Gorgeous as Sin (12 page)

Chapter 13

ROSALIND FELT THE hairs on the back of her neck rise when the two women walked into the store. One was obviously a servant or companion, the other vaguely familiar. She tried to place the face of the woman in the yellow silk muslin couturier gown who occasioned such a feeling of unease. But whatever was prompting her disquiet remained locked away.

The store happened to be busy at the time, so a lengthy interval lapsed before Rosalind took notice of the women again. Or rather her attention was dramatically directed to them at the entrance of Lady Tweedsdale. “Hail and welcome, Julia, my love!” she trilled in a high falsetto. “You’re back! I saw Groveland yesterday and the rascal didn’t say a word!”

A chill ran down Rosalind’s spine. Were these women Groveland’s spies? What was he up to? Not that it mattered, she reflected, shock quickly supplanted by anger. She would not be harassed
or
spied on. Just as soon as Lady Tweedsdale left, she’d send the two women on their way!

Lady Tweedsdale was too good a customer to offend, nor could Rosalind afford any whiff of scandal in the event Groveland’s name come up. The fact that these women were here so early in the morning gave her pause on that score.

She couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, especially Lady Tweedsdale, who spoke in a tone more appropriate to the back benches of Parliament. Discoursing at great length, she described her social schedule in detail, the litany of her entertainments at various country house parties prodigious. She particularly bemoaned her fate in having suffered a week in the Highlands with her husband, who was shooting grouse. “Not to mention we were obliged to pay our addresses to Wales’s newest hussy,” she finished with a disparaging sniff.

During Lady Tweedsdale’s lengthy recital, Rosalind had perhaps too much time to contemplate the well-dressed lady’s possible relationship to Groveland. Which, inevitably, turned her thoughts to Groveland himself—and more pertinently resurrected heated memories from last night. Titillating, sensual memories that provoked a fierce, explosive rush of pleasure into every impressionable nerve ending in her body. Even those still somewhat tender.

Instantly repressing her wayward senses, she sternly reminded herself that she was not lost to all reason.
Especially now that Groveland is out of reach
, a little voice inside her head drolly noted.
And if you really don’t care
, the pesky little voice went on,
don’t listen to what Lady Tweedsdale is saying now.

“Groveland has tired of Clarissa, I hear. She was quite left in the lurch,” Lady Tweedsdale colorfully noted. “Margaret had all the tiresome details from Clarissa, who is quite resolved to cut your son cold next she sees him.”

“If only Fitz cared,” Julia sardonically returned.

But Rosalind didn’t notice her reply with the words
your son
ringing in her ears and her body responding like a tuning fork to the mere mention of the notorious rogue. Half-breathless with a tremor of longing shimmering deep inside her, she wondered if it was possible to become addicted to sex overnight. Or had Groveland woven some spell over her?

She knew the answer even as she asked the question.

Anyone even remotely familiar with the scandal sheets knew what he was and where his skills lay. It wasn’t addiction she was feeling so much as craving the pleasures Groveland so casually dispensed—
casual
, unfortunately, the operative word. The reason as well that she would firmly and emphatically curb her desires.

Thank God, Lady Tweedsdale was coming her way. Salvation.

In a very few minutes, she could dispatch Groveland’s spies and with them her dangerous and shameless cravings.

“I wish to order more of Lady Oliphant’s work,” Lady Tweedsdale briskly pronounced. “As quickly as you may,” she imperiously added. “How soon may I expect them?” She always spoke to Rosalind in her lady-of-the-manor voice, making it clear who was inferior to whom.

“If I order them today, I should have them tomorrow.” If she took issue with every customer who treated her like a servant, she’d not sell many books.

“Send them round the moment they arrive.” With a dismissive nod, Lady Tweedsdale turned away, called out good-bys to Julia and Sarah, and exited the store.

Now was her opportunity to send the women away, Rosalind resolved. With their departure, she could dismiss Groveland from her thoughts and return to the safety and orderliness of her life. Walking toward the two women with a determined tread, she rehearsed her presentation. She must be firm and resolute in telling them that she wouldn’t allow herself to become the object of Groveland’s harassment and insist that they leave.

