“I understand completely. I really do.” He could sense her arousal and felt better, not wishing to be alone in this insanity. “But I also understand,” he said, quietly cajoling, “that you and I have some improbable sexual connection that has redefined the perimeters of pleasure. And whatever it is-aberrant or extraordinary-I need it and you and to hell with the rest.”
She made a moue, struggling to equate her reckless need with anything at all in her life prior to Fitz. “Are you sure this”-she wiggled her finger between them-“is really wise? ”
“Sure as I’m breathing.”
“That sure.” But she felt a warm glow melt away her misgivings.
“Oh, yes, my darling nymphet. Whatever it is you have, I want, day and night, night and day. I am seriously crazed.”
She smiled, her gaze teasing. “I expect you tell all the ladies that.”
He snorted. “Naive babe. I am the Sphinx itself to everyone but you.” He frowned briefly with his world in total flux, then smiled again because he didn’t really give a damn. “Now, come here,” he said, his one-track brain on track, “and let me hear you scream again when you climax. I swear my cock doubles in size at the sound.” That, too, was unnerving, but not so much that he was willing to forgo the pleasure.
She quickly glanced at the clock.
“There’s time,” he said. “Although, if you’d let me, I could find some help for your store and you could entertain me without interruptions.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Tempting, but I relish my independence.”
“I wasn’t asking for your independence, just this.” He reached out and brushed a fingertip over her silky mons. “Otherwise, stay as independent as you wish.”
“As would you, I expect.”
His eyes widened for a fleeting second, the notion of curtailing his freedom unimaginable. But he’d not polished his skills in boudoirs around the world without acquiring the necessary gallantries. “Perhaps you can persuade me otherwise,” he amiably said.
“How urbane you are, Fitz.” She smiled. “But hardly believable.”
Not willing to expressly perjure himself, he smoothly replied, “I have something you can believe in; I’m ready to fuck you anytime, anywhere, any which way.”
“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.
Chapter 26
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.
He knew what the remedy was; he’d known almost from the first.
Put distance between himself and his craving.
Coming to his feet, he walked from the reading room, then from Brooks’s, and swiftly made his way home. There was no need to wait until tomorrow to set off for Scotland.
In short order, Fitz was dressed in country tweeds, and along with Darby was boarding a train to Aberdeen. He was in too deep, thinking of Mrs. St. Vincent too much, going to see her like some love-struck callow youth. He might be headstrong, but he refused to be foolhardy. Not over some woman.
He’d even had Stanley telegraph ahead to insure that his gamekeeper and beaters were in readiness on his arrival. He’d concentrate on grouse hunting and salmon fishing as he’d done every August. Before her, the voice inside his head pithily noted.
For a fleeting moment, Fitz had debated taking Clarissa north with him but quickly dismissed the thought. If he was alone with the volatile Clarissa in the isolation of his hunting lodge he’d go out of his mind. In any event, there were local women enough to entertain him-should he be interested. Which choice of phrase stopped him cold. Should he be interested?
Bloody hell, since when wasn’t he interested in fucking?
He was careful after that to make certain that he had distractions aplenty. He’d had Darby buy every magazine and paper at the station, and once on board, he immediately dispatched himself to the club car. As it turned out, several of his friends were traveling north for hunting, and thus he was able to divert himself enough that he managed to keep thoughts of Rosalind largely at bay.
When he stepped off the train in Aberdeen, he inhaled the cool air off the ocean, and sleepless during the long train ride, found himself looking forward to his bed. Not an immediate possibility with the lengthy drive to his lodge still before him, but in a little more than an hour he’d be snug in his hermitage.
AFTER THE THIRD day of waiting for Fitz to appear, Rosalind resigned herself to the fact that she’d been discarded like so many of his lovers. In that anxious time of expectation and dashed hopes, she’d experienced the full range of emotions: chagrin and humiliation, moping and discontent, even the occasional forlorn tear. But ultimately she’d come to the conclusion that rather than dwell on regret, she’d instead be grateful for the pleasure Fitz had given her, and get on with her life.
Never say she wasn’t of a practical bent.
In fact, she’d had a lifetime of challenging experiences to nurture that pragmatism.
She actually slept for the first time that night, reconciled to the realities of Fitz’s ephemeral passions and if not precisely content, at least no longer burdened with useless hope.
HAVING REACHED WHAT she felt was a reasonable assessment of her brief and pleasant liaison with Fitz, Rosalind was surprised at the hot wave of jealousy that swept over her when Clarissa walked into her shop two days later. Not that she knew her name; she knew only that the woman had been with Fitz at the Turner exhibit and had flaunted her intimacy with him as a lover would.
The pretty blonde was even more voluptuous at close range, Rosalind peevishly thought, her summer walking dress of rose pique displaying her considerable assets in the form-fitting style currently in fashion. Her breasts were impressive under the tailored bodice, as was her wasp waist and the swelling curve of her hips. She wore a wide-brimmed leghorn straw hat embellished with large cabbage roses and gracefully tipped to one side in order to display her magnificent ear drops of pink diamonds.
Her stylish appearance made Rosalind feel dowdy and graceless in her plain blue skirt and white blouse. She
might as well have had a sign on her forehead that proclaimed Shopkeeper, she sourly reflected.
Clarissa didn’t even bother to pretend she’d come in for a book. She made directly for Rosalind, recognizing her as the woman Fitz had followed out of the Turner exhibit. Coming to a stop before the counter, she placed her fingertips encased in fine white kidskin on the countertop, leaned forward slightly, and said with a distinct scowl, “Where’s Fitz? Tell me.”
Rosalind was taken aback at the sharpness of her tone and her startling demand.
“You needn’t look so surprised. I know you’re taking him to bed,” Clarissa tartly said. What she didn’t say was that her maid had spoken to a maid at Groveland House and she’d discovered that the bookstore lady from the Turner exhibit was regarded as Fitz’s latest paramour.
That she’d resisted the inclination to view her competition for so long had to do with her tiresome husband’s unexpected return to the city on business. She’d been obliged to play the dutiful wife-disgusting role-but he was gone once again and she very much deserved a reward. So she was here for a dual purpose: to see her rival and also find Fitz, the latter far outweighing petty curiosity.
“For heaven’s sake, speak up. Tell me where he is this instant.” After several days of Harold’s unrelenting tyranny, she needed some personal gratification, and who better than Fitz to deliver pleasure?
“