Susan Johnson - Sexy As Hell

“You wouldn’t get away with it,” Compton blustered.

“Of course I would. The only real question is whether you survive this meeting. I suggest you listen to my proposal and more to the point, agree to it.”

“Do I have a choice?” Encouraged by the word proposal, however, Compton’s native venality came to the fore.

“No.”

Nevertheless, it looked as though Lennox was here to deal. Further emboldened by recall of what he’d heard last night, Compton rallied his confidence. “Say what you have to say then,” he sneered. “Although, I might have plans as well. Have you thought of that?”

“Unless it involves you having a weapon in your hand right now-and you don’t appear to have one-you’re fucked,” Oz pleasantly said. “So I’d listen if I were you. You’ve a count of three to make up your mind before I blow your head off. One, two-”

Oz’s finger tightened on the trigger, and Frederick’s false courage evaporated. “Don’t, don’t!” he screamed. “I’ll listen!”

“Excellent choice.” A soft, expressionless statement. “How much do you owe in gambling debts?”

“I’m not sure.” Hedging, his mind racing to find deliverance from this madman, Compton mumbled, “I’d have to add it up.”

“Don’t bother. Five to the moneylenders, four to Brooks’s, one to the gambling hells. Is that about it?”

“It could be; I’m not sure.” Where the hell was Standish? Would anyone hear if he screamed for help? Would it matter whether they heard or not if he was dead?

“Don’t be tiresome,” Oz growled, irritated by the man’s petty evasion. “I’m trying to be reasonable. God knows you don’t deserve it. Look,” he said, exhaling softly, “I’m willing to pay your debts and give you an additional five thousand if you agree to keep your distance from Isolde.”

“My debts and ten thousand,” Compton quickly countered, greed overcoming his fear.

“Very well-ten.” It was more than he deserved, a fortune in fact.

“My debts and fifteen.”

“Don’t get reckless, Compton. Decide.”

“It seems I don’t have a choice.” Although, the sum he was willing to spend meant Lennox wanted to please his wife. For a fraction of a second Frederick considered holding his ground.

Oz steadied himself against iniquitous impulse and said with forced calm, “Of course you do. You can choose to die, and I’d save a helluva lot of money.”

“Very well,” Frederick said, grudging and surly. “I’m at a disadvantage, unarmed.”

Oz’s nostrils flared at the man’s insolence. Stifling an urge to shoot and be done with it, Oz said taut and cold, “You may draw on my banker, Simms.” Turning on his heel, he strode away before he completely lost his temper.

“Smug bastard,” Oz muttered as he exited the apartment.

Sam nodded in the direction of the open door. “Let me take care of him.”

“If not for Isolde, I’d say yes.” Oz shut his eyes, slowly counted to ten, opened his eyes, and said through his teeth, “She’d be appalled. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The men walked in silence for several blocks before Oz tamped down his fury. “I have to see Simms to arrange the payments to the half-wit. It won’t take long.”

“If you don’t need me, I’ll go back to the house and settle a few matters.”

“With Betsy.”

“Aye. She’s a bonny lass, and I won’t be seeing her for a while.”

“Bring her along. Take my chaise.”

“And Jess?”

“Of course, Jess. Bring them both.” Achille’s sous-chef, Robbie, had gone to the aid of his sister when Betsy’s husband had run off and left her. She was learning to cook.

Sam smiled. “Much obliged.”

Oz shrugged off the thanks, distracted by his thoughts. Could he trust Compton to comply? Yes, no, maybe? Realizing Sam was waiting, Oz looked up. “I’m not sure I can trust someone as venal as Compton.”

“Do you want him watched?”

Oz shook his head. “Let’s not-at least for now. I don’t want to think about him.” Should he though? The man had no ethics.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Oz’s gaze snapped up.

Sam grinned. “Just making sure you were listening.” Oz disliked that designation; they’d been friends too long.

THE MEN PARTED near St. James Street.

Oz found his banker having his breakfast ale and rasher of bacon at his desk. “Don’t get up, Simms. I’ll be brief.”

The elderly man who carried his years well leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Congratulations, my lord. I heard the good news.”

“Thank you. There comes a time in every man’s life,” Oz replied with a roll of his eyes.

“The betting books lost money on you,” Simms noted. “You surprised everyone. Marriage offers a certain contentment, though, and after nearly fifty years of connubial bliss,” he said with a smile, “I know of what I speak.”

“Good God. Fifty years and you haven’t killed each other.”

