Susan Johnson - Gorgeous As Sin

Then the duke smiled, Hutchinson noted, with the most benign sweetness and added, “I understand perfectly how mistakes can be made.”

When the superintendent exhibited a modicum of suspicion and failed to move, Fitz said, “Come, my good man. If you have a wife, surely you understand Lady Groveland must be fit to be tied by now. I shall be obliged to pay handsomely for this mistake, regardless of whose error it was.” He smiled faintly. “But the little ladies are worth all the trouble, are they not? Can’t live without ’em, although,” he said with a wink, “I’d trade the next few hours with you if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, sar, the wife does go on a tear at times,” the superintendent cautiously replied, weighing the illustriousness of the man standing before him. There were nobles and there were nobles. “The thing is, sar, the lady isn’t Lady Groveland, but a Mrs. St. Vincent,” he submitted. “Said so right on the warrant it did.”

“Yes, I know.” Fitz offered the superintendent a long-suffering sigh. “I’m afraid my wife has fallen under the spell of the suffrage movement and uses her maiden name at times. A most curious group of women if you ask me-those suffragettes-forever petitioning Parliament and chaining themselves to fences about town. But Lady Groveland wishes to play the role of a modern woman, so naturally, I’m willing to indulge her-to a point,” he gruffly added. “I’ve financed a small bookstore for her so she may pretend to be a businesswoman. The store is Lady Groveland’s version of Marie Antoinette’s little hamlet-you recall… where the queen played at being a milkmaid.” A lift of his brows. “It all comes down to the need for domestic tranquility, my good man. I’m sure you have occasion to indulge your wife’s whims as well. Not that the genders are born to agree, but there it is.”

“Mrs. Wilton has taken up tennis, sar, so I do know what you mean. Sweaty business, that. Although, there’s another bit of business, sar. A right lot of bawdy books were found in the lady’s bedroom.”

“Ah, yes… those are mine. Lady Groveland is quite innocent of such matters as naturally a woman should be.” Fitz smiled. “She prefers poetry-sunny skies and flower-filled fields… that sort of thing. Like most women, I suppose.”

“The books are yours? You’d swear to that? ”

“Indeed I would. Feel free to fine me for the infraction; most men indulge in an earthy story from time to time as you no doubt know. Although, I understand that your subordinate took it upon himself to open an envelope marked Private. Perhaps it would be best not to have that brought up in court.”

Superintendent Wilton flushed, then frowned. “Unfortunately, Captain Bagley’s a lay preacher in a fire-and-brimstone street church. He sees sin around every corner. Personally, I’m Church of England-a sensible church that. In charge of the religious holidays and pomp-and-circumstance occasions, otherwise it stays out of your life. And rightly so.”

“I couldn’t agree more. As a duke, naturally, I have responsibilities in the various parishes on my estates, but my clerics have instructions not to interfere in my villagers’ lives.”

The superintendent’s eyes widened. If this man was a duke, the lady in his jail was a duchess and all hell would break loose if word got out that he’d arrested a duchess. He couldn’t afford to be sacked. “Bagley was out of line, Your Grace, no doubt about it. I’ll see that Lady Groveland is released immediately.” Before word of her arrest leaked out.

“Excellent, thank you. Why don’t you get Mrs. Wilton some little trifle,” Fitz murmured, pulling a bill from his pocket and placing it on the superintendent’s desk. “Purely a charitable contribution,” he added with a smile.

The constable’s eyes popped on seeing the thousand-pound banknote.

The money, together with the fact that a duke was in fact, if not theory, above the law, and that the woman in jail was Lady Groveland, was more than any underpaid government employee could overlook with impunity. “I’ll have Lady Groveland fetched right quick, Your Grace. And may I offer my apologies for the misunderstanding.”

“I’ll come with you,” Fitz said, wanting to personally apprise Rosalind of her new status. He wasn’t altogether certain she would agree with his story unless he was there to prompt her.

TH E CELL DOOR opened, and Rosalind turned around to find a uniformed policeman with Fitz standing behind him, a finger to his lips.

Her first impulse was to fly at him screaming in rage.

Her second more practical reaction was to quietly wait for events to unfold. Time enough for vengeance. Although Fitz’s appearance probably meant that hiring a barrister wouldn’t be required-which also meant she could keep her store. That in itself qualified as revenge.

Fitz took note of her smug smile and inwardly winced.

Not that he didn’t deserve her displeasure, but he wasn’t looking forward to the coming row. He had no experience with truckling.

