Gorgeous as Sin (30 page)

She remembered. “And now you’ve reformed.”

“I believe I have.” He grinned. “I aspire to please your every desire. Above all, I want to make you happy.” He shrugged faintly. “It’s a novel sensation, such high-minded selflessness, but there it is . . . my irresistible compulsion.”

“Do self-indulgent debauchees attach any significance to love? Not sex, Fitz, love.” She was insane, of course, to ask for so much when he’d promised her marriage. Any other woman would have replied with an unhesitating yes. But after a marriage that had become a casualty of disappointed hopes, she was no longer naive.

“Do
you
love me? ” he countered.

She looked away. Too many women had loved him, she jealously thought.

Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he gently turned her head back. “Tell me.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” She would not bestow her heart on a profligate’s whim. How could she even contemplate such lunacy?

“I can’t live without you,” he said, letting his hand drop. “I think of you day and night. I’d keep you in my pocket if I could. And if that’s not love, it’s something close. You’re the world to me.” He ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly restive under the unprecedented circumstances. “And I don’t say that lightly,” he admitted. “You’ve seriously disrupted my life.”

“Maybe it’s time someone did.” Cautious she might be, but Fitz’s sincerity was plain. Was it possible to believe in love again—in a man like Fitz’s declaration of love? In the baffling, sometimes fallible and difficult concept?

“You can fix the disorder in my life, though.” He grinned, immune to difficulties of any kind if she would agree to be his wife. “Just say yes.”

“You’re looking way too smug.” She doubted any woman had ever said no to him.

He quickly swept his hand over his face. “Better? ” But the corners of his mouth were still twitching.

“You can’t always have your way,” she said half-grudgingly. She’d built an independent life for herself the last few years and Fitz was blowing it apart like a wild force of nature.

“Other than having you say yes, I don’t care if I do or not. I’ll willingly take orders,” he said, shocking himself with his unexpected largesse. Next thing he knew, he’d be writing love poems. “Come, make my mother happy,” he quipped, in compensation perhaps for his abnormal compliance. “Marry me.”

She gave him a narrowed look. “This isn’t about your mother.”

“Forgive me. I’ll be serious. But for God’s sake, say yes and put me out of my misery. If it would help with your decision, let me point out that my architect is redrawing my entire neighborhood project. Your store remains where it is; the buildings on both sides will be lowered slightly to allow more light into your garden. And you can have half of the buildings on the block to do with what you will.” He smiled. “I thought you might like to have apartments set up for your poor customers or perhaps a school for the young women you’re helping. But you decide and I’ll have the papers drawn up.”

Suddenly in one fell swoop all her dreams had come true, everything she’d been working for so hard was not only possible but also likely. “It’s all overwhelming, Fitz,” she whispered, scarcely able to breathe.

“No, darling,” he whispered back, taking her hands in his. “You’re the one who’s overwhelming. Truly, I’m at a loss without you. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I wasn’t interested in sex, and until yesterday I’d been drinking myself into an early grave. So when do you want to get married? Tomorrow? Today?” She hadn’t formally agreed, but his talent for reading women was functioning again.

“What do you mean you weren’t interested in sex?” she asked incredulously, the phrase
not interested in sex
a trumpet blast in her brain.

“You unmanned me, darling. No women looked even remotely interesting. I’ll admit it unnerved me at first, but not enough to actually climb in bed with anyone,” he casually noted. His libido never in doubt, he’d not been unnerved for long.

“Really,” she breathed, his admission the final seal of approval, the ultimate compliment as well.

“Really.” He smiled. “I’ll expect due compensation for my unusual abstinence.”

“Perhaps that can be arranged,” she softly said, no longer unsure or in doubt. “Since you happen to be the love of my life.”

His brows flickered in playful rejoinder. “I was hoping you’d say that. No, I was desperately hoping you’d say that,” he added, not an iota of teasing in his voice this time.

“One more thing—and I apologize for even saying this,” Rosalind noted, but not wanting things left unsaid like they’d been with Edward. “I’d like to go to university.” Maud’s words were still ringing in her ears. Many in the aristocracy viewed higher learning as bourgeoise; she wasn’t sure if Fitz was among them.