“No, sir. Never even thought of it.”

“I’m encouraged.” Oz grinned and dropping into a chair across the desk from the man who’d been his father’s banker in London, added, “You’ll have to give me some advice on marital goodwill.”

Pushing his plate aside, Simms spoke with the imperturbability that came to a man of his years and experience. “The golden rule is useful, my lord. I recommend it.”

Oz smiled faintly. “That might take a personality change.”

“On the contrary, sir, you do much good with your wealth. Benevolence in marriage is no different.” Oz contributed vast sums to charitable enterprises.

“Ah, but unlike charities that can be satisfied with an anonymous bank draft, one’s wife is at the breakfast table every morning.”

“I’m sure you’ll become used to it, sir.”

“I doubt that,” Oz said lightly. “Speaking of uncomfortable situations, I’ve come to tell you that a despicable little man will be calling on you soon.”

“What would you like me to do with him?”

Oz chuckled. “A question I’d best not answer. What I can say is that Frederick Compton is my wife’s cousin and I’ve agreed to pay off his gambling debts as well as give him an additional ten thousand to save my wife irritation. He apparently feels he deserves a share of her wealth.”

“He’s not the first relative to think so, my lord. But his debts plus ten thousand is a right good sum.” Simms spoke in measured tones.

“Noted, but it must be done. If you’d personally see to his gambling debts, I’d appreciate it. He’s a double-dealing knave who’d otherwise likely keep the money. The ten thousand, however, is his to do with what he likes. I suspect he’ll gamble it away, after which he can go to hell with my blessing.”

“Would you mind if I make some inquiries about this fellow?”

“Not at all.”

“Should he have other debts you’re unaware of, I could deduct them from the ten thousand.”

Oz shook his head. “I promised him ten, so ten he’ll have. If you discover other debts, pay them and give me an accounting. I don’t wish my wife to be bothered by him.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll see that the business is appropriately managed.”

“I expect he’ll be in today. I apologize for asking you to deal with him, but”-Oz put his hands on the chair arms, preparing to rise-“I’ll be out of town for an indefinite time. If you wish to contact me, Josef has my direction in Cambridgeshire.” He rose to his feet. “My wife prefers her country home to the city.”

“I don’t blame her, sir. Winter in the city is insalubrious with all the coal smoke and fog.”

“My apologies again for saddling you with this noisome individual.”

“No need, sir.” Simms smiled. “In my business one learns to deal with all kinds. I’ll send you a message when the transaction is complete.”

WHEN OZ LEFT London, he had every expectation of overtaking Isolde.

But her carriage was built for speed, her bloodstock prime, and she liked to travel fast. Reaching Oak Knoll in under six hours, she jumped out as the carriage rolled to a stop and smiled at her gypsy driver. “Excellent time, Dimitri. That’s a new record, isn’t it?”

“By ten minutes, Miss Izzy.”

“You’re the best driver in England.” No one knew horses like Dimitri. “Tell Grover you won the bet, and tell him not to grumble about the sum. I really thought I’d win,” she cheerfully observed.

Since news of her wedding had been carried to Oak Knoll by one of her grooms directly after the ceremony, her staff rushed out to greet her as she stepped down from the carriage. Everyone from her butler and housekeeper to her lowliest footman and scullery maid swarmed around her, offering their congratulations and best wishes.

Their pleasure at her marriage was doubly relished after the insult she’d suffered at Lord Fowler’s hands; his treatment of Isolde had been taken personally by a staff who doted on their mistress. And to have wed a handsome nabob! What better revenge, they all agreed!

“Yes, yes,” Isolde replied to the polite, hopeful inquiries concerning her husband’s appearance. “He should be here directly. He had some business to deal with, and I just wanted to get home.” She grinned. “To see you all.”

“You’re looking right chipper, Miss Izzy. Like a blushing bride!” Mrs. Belmont, the housekeeper who’d overseen the household since before Isolde’s birth, beamed. “I expect your nice Lord Lennox will be wantin’ a hearty meal right soon after he arrives.” She didn’t say that the chef had been scouring his repertoire for dishes from India. Nor did she say they’d heard all the gossip about the handsome young lord who had money to burn-one of the groomsmen had ridden hell-bent for leather to bring them the news.

“I’m sure Lord Lennox will enjoy a fine meal,” Isolde said with a smile for Mrs. Belmont. “And see that our best brandy comes up from the cellar.”

“Indeed, Miss Izzy. With a nice cognac for you?”