Susan Johnson - Gorgeous As Sin

Due to their special position in the household, Sarah and Darby had their own cozy apartment overlooking the kitchen garden. They had accompanied Julia from home on her marriage, and their loyalties were unequivocal and unwavering. At Fitz’s birth, Julia had placed her son under their care, confident they would protect him as if he were their own.

As a duke’s daughter, Julia’s world had changed little with marriage other than having to contend with a husband who was a monster. Not that other aristocratic marriages were necessarily ideal. She was not alone.

So she coped as did so many other beautiful young ladies married off by their families for reasons other than love. She avoided her husband whenever possible and filled her days with the amusements the beau monde substituted for happiness. While the fashionable set never changed, the locales for their amusements did: London in the Season, Scotland for fishing, the hunt country or Paris in winter, Monte Carlo or Biarritz in early spring, and then back to London again.

Within this whirlwind of travel and entertainments, Sarah and Darby saw that Fitz’s life was relatively tranquil and unafflicted. When the duke was in residence, however, particularly when he was drinking, tranquility was beyond the capabilities of mere mortals. Complete anarchy ruled; the duke’s temper was an explosive force, unaided by judgment, to paraphrase Horace. In those violent times, Sarah and Darby had orders to keep Fitz out of sight of his father if possible.

And it wasn’t always possible.

Since the women were old, dear friends, the moment Julia walked into Sarah’s kitchen, Sarah said, “Sit. I’ll get us tea. I expect you’re wondering about that woman.”

“Is that why Fitz is drinking this morning?”

Sarah turned from the stove where the kettle was steaming. “I don’t know for certain about the drinking, but I know he come from her place this morning.”

Julia’s brows lifted. “I thought it might be a woman.” Taking a seat at the table, she settled Pansy in her lap. “He’s come trailing into breakfast in his evening clothes before, but he was different today.”

“Young Stanley’s the one what seen her first, and he says she’s a real beauty. A Venus, he says. The bookstore lady,” Sarah added at Julia’s questioning look. “That’s where he were last night.”

“Ah. That’s why he didn’t want to tell me where he’d been. Interesting,” Julia murmured. “Now I know why he didn’t want to talk about the bookstore. I asked him about it just to make conversation and he cut me off.”

“Trouble in paradise,” Sarah pronounced, spooning tea into the pot. “That bookstore lady’s been tellin’ him no, and he don’t take to no real well like.”

“Indeed,” his mother concurred. “I blame myself for being too indulgent.”

“It ain’t your fault,” Sarah replied. “The boy’s always wanted what he’s wanted and that’s that.” She could have said like you, but she didn’t.

“Tell me everything you know about this woman. Although, I expect she’s a bold little piece planning on lining her pockets with Fitz’s help,” Julia added with a little sniff of disapproval. “He says she won’t sell even though she’s been offered a considerable sum.”

Carrying over two cups of tea, Sarah set them on the table. “First off, I don’t know naught about the lady other than she’s a looker. As if that ain’t enough for Fitz,” she sardonically added, taking a seat across from the duchess. “Anyways, I sent Darby after the boy, thinkin’ we’d best know where he was spendin’ the night efen’ we had to drag him home what with you arrivin’.”

Julia smiled. “He’d be incensed if he knew.”

“Well, he don’t and he won’t. If you hadn’t been comin’ into town, he could’ve slept with the devil for all I cared. But you were comin’. A mite early as it turned out,” Sarah noted with a dip of her head. “James had orders to fetch Fitz at half past ten.”

“Still,” Julia mused, “how is it possible for this woman, no matter how Venus-like, to have such an effect on him? He was moody at breakfast. Are you sure he hasn’t been ruining himself at cards? Or losing at the races?”

“Does the boy ever lose at cards or the races for that matter with his stable of prime bloodstock?” Sarah shrugged. “Could be he’s jes a mite tired and we’re makin’ a whole lot outta nothin’.”

“You could be right. Yes, I’m sure you are.” Julia preferred to ignore problems. If they couldn’t be ignored, she generally handed them over to someone else to solve-a not untypical reaction of those in her privileged class who had been waited on from the cradle. “On the other hand,” Julia murmured, her motherly instincts overcoming even her own creature comforts, “maybe it wouldn’t hurt for us to pay a little visit to this bookstore and see this woman for ourselves.”

Sarah grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The two women exchanged a look of understanding.

“I ain’t goin’ to mention it to Darby,” Sarah noted.

“I certainly don’t plan on telling Fitz,” Julia cheerfully returned. “When shall we go?”

“You decide,” Sarah said, already knowing the answer.

“Fitz is sleeping,” Julia offered with a conspiratorial wink.

“Perfect.”

Julia came to her feet. “Meet me in the entrance hall in ten minutes. I just have to fetch my bonnet.”

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.