“Done.”

“Just like that? ” she whispered.

“I know the provosts at Oxford and Cambridge. I’m a prominent benefactor.”

“It’s truly frightening, Fitz, being offered so much.” She took a small breath against her sudden fear. “What if it all goes away? ”

“I’m not Edward,” he gently said; he’d read all of Hutchinson’s reports. “I promise to love you always. And take care of you.”

“What if . . . I don’t want . . . to be taken care of? ”

He smiled at the new modern woman gazing up at him with tears in her eyes. “Then I won’t.” He bent his head and gently brushed her lips with his. “Unless there’s times you want me to.” He kissed her softly. “You tell me when,” he whispered.

Her bottom lip trembled. “How about . . . now? ”

“I’d love to.” His heart was in his eyes. “And that’s love, love, not sex, darling. And no one knows the difference better than I. Which reminds me, I brought you some rings,” he said, sliding his hand into his trouser pocket. “Don’t get upset,” he quickly added at the sudden set of her mouth. “They’re engagement rings; I was hopeful, not presumptuous. Just hopeful. Here—take your pick.” He held open his hand. “Actually, take them all.”

She’d never seen such enormous, colored diamonds. There must have been six or eight rings sparkling on his palm. “This is too extravagant for a church mouse,” she said with a tremulous smile.

“Nonsense. You’re my city mouse now,” he added with a grin, sliding a large pink diamond on one of her fingers. “There. Do you like it? ”

She took a deep breath and gazed at the ring dwarfing her knuckle. “Who wouldn’t? ” she whispered.

“How about these then? ” He quickly embellished seven more of her fingers with a rainbow of rings.

“I suppose you know this is completely overwhelming.” She included the garden with a sweep of her be-ringed hand, the shock to her system considerable after a life of relative penury. “Does anyone ever say no to you? ”

Fitz laughed. “You forget, my obstinate little darling, that you’ve been saying no to me ever since we met.”

She smiled, feeling less disadvantaged at his reminder. “And you were captivated.”

A teasing light came into his eyes. “That and I wanted to win.”

“And now we both have.”

“Yes,” he softly agreed, knowing full well that only love could have inspired him to change his Monckton Row plans. “So what do you say, my dear Lady Groveland?” he murmured, liking the sound of the designation, liking more that she’d agreed to share her life with him. “Do you think maybe we should start our new life with a bath? ”

EPILOGUE

THEY WERE MARRIED by special license the following day because Fitz wouldn’t wait. As it turned out, it was a wise decision since Rosalind discovered she was pregnant a week later when she threw up on her new husband as they were breakfasting in bed.

He was delighted; she was as well for she hadn’t been sure she was capable of having a child after so many years of barrenness in her first marriage.

“It wasn’t my fault after all,” she cheerfully said a few minutes later, looking over her shoulder at Fitz, who held her between his legs in his very large bathtub.

“Of course it wasn’t your fault,” he replied, understanding what she meant but no more willing to mention Edward’s name than she. “You’re perfect in every way,” he added like a besotted husband. “Although you may want to consider putting off your university studies for a time.”

“Are you saying I should? ” Her voice held the smallest edge.

He grinned. “God no. I wouldn’t dare. You and junior or junioress may go off to university until the day you deliver for all I care.”

“And then what? ”

“Darling, darling, stop. You’re free to do whatever you wish, whenever you wish—short of sleeping with another man, of course. There, I draw the line.”

“As I do with you on that same score,” she firmly said.

He could have said
I’ve slept with so many women I’ve had my fill
, but circumspect, he said instead, “We are agreed. Now then, we should have the dressmaker sent for. You’ll be needing new clothes.”

And so Fitz unfailingly remained in the months to come, amiable and benevolent in every way to his darling wife. He had, after all, sampled extensively from the smorgasbord of sexual amusements in the past and understood he was most fortunate to have found the love of his life.

As for Rosalind, she too realized that Lady Luck had clearly taken a hand in her meeting Fitz. And having secured her heart’s desire, she was truly grateful and blissfully content.

