, and would have thought it odd for Ginny not to be  clinging to Roarke. She subsided, but holding Roarke's arm was a  completely new experience, and she found herself becoming aware of his  strength. He was a powerful man in both senses of the word, yet there  was nothing threatening about the strength of his body. In fact, for  some weird reason, being this close, far from making her uneasy, was  strangely comforting. Not a word she would usually use in connection  with Roarke, but it certainly made it easier to resign herself to having  to remain in close contact with him, at least for the moment.

'Marganita always has to be the centre of attention!' Jenna said  irritably, and Ginny guessed she preferred to hold that position.

'She can act how she wants in her own home,' Roarke put in ironically.

'That's what I keep telling you, Jenna,' Lewis told his wife.

'Well, I don't like it,' Jenna complained with a toss of her head.

'You knew how it would be. You didn't have to come, but you insisted, so  quit complaining,' her husband advised with a touch of asperity, and  Ginny's brows rose thoughtfully.

It seemed to her that Lewis Adams was not as uncritical of his wife as  Roarke assumed. Which might suggest that he was beginning to see how  wrong he had been. She hoped so, for Roarke's sake.

Back downstairs, they made their way to the drawing room, which opened  on to a terrace overlooking the lake. The daylight was fading fast now,  and through the opening Ginny could see lights beginning to flicker on  in the houses over the water. The room itself was ablaze with light from  two elaborate crystal chandeliers, which were reflected back from  strategically placed mirrors, and was full of people making quite an  incredible amount of noise.

'Mother appears to have invited the whole family to dinner,' Roarke  murmured in her ear, and Ginny thought he was probably right.

She was aware that they were drawing some attention. No doubt Roarke's  family were speculating as to who she was-and how long she would last.  Ginny relaxed, secure in the knowledge that she knew there was nothing  between them, and that the 'relationship' would be over in something  like forty-eight hours.

'Your family are wondering who I am,' she remarked to Roarke as they ventured further into the room.

'Do you mind being the centre of attention?' he asked, attracting the  eye of a passing waiter and handing her a glass of champagne before  taking one for himself.

Ginny sipped at the drink and found it a little too dry for her taste.  'Actually, it's quite amusing. If they only knew! In different  circumstances, you and I wouldn't come any closer than a ten-foot  bargepole would allow. The sad thing is, when you turn up next time with  someone else, they won't be the least bit surprised.'                       
       
           



       

Roarke shrugged that off easily. 'I try not to disappoint them. Ah, I  think Mother is holding court over there.' He nodded in the direction of  the far end of the room. 'We'd better go and say hello. Brace  yourself.'

Ginny felt her stomach lurch. Brace herself for what? She soon found out.

When Marganita Toscari-she always preferred to be known by her maiden  name-saw her eldest son making his way towards her through the crowd of  guests, she let out a cry and jumped up from her seat to envelop him in a  bruising hug. She broke into a veritable spout of Italian, which Ginny  found hard to follow, but which Roarke responded to in the same  language.

Only when she finally held him at arms' length, did she return to  English. 'Roarke, you are a rogue. I may never forgive you for not  coming to visit me for months and months. What have you got to say for  yourself, you devil?' She didn't wait for his answer, for she caught  sight of Ginny hovering behind him and let out another cry, albeit  softer. 'Is this your young lady? But she's beautiful, Roarke. Why  didn't you tell me how beautiful she was? Introduce us. I insist,' she  urged her son, all the time beaming at Ginny, who was beginning to feel  uncomfortable at all the attention.

'Ginny, this is my mother. Mother, meet Ginny Harte,' Roarke dutifully  obliged, and Ginny just caught the faint gleam in his eye as he took her  glass from her before she was overwhelmed by an embrace almost as  effusive as the one Marganita had given her son just minutes before.

'Ginny, cara, I'm so happy to meet you. Come, give me a hug, for any friend of my son's is welcome here.'

Marganita was a large lady, along the lines of the older sopranos, and  hugging her was no easy matter. Ginny did her best, and surfaced  pink-cheeked and flustered.

'I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Toscari,' she returned the greeting politely.

The older woman waved her hands and shook her head. 'Marganita. You must call me Marganita, and I shall call you Ginny.'

It was more of a royal pronouncement than a suggestion and Ginny, getting over the shock, smiled. 'Marganita, then.'

'And we shall be friends, and you shall tell me all about yourself. Only  not yet. Don't go away, Roarke, there's someone I want you to meet.'  Without further ado, Marganita scanned the room with the eye of an  expert and set off in search of her quarry.