Before she could speak, however, Julia looked up as she approached and pleasantly asked, “Would you happen to have any books on Turkey?”

Her smile was familiar, the cadence of her voice echoing her son’s, and suddenly Rosalind’s thoughts were in tumult—vacillating between fascination and affront, interest and umbrage as various replies raced through her mind.

But she finally said, “You don’t actually want a book on Turkey, do you?” because, ultimately, she saw no advantage in befriending Groveland’s mother. Not when Groveland had infuriated her in numerous ways—most prominently by seducing her purely for personal gain.

“But I do if that’s all right with you,” Julia calmly replied, thinking this young lady must have led Fitz on a merry chase last night. She was different from his usual inamoratas who fawned and flattered him. She had an edge.

“I doubt I’d have anything you’re interested in,” Rosalind said, thin-skinned and peevish.

Julia smiled. “I see why Fitz has had such difficulty negotiating with you.”

“Then you’ll also understand why I’m not interested in any further conversation. He’s already sent over a dozen people with offers, all of which I’ve refused.”

“I don’t want your store,” Julia said bluntly.

“Allow me to be skeptical. You’re here because your son sent you.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here, and,” Julia added with a smile as charming as her son’s, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him. He doesn’t like when I meddle in his affairs.”

“Rest assured, I won’t be telling him,” Rosalind testily replied, “because I won’t be seeing him again.”

“You’re angry with Fitz.”

“A mild word for what I’m feeling,” Rosalind cooly retorted.

“If it’s any consolation,” Julia offered, not sure why she was confiding in this woman but heeding her motherly instincts, “Fitz drank his breakfast today—I’m assuming because of you.”

“He’s just displeased because I turned down another of his offers. But then, I’m not silly enough to be blinded by his amorous charms.” There was no point in beating around the bush. They both knew where he’d spent the night, and living as she did outside the beau monde, she didn’t have to worry over much about its censure. Not that Groveland’s lady loves endured condemnation by the fashionable world. According to the gossip sheets, they were, in fact, envied.

“I see you’re a woman of principle. Quite uncommon, my dear, as you no doubt know,” Julia observed. “Over and above Fitz’s business, though, I really
would
like some books on Turkey. I have a friend who would enjoy them. And rest assured, I have no ulterior motive for coming here other than wanting to see the woman who has put my son out of sorts. He’s normally quite indifferent to the women in his life, so you understand my curiosity.”

Rosalind was momentarily taken aback by such candor. The dowager duchess certainly couldn’t be accused of prevarication. Quickly deciding that refusing such a civil request would give her the appearance of a petulant child, she said, “This way if you please,” as if their conversation had never occurred. “I have a very nice section on Turkey.”

As she guided the women to the back of the store, the duchess’s remark about Fitz drinking his breakfast looped through her brain.

And warmed her heart when it shouldn’t.

She cautioned herself not to interpret so innocuous a comment as anything more than it was—a simple statement of fact.

She also warned herself against feeling anything at all for a disreputable rogue who did little but play at love. She would only be hurt.

There. Reason had come to the fore.

Moments later, as the duchess began perusing books, Rosalind realized she was being offered an excellent opportunity to send back Fitz’s jewelry. She’d already wrapped it, intending to have it delivered to Groveland House. But how much better to entrust the expensive items to his mother.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” she murmured as the duchess leafed through a book, “I have something I’d like you to bring back to the duke.”

Julia looked up and without so much as a scintilla of query in her gaze, said, “Certainly, my dear. I’d be delighted.”

At least two of them would be delighted, Rosalind decided, as she made her way upstairs. She wasn’t so sure about Groveland.

Taking the stairs with considerably more speed than she’d descended them that morning, she was pleased to no longer be wincing in pain. She felt almost normal again, and once she’d disposed of Fitz’s jewelry, she’d feel even better. Both the gift and the casualness with which it had been bestowed offended her.

She disliked being bought and paid for.

She disliked even more being classified as simply another of Groveland’s apparently numberless lady loves.

Returning downstairs a few minutes later with the small parcel, she set it on the counter and waited for the duchess and her companion to select their books.

