Susan Johnson - Gorgeous As Sin

“Then we share a common interest,” she sweetly returned, knowing better than to persist in a conversation of little value to either of them. “You have another hour to show me your formidable skills, and then I must bathe and dress for the day.”

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind-that I couldn’t interest you in a drive out to Mertenside on this lovely summer day? ”

“Now I know what it’s like to see the devil with an apple.”

“I’d be more than willing to reform if you but asked,” he playfully observed.

While she hadn’t meant it literally, Fitz was indeed temptation incarnate. And she wondered for a cheerless moment how she would bear it when he left her. Quickly dismissing her melancholy when happiness was within her grasp, she facetiously replied, “Let me write up a list of remedial measures for you to undertake.”

He grabbed her then, no longer asking permission, unwilling to wait a minute longer, doing what he pleased as befitted both his station in life and his expertise in the bedchamber. Rolling onto his back, he effortlessly lifted her, deposited her prone form on top of him, and gently wrapped his arms around her. “There now,” he whispered, gazing up at her, “all is right with the world.”

She wished for that moment she might arrest the passage of time and preserve forever the look of tenderness in his eyes, the euphoric happiness that infused her soul, the sumptuous sensation of her skin on his as she lay atop him.

How was it that the wanting never went away?

What had happened to her a few short days ago that she no longer had command over her emotions-or her life?

“I should say no to you a thousand times a thousand different ways.”

His shoulder lifted in the merest shrug. “Just not now,” he said in gentle dissent, unwilling at present to face the brutal cross-purposes of their lives.

“As if I could anyway,” she answered with a small sigh.

His smile could have rivaled the sun. “Good. Good,” he said again, in relief or perhaps only in pleasure.

Then in a smooth roll, he shifted their positions and as smoothly entered her. He made love to her slowly, slowly, not letting her rush, wanting it to last, as if time were his enemy. And she concurred, understanding after the night past when sex had become something more-something meaningful and pure-that what they shared was rare.

He shouldn’t have come in her. He had no idea why he did. He immediately apologized and offered to run to the chemist for a palliative douche.

She should have been outraged. Instead, she calmly said, “Once can’t be a very serious problem. Don’t worry.”

When in the past he would have been not only worried but also uneasy as hell, he just reached for one of the towels that was laying about, and said, “I can wipe you up at least.”

“I suppose it is the least you can do, darling,” she quipped. “Considering the lapse was yours.”

“I really am sorry,” he softly said.

“I know.”

And a small sadness quite separate from their conversation momentarily surfaced.

Experienced at avoiding earnestness, Fitz spoke first, asking if he should run her bath.

She congratulated herself for her poise in responding.

And for the remainder of their time together, both were careful to speak only of banalities. They breakfasted together, then walked downstairs when it was time for the store to open. Fitz kissed her good-by and started to leave, but after only a step or two he came back to the counter and kissed her again before finally walking out of the store.

She watched him until his figure disappeared into the crowds on the pavement.

ON REACHING HOME, Fitz sat with his mother as she breakfasted, acknowledging her attempts at conversation with distracted monosyllabic replies so often, she finally said, “Good heavens, Georgie, it’s not the end of life as you know it to actually harbor some feelings for a woman.”

He shot her a look of stunned surprise and set down the glass of brandy he was holding.

“Sweetheart,” she softly said, “you aren’t the first person in the world to be enamored. Nor is it necessarily an evil requiring three brandies at this time of day. Personally, I’d say it’s about time.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“As you wish.”

“That’s exactly what I wish,” he curtly said.

“Fine. Would you like another brandy? ”

“No. She writes erotica,” he gruffly said, looking at his mother from under his lashes. “About me.” His mouth twitched into a mocking smile. “Does that change your notion about Mrs. St. Vincent’s place in my life? ”

“What place is that, darling? ” his mother asked, unfazed by Rosalind’s writing.

“One that screws up everything.”

“Does it have to? ”

He sighed. “That unfortunately is the current riddle of the universe.”

“Because you’re about to ruin her.”

“Probably.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going north to Craievar for grouse hunting.”

“Now? ”

“Tomorrow.” He ignored Pansy dancing at his feet, yipping for attention. “Do you need anything before I go? ”

“Not at all. I’m fine, darling. Do you know when you’ll return? ”

“No.”