“Lady Groveland, allow me to apologize for the shocking miscarriage of justice,” the superintendent said with a stiff bow and a nervous smile. “You have been most grossly served by Captain Bagley. I assure you he will be severely punished for his conduct.” Red faced, the superintendent swallowed hard and putting a finger to the brim of his hat, bobbed another awkward bow. “My apologies again, my lady. You’re quite free to go.”

Rosalind dipped her head with ducal grace. “Your apologies are accepted, sir.” She smiled. “It was rather an adventure. And I’m quite unscathed. Hello, my dear,” she said, turning a bland gaze on Fitz. “Thank you for arriving so swiftly.”

“I would have come sooner had I not been in Scotland shooting. Naturally, I apologize for my tardiness.”

“No need. I was indisposed for a very short time.”

The superintendent stepped aside so Rosalind could exit the cell, his concern only that the duke and duchess be gone from his station as quickly as possible and more important, that no scandal accrue to him.

Fitz held out his arm as Rosalind entered the corridor.

She looked up and held his gaze for a potent moment before placing her fingers on his forearm. “How was the shooting? ”

“It could have been better,” he said, moving down the hallway.

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Not as sorry as I was to hear of your difficulties.”

“Pshaw, it was nothing. Don’t give it another thought.”

Her fingers were digging into his arm, and if looks could kill, he would have been dead. But she carried off her role with aplomb, even while they were in the carriage with Hutchinson. It was only when they deposited the barrister at his home that she turned on Fitz, her eyes flashing with anger.

“Aren’t you going to say it wasn’t you?” she demanded acidly.

“Would it do any good? ”

“Not in the least.” Quickly rising, she shifted to the opposite seat where Hutchinson had been sitting and coldly said, “Take me home.”

“Just for the record I didn’t order the arrest. It was a mistake.” He knew better than to offer the most bland demur. He had no real defense in any event.

“But a mistake you had a hand in,” she snapped. “You were the one who told them where to find the manuscripts, weren’t you? ”

“No.” A literal if not complete truth.

“You bloody liar,” she hissed. “No one else has been in my bedroom.”

This wasn’t the time to take heart at such news, but nevertheless he did, pleased that he alone had breached the citadel. Equally pleased after his lamentable time in Scotland that she was within reach, regardless her temper. “I’d like to make amends if you’d let me,” he quietly said. “You need but tell me what to do.”

She stared at him. “You’re unbelievable! You think this some mild outrage that can be smoothed over with a bloody apology? You think my arrest is some mere bagatelle that won’t cause a ripple in my life, that I can put this humiliation behind me with ease!” Her voice had risen, a flush colored her cheeks. “How dare you make light of this!”

“I’m not,” he muttered, willing to play the penitent for the wrong done Rosalind. “I understand the delicacy of the situation.”

“Delicacy! We’re not talking about some social gaffe! My door broken down and police swarming into my store is not a delicate situation!”

“I understand,” he said, submitting with grace. “I’ll make it up to you. Tell me what you want.”

She glared at him. “How typical. Everyone’s for sale, aren’t they, you bastard? Maybe in your world they are, but not in mine. Do me a favor,” she spat out. “From now on stay away from me and my store.”

“What if I don’t? Are you going to call the police? ” He was struggling to control his temper. Groveling wasn’t his strong suit. Nor did women ordinarily scream at him.

“Good Lord, Groveland,” Rosalind waspishly said, “surely you have any number of other ladies you can harass. Kindly acquit me of your attentions.”

“I don’t recall you being particularly discontent with my attentions in the past,” he drawled. Scotland had been disagreeable and unsatisfactory from every angle. He hadn’t slept much in over a week. And Rosalind’s damned arrest hadn’t been his fault exclusively or at all, he churlishly decided, since he’d never actually given the order to proceed.

“You’d be surprised what an arrest and a night in a foul jail can do to a sexual relationship,” she derisively noted. “You might want to think about excising that little subtlety from your future seductions.”

Bitch, he thought, although he couldn’t fault her logic. “Look,” he softly said, making a conscious effort to reduce the heated rhetoric, “none of this should have happened. I’m sorry it did. And I understand you’re angry”-he paused at her indignant snort, counted quickly to ten, then continued in a purposefully mild tone-“but I’m quite willing to do anything to atone for the wrong that’s been done you. I won’t press you anymore to sell your store. How would that be? ” It was a huge concession, a very expensive one.