“I will see that Fitz gets this,” the duchess said, picking up the silk-wrapped bundle when they were ready to leave. “And thank you for your help with the books. My friend will be delighted.”

Everything turned out quite well after all, Rosalind reflected as the two women walked away with their purchases. Fitz’s mother seemed pleasant enough, she apparently had no reason other than curiosity for coming to the shop, and now Fitz’s jewelry was being returned by the very safest means.

In addition, she was feeling quite recovered from the excesses of last night.

She glanced at the clock. Now if only the hours would fly by so she could climb into bed and get some much-needed sleep.

 

 

WELL,” SARAH POINTEDLY said as they retraced their steps to Groveland House, “what do you think of Mrs. St. Vincent?”

“You know very well what I think. The same thing you do.”

Sarah grinned. “Not only stunning but out of the ordinary. A novelty for the boy.”

“And hardly likely to play the coquette. I see why he’s intrigued.”

“Don’t forget, she said she’s done with him,” Sarah cautioned.

Julia flashed a sideways glance at her friend. “I rather think Fitz might change the lady’s mind.”

“I ain’t so sure,” Sarah muttered. “If she were the kind to have her head turned, you wouldn’t be carryin’ them jewels back home.”

Julia shrugged. “She has principles. That in itself should entice him.”

“I dunno,” Sarah murmured thoughtfully. “He might not get his way with this’un.”

“Naturally, that’s for Mrs. St. Vincent to decide,” Julia serenely replied.

Chapter 14

SHORTLY AFTER ONE, barefoot and half-dressed in trousers and an open-neck shirt, Fitz walked into his mother’s sitting room. Clearly confrontational from his pugnacious stance to his fierce scowl, he held Rosalind’s package aloft. “What the hell is this?”

Julia set her book beside her on the settee. “You needn’t swear.”

His nostrils flared. “Very well, Mother. I would
appreciate
,” he said with deliberate courtesy, “if you’d tell me where this came from.”

“Mrs. St. Vincent.”

“She was
here
?”

“Not exactly.”

He groaned. “Don’t tell me you went to see her.”

“I just wanted a little peek,” Julia returned, unruffled. “She seems quite nice by the way.”

“She
is
nice, Mother. She’s also an incredible nuisance.” Each word was measured and controlled; he was clearly tamping down his temper. “In the future, though, I would be grateful if you stayed out of my affairs.”

“You seemed out of sorts this morning. I was curious.”

“I was perfectly fine this morning,” he said, cool and clipped.

“No you weren’t.”

He silently counted to ten. “I was tired, Mother.”

“I see.” She smiled sweetly. “Are you feeling better now after your nap?”

“You’re not getting off that easily,” he growled. “I’m bloody irritated. You shouldn’t have interfered.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” she amiably replied, ignoring his growl and glowering look. “But you needn’t be angry. I bought some wonderful books for Kemal. Mrs. St. Vincent’s stock is quite extensive.”

Fitz blew out a long-suffering breath. He might as well be tilting at windmills, and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t expected her to meddle. She always did. Extending his arm, he nodded at the package on his open palm. “I suppose you looked in here.”

“No, I didn’t. But it’s obviously jewelry. Mrs. St. Vincent is an unusual woman, darling, you must admit. When have any of your lady friends ever returned any of your lavish gifts?”

“Bloody right she’s unusual,” he grumbled, dropping his arm. “She’s likely to cost me ninety thousand if I can’t get her to move.”

“Do you think perhaps you haven’t approached her properly, my dear.” Julia spoke with the patience and forbearance one would use addressing an unenlightened child. “She seemed quite reasonable to me.”

He rather thought he’d approached her every which way, diligently and repeatedly last night. “On the contrary, Mother, she is entirely unreasonable,” he brusquely said, not about to enter into a discussion with his mother on negotiation techniques. He half lifted the package. “Would you like these? I have no use for them.”

“Leave them if you wish, sweetheart. I’m sure I can find some purpose for them.”
There is always the possibility the lady will want them back at some point.
“Will you be home for tea? ”

“No. I’m about to go out.” After having his jewelry sent back, he had even more reason to see Hutchinson. He wanted this impasse resolved.