Sexy As Hell

by Susan Johnson

  “These should help.” Sam held out two pistols.

  Oz’s brows lifted. “Always useful in gaining someone’s attention.” Taking one of the pistols, Oz shoved it in his pocket. “Has Achille left?”

  “They’re loading up now. You’re not taking your chaise?”

  Oz shook his head. “We’ll ride. I want Sukha with me. Isolde rides every morning. Ready?” At Sam’s nod, the men left the study and moved down the hall toward the front door.

  “If Compton listens to reason, we should overtake Isolde before she reaches home.”

  “If he doesn’t listen to reason-what then?”

  “Plan B, I suppose.”

  “You don’t have a plan B.”

  Oz shrugged. “Maybe he’ll inspire me. Although, I don’t have a lot of patience for a man who’d force a woman into marriage.”

  “For gambling debts no less.”

  Oz grunted. “It’s hard to have much sympathy for a prick like that.”

  “You’re taking on enormous responsibility for this woman.” It was a question rather than a statement. Not since Khair had Oz shown concern for a woman.

  Oz grinned. “When I haven’t of late, you mean?”

  “Damn right.” Sam gave a lift of his brows. “And I’ve known you a long time.” Sam had come to work for Oz years ago in Hyderabad after being cashiered from the king’s tenth fusiliers.

  “I expect my wife will soon tire of me. I’ll accommodate her with a divorce, and life will return to normal.” Oz shot Sam a cautionary look. “For your ears only.”

  “Acknowledged, sir.” Now this curious arrangement makes sense.

  A few moments later they were striding down the street, making for Compton’s apartments. Two men in a hurry.

  “I hope Compton finally realizes that his choices are limited. He argued with me last night. About his rights as heir.”

  “Which he has so long as the countess is childless. Will you accommodate her there as well?”

  “Hell no. So,” Oz added with a significant look, “Compton must be dealt with once and for all-firmly and finally. Not that a loaded pistol shouldn’t prod his understanding.”

  “I’m not so sure, sir. Stupid’s stupid. Stevens took a bullet in the head rather than listen.” Sam had been flogged for refusing to lead his men into an ambush. The brash, inexperienced Lieutenant Stevens had been killed soon after leading the charge instead-Sandhurst military tactics the kiss of death in the Hindu Kush.

  “I doubt Compton has martial spirit.”

  “What if he does?”

  Oz grinned. “Then I’ll try not to get blood on my boots.”

  Shortly after, as they approached Compton’s lodgings, Oz murmured, “Stand guard outside his door.”

  “Yes, sir. Although if you’d like my advice, I say get rid of the scum.”

  “I can’t just shoot him in cold blood.”

  “I sure as hell would.”

  Oz smiled. “I sure as hell would like to.”

  Pulling out a flask from his jacket pocket, Sam held it out. “A wee dram? Pure and fine, sir.” Sam was a big, strong, sandy-haired Highlander.

  Taking the flask, Oz swallowed a long draught. Smiling, he handed back the flask. “Excellent as usual. Now, tell me about Compton’s debts. What do I have to deal with?”

  “Five to the moneylenders, four for chits at Brooks’s-”

  “Due by Friday next.”

  Sam nodded, the men’s clubs rules, like jockey club rules, were etched in stone. “And a thousand more give or take to the gambling hells.”

  “That’s not so much.”

  “It is for anyone but a nabob like you.”

  “But since I am,” Oz drawled, stopping before the entrance to the building, “let’s see what it takes to buy my wife’s peace of mind.”

  The foyer of the building that catered to bachelor apartments was silent, the lack of activity no surprise considering the early hour and the late-night habits of London’s young bucks. The third floor where Compton resided was equally deserted. When they reached his door, Oz glanced at Sam.

  Pulling out a slender metal pick from his pocket, Sam inserted the makeshift key and after a few deft twists, stepped back and softly turned the latch.

  Drawing his pistol from his coat pocket, Oz eased the door open, quietly entered a narrow hall, and shut the door behind him. With the efficiency of a man impatient to finish an unpleasant task, Oz hustled Compton’s manservant out of his bed in a small antechamber, made him understand his silence was required, and locked him in his room.

  Entering Compton’s bedchamber a few minutes later, Oz glanced at the snoring lump in the bed, then moved to the window and threw open the curtains. When no movement from the bed ensued, Oz picked up a liquor decanter and let it drop from his fingers to the marble floor.

  As it shattered with a crash, spewing glass splinters and liquor across the floor, Compton came up on his elbows. “What the hell?” He squinted against the bright light. “Shut the bloody curtains, Standish!”

  “Your man’s indisposed at the moment.”

  The familiar voice, no matter its mildness, brought Compton awake with a jerk. “How did you get in?” Struggling into a seated position, he peered at Oz standing at the foot of his bed.

  “The usual way. We need to talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” Petulant and rude, Compton was emboldened by the residual alcohol coursing through his blood. Not to mention the overheard conversation that had significantly altered his plans.

  “I have a few words of advice for you, however,” Oz mildly returned, raising the pistol he held at his side.

  “You won’t shoot. I’m unarmed.” There were rules, gentlemen’s rules.

  “Once you’re dead, whether you were armed or not is irrelevant.”

  The indifference in Lennox’s voice drained the color from Compton’s face, and too late he recalled his adversary’s barbaric background. “My man would notify the authorities,” he warned, sweat beginning to bead his brow.

  “Your man might be killed in the melee,” Oz silkily replied. “You went berserk. Everyone knows you’ve been drinking a lot.”

  “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 dista
nce 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.”

  CHAPTER 12

  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?”

  “Thank you, yes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bit of business to discuss with Grover,” she said, turning to smile at her steward.

  He gave her a very correct bow because Grover prided himself on the civilities. “I’m at your disposal, ma’am.”

  With a smile for her staff crowded around her on the drive, Isolde exclaimed, “It’s wonderful to be home again.” After three hectic days in London, she was indeed grateful to return to the familiarity of her own residence.

  The moment she and her steward had made themselves comfortable in his office, she explained her concern. “I’m afraid Cousin Compton is not at all happy with my marriage.”

  Her steward smiled wryly. “Deprived as he is of his expectations of marrying you.”

  “Indeed. For which I’m vastly pleased as you may perceive.” Relaxing in the old worn chair her father had favored, she gazed across the ancient desk at the man who’d taken care of Oak Knoll well before she was born. “However, he might decide to call, and you can be sure he won’t be up to any good. I wished to alert you to the possibility because I doubt he’ll come alone. In London he bearded me with hired roughs at his back. The staff should be warned.”

  “Frederick was always a knave.” Grover’s voice was chill, his beetled brows drawn together in a scowl. “Even as a child he was constantly up to some wickedness and his ambitions are common knowledge. We’ll be on the lookout, miss.”

  “Thank you. Compton is imprudent at times, that’s all. I can’t be sure what he might be planning. Lord Lennox tells me his debts are at a point that Frederick himself might be in danger from the moneylenders.”

  “Then, as usual, he’ll be coming to you for money. If you don’t mind my saying, Miss Izzy, you’ve been too generous with him in the past. He quite forgets the Wraxell fortune is yours.”

  She shrugged. “I have so much; it didn’t seem right to begrudge him.”