London, January, 1892

Osmond, Baron Lennox, was known for his luck at cards. Oz would call it skill, but regardless the reason, there was no doubt he was on a winning streak tonight. A crowd had slowly gathered round the table as the stakes rose and Brooks’s members, gamesters to the core, were hazarding wagers on how long Elphinstone would last. Viscount Elphinstone had been losing heavily. While his pére could afford it, Elphinstone was clearly rankled. He was slumped in his chair, coatless, disheveled, red-faced, and looking pugnacious—although that may have been due to the family’s propensity to breed true on their bull dog features.

Elphinstone’s major opponent at the table was lounging back in his chair, his dark eyes amused, a half smile on his handsome face, nonchalance in every lithe contour of his tall, lean frame. Or rather indifference some might say; Lennox never seemed to care whether he won or lost.

“It ain’t fair, Oz. You always get the good cards,” the young Marquis of Telford groused, staring at his cards with obvious disgust.

Lennox glanced up. “Lady Luck’s been good to me tonight,” he murmured, taking a card from his hand and dropping it on the green baize.

“As usual,” Elphinstone growled.

A servant approached and bent to whisper in Lennox’s ear. The baron nodded without looking up from his cards. “Your turn, Harry. This is my last hand.”

“Nell getting tired of waiting?” Harry Green waggishly queried.

Oz’s heavy-lidded gaze met his friend’s droll glance for a telling moment. “Are you talking to me, Harry? ”

The Earl of Ogilvie’s youngest son grinned. “Hell no. Slip of the tongue.”

“Someday an irate husband is going to have you horse-whipped, Lennox,” Elphinstone muttered.

“Only if he’s not man enough to call me out,” Oz drawled. The viscount’s wife was a pretty little hussy; could he help it if she was in hot pursuit?

A sudden hush greeted Oz’s soft-spoken challenge.

The eyes of the crowd locked on Elphinstone, each man wondering if he’d respond or more to the point how he’d respond. Lennox was young and wild, his temper as easily provoked as his lust, and while he’d been fucking his way through London the last two years, he’d also had more than his share of duels.

With not so much as a bruise for his exertions.

Elphinstone finally growled something under his breath, his nostrils flaring, his narrowed gaze two pinpricks of anger. Then not inclined to end his life or be maimed, he scanned the breathless crowd. “You won’t see blood tonight on my account,” he spat. Turning back to Oz, he snarled, “I’ll raise you a thousand,” recklessly wagering his father’s money rather than staking his life.

Held breaths were released and a collective sigh of relief wafted round the table; Elphinstone wouldn’t have stood a chance at ten paces. Or even a hundred. Ask Buckley, who’d barely survived his recent ill-advised challenge.

Oz almost felt sorry for Elphinstone, who’d no more meet Oz on the dueling field than he’d satisfy his wife in bed or even know enough to be decent to her. Almost felt sorry. “I’ll raise you another thousand,” he gently said. The cards he was holding were as near perfect as the law of averages allowed. What the fuck; the ass didn’t deserve his pity. “Make that two.”

Five minutes later, much richer and in a hurry, he was in the entrance hall and a flunkey was holding out his coat for him. “It’s still raining hard out there, sir.”

“That’s England,” Oz said with a smile, sliding his arms into the sleeves and shrugging into his grey overcoat. “More rain than sun.” Handing the man a guinea, he turned and strode toward the door. Standing outside under the portico a moment later, he watched the rain pouring down like the heavens had opened up, felt the wind tugging at his coat skirts, surveyed the tree tops tossing in the gusts and was suddenly reminded of Hyderabad during the monsoon season. Christ, he must have drunk more than usual tonight—too much if those old memories were surfacing. Deliberately shaking off the unwanted images, he dashed down the stairs and entered his waiting carriage. “Drive like hell, Sam,” he said, dropping into a seat with a smile for his driver who had been taking refuge from the storm inside the conveyance. “I’m late as usual.”

“I’ll get you there right quick.” Sam slipped out the opposite door.

Oz half dozed as the well-sprung carriage careened through the streets of London at a flying pace. His life of late was slightly deficient in sleep. With Nell’s husband in Paris, she’d been consuming a good deal of his time. Additionally, he had a shipping business to run, he’d been working at translating a recently purchased rare Urdu manuscript, and of course Brooks’s was a constant lure to a man who loved to gamble.