He was moving away from the table as he spoke, so she decided against saying what was on her mind. “Are you home for dinner tonight, dear? ” she called out.

He raised his hand and waggled his fingers in answer, and a moment later closed the breakfast room door behind him.

“My, my, my,” Julia said aloud, picking up Pansy and setting her on her lap. Her little boy was nonplused by a woman. And not just any woman, but a woman who didn’t toady to his wealth and title and wrote about his boudoir athletics. Definitely a woman of extraordinary character.

Julia checked the small calendar on the jeweled timepiece pinned to her bodice and smiled. She rather thought Fitz wouldn’t be staying in Scotland long.

ALGERNON FOUND FITZ at Brooks’s that afternoon, having been directed there by Stanley. In his moodiness, Fitz was seated alone in a corner of the reading room, safe from his friends who never read. A bottle of brandy, half-empty, sat at his elbow, a full glass in his hand, and sunk as he was in peevish, sullen reflection, Rosalind’s brother was forced to clear his throat twice before Fitz looked up.

“I’m Pitt-Riverston,” Algernon said. “I came down to London to speak with you.”

Fitz regarded Rosalind’s brother with a shuttered gaze. “May I offer you a brandy? ” he said, and after a nod from Algernon, he waved him to a chair and raised his hand for a flunkey.

The men spoke of the weather and train travel until a servant brought a glass, poured Algernon a brandy, topped off Fitz’s glass, and left.

“Now, what can I do for you? ” Fitz softly asked, the man opposite him bearing no resemblance to Rosalind, looking very much like a country solicitor dressed in his best suit.

Algernon smiled. “I was thinking perhaps I could do something for you.”

Ah, Fitz thought. A man with a price. “What exactly might that be? ”

“Persuade my sister to sell her little bookstore.”

Fitz’s brows rose faintly. “You have no loyalty to your sister? ”

“Rather, Your Grace, I consider family loyalty of greater import. Something, apparently, my sister fails to recognize. As you may know, my parents have little wealth, they’re elderly, and I thought I might make it clear to Rosalind that she is now in a position”-he smiled silkily-“because of your generous offer, to alleviate the burdens of poverty for my parents.”

“You are unable to do so? ” A cool, gentle query.

“Alas, my country practice doesn’t allow for such assistance. If only I could, of course, I’d be more than willing to relieve my parents’ need.”

“You think you might be successful in persuading your sister to change her mind?” Fitz’s bland query belied his watchful gaze.

“If not, there are other ways to deal with her, Your Grace. From time to time, I take care of small legal issues for Rosalind. I drafted her husband’s will, for instance, helped her with the death duties and such. She doesn’t always take notice of what she’s signing.”

“So you would be willing to circumvent your sister’s wishes? ” Fitz said with deliberate composure.

“Only for the good of my parents, sir,” Algernon suavely returned. “For no other reason. It’s not as though Rosalind would suffer unduly. Your agent made it clear that she’d be amply compensated for her property.”

“I see.” Fitz wondered what he might have done a week ago with such an offer. “Let me think about your proposal,” he said after a moment, setting his glass on the table beside his chair. “Leave me your direction. Where are you staying in London? ”

Algernon shook his head. “I’m taking the train home today.”

“Then I can find you in Yorkshire. In the meantime, let me offer you a small payment for your journey. Will five hundred do for now?” Fitz asked, taking money from his pocket. “My architect is redrawing my project, and once he’s finished, I’ll discuss this with you again. I appreciate your interest in helping your parents. Very commendable I’m sure.” Taking out a large bill, he handed it to Algernon. “The merest down payment, sir. We’ll be talking again in the near future. Now then, may I offer you a carriage for the ride to the station? ”

His lip was curled in a faint sneer as he watched Rosalind’s brother walk from the room. What a thoroughly unlikeable fellow. A Judas. He could have bought him for very little. He still might.

Which was the dilemma of course.

Which was why he was sitting in the empty reading room at Brooks’s nursing a bottle of brandy, trying to deal with the chaos in his brain. Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to have happened. None of it. Not the obstinate Mrs. St. Vincent throwing a wrench into his plans, particularly not her insinuating herself into his life and raising havoc with what had been prior to their meeting a perfectly contented and orderly existence.