Once Lord Howe returned from Paris next week, Nell would be less persistent in her demands. He smiled faintly. Not that he was complaining. She had a real talent for acrobatics.

As the carriage drew to a halt before a small hotel, newly opened by a gentleman’s gentleman who had recently retired with a tidy sum, Lennox came fully awake, shoved open the carriage door, and stepped out into the downpour. “Don’t wait, Sam,” he shouted, and ran for the entrance.

A doorman threw open the door at his approach, and swiftly crossing the threshold, Oz came to a stop in a small foyer. He smiled at the proprietor behind the counter. “Evening, Fremont. Damn wet out there.” He shook the raindrops from his ruffled hair.

“Seasonal weather I’m afraid, sir. Would you like a servant to run you a hot bath or bring up a hot toddy? ”

“Maybe later. Which room? ”

“Thirteen, sir.”

Nell had chosen Blackwood’s Hotel in Soho Square for its seclusion, and they’d been coming here with great frequency the past fortnight. Taking the stairs at a run, he rehearsed his apology. He couldn’t say the game was too exciting to leave; he’d have to think of another excuse.

Striding down the hallway, he glanced at the passing brass number plates. Arriving at the requisite room, he opened the door and walked in.

“You’re late.”

A soft, breathy tone, with a touch of impatience. Knowing well what stoked Nell’s impatience—the randy tart liked it morning, noon, and night—he answered in a suitably apologetic tone. “Forgive me, darling, but one of my ship captains arrived just as I was leaving the house.” Christ, it was dark. Why was just a single wall sconce lit in the far corner? Was Nell in a romantic frame of mind? But then he saw her toss back the covers and pat the bed beside her and rather than question the degree of darkness, he quickly shed his wet coat, his two rings, and stripped off his clothes.

“I like your new perfume,” he murmured as he climbed into bed. Dropping back against the pillows, he pulled her close. “Are you cold, darling?” She was wearing a nightgown.

“No.”

“In that case, we can dispense with this.” Pushing the silk fabric up over her hips with a sweep of his hand, he rolled over her, settled smoothly between her legs, and set out to apologize to Nell in the way she liked best.

A door to the left of the bed suddenly burst open, a gaggle of people trooped in, the bedchamber was suddenly flooded with light and a portly man in the lead pointed at the bed. “There!” he cried. “You are all witnesses to the countess’s base and lewd moral turpitude!”

Lennox stared at the woman beneath him. Not red-haired Nell. A blonde. “What the hell is going on,” he snarled.

As if in answer, the spokesman declared with an oratorical flourish to the cluster of people crowded round the bed, “If required, you will testify in court as to exactly what you have seen here tonight—to wit . . . a clear-cut case of moral turpitude and venery! Thank you, that will be all,” he crisply added, dismissing the motley crew with a wave of his hand.

His eyes like ice, Lennox surveyed the female under him. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said with soft malevolence. Obviously he’d been gulled for someone’s monetary gain.

“Nor need we,” the lady coolly replied. “You may go now. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Lennox didn’t move other than to turn his head toward the only man remaining in the room. “Get the fuck out or I’ll shoot you where you stand.” He always carried a pistol—a habit from India.

Isolde Perceval, Countess of Wraxell in her own right, nodded at her barrister. Not that he was likely to put his life at risk for her, but should he be considering anything foolish, she rather thought she could deal with this hired actor herself.

As Mr. Malmsey shut the door behind him and quiet prevailed, Isolde gazed up at the very large man pinning her to the bed. “I thought Malmsey explained what was required of you?” she mildly remarked. “But if you’d like an additional payment, kindly get off me, and I’ll be happy to fetch my purse and pay you whatever you wish.”

Oz’s brows rose. “Is this some farce? ”

“Far from it. With your cooperation of course. As Mr. Malmsey no doubt pointed out, your silence is required.”

Silence about what? Through a minor alcohol-enduced haze, Oz speculated on how he’d landed in this bizarre scenario. “What room number is this? ”

“Thirteen.”

Then where was Nell? Still waiting somewhere. Merde. “Don’t move,” he brusquely said. “I’ll be right back.” His expression was grim. “If you wish my silence, I suggest you comply.”

“There’s no need for belligerence. I’m quite willing to accommodate you.”

You had to give her credit. The lady wasn’t easily rattled, although having organized this performance—with witnesses to boot—bespoke a certain audacity on her part. Sliding off her, he left the bed, slipped on his overcoat, buttoned it, and exiting the room, made his way downstairs to speak to the proprietor.

“A slight problem has arisen, Fremont,” he said, with a rueful smile for the man across the counter. “Room thirteen is occupied by an unknown person.”

“Oh, dear.” The trim, dapper man quickly flipped through the guest ledger and a moment later looked up with a pained expression. “I apologize most profusely, sir. I should have said room twenty-three.” His face was beet red. “I most humbly beg your pardon.”

“Rest easy, Fremont,” Oz replied, good-naturedly. “No great damage has been done. Although, if you’d be so kind as to inform the lady in room twenty-three that I’m unable to meet her tonight, I’d appreciate it. Tell her that a business matter of some importance has delayed me.”

“Naturally, sir, as you wish, sir.” Relieved he wouldn’t meet with the baron’s wrath, the proprietor deferentially added, “Would you like me to express your profound regrets to the lady? ”

“I would, thank you. And see that she has a carriage waiting for her.”

“Yes, sir. Consider it done.” Fremont gave no indication that he knew Lennox was nude beneath his coat. The baron was a very generous man, his gratuities commensurate with his fortune. Not to mention, his forgiving nature tonight was a profound relief.

As Oz turned to leave, he swung back. “You don’t happen to know the name of the lady in room thirteen? ”

“A Mrs. Smith, sir,” Fremont answered, one brow lifting at the obvious fraud.

“Ah—I see. Thank you.”

Racing back upstairs, Oz slipped through the doorway of room thirteen and shut and locked the door. There she was—right where he’d left her. That she’d not taken the opportunity to run suggested this situation was critical in some way. Interesting . . . as was the lovely lady. Shedding his coat, he walked to the light switch by the connecting door, flicked off the bright overhead fixtures, and moving toward the bed, turned on another wall scone.

A small apprehension appeared in Isolde’s eyes. “What are you doing? ” Seated against the headboard, she jerked the covers up to her chin.

He heard himself saying, “Coming to make a bargain with you.” While not entirely sure what had motivated his reply, the persuasive influence of a beautiful woman, opportunity, and considerable liquor couldn’t be discounted. Not to mention on closer inspection, her charms were even more impressive.

“Kindly do so once you’re dressed.”

“You’re not in a position to give orders,” Oz gently noted, thinking he really must have drunk too much tonight since the alarm in the lady’s eyes was so perversely satisfying. As though prompted by his thoughts, he glanced around. “Is there any liquor here?”

“No.”

But he spied a tray with decanters on a table in the corner and walking over to the table, he poured himself a brandy, returned to the bed, and raised his glass to her. “See, you were mistaken. Would you like some? ”

“No, I would not,” Isolde crisply replied. “Kindly inform me of this bargain of yours so we may both be on our way.”

Since his intentions weren’t entirely clear, he climbed back into bed, took a seat beside her, and said, “First tell me why I’m here—because clearly the man Malmsey hired is not.” Lifting the glass to his mouth, he drank half the brandy.

Good God, he wasn’t the actor! “I have no idea on either score,” she tersely said, profoundly troubled by the unsettling turn of events. “If I did, you wouldn’t be here annoying me and some anonymous actor would have long since left.”

“An actor? ” Oz grinned. “Did the poor man know what he was getting into? ”

“I’m sure he did. He was well paid for his role.”

“Apparently he was,” Oz drolly noted, “considering he didn’t show up for his performance.”

“Obviously, there was some mistake. But,” Isolde mockingly added, “since you performed well, all turned out in the end.”

“If I agree to accommodate you.” The word
perform
was triggering rather explicit images.

“You already have.”

“Not completely.” This lady along with her story piqued his interest. Or maybe he’d become bored with Nell.

“If it’s money you want,” she said with a touch of disdain, “just say so and we can stop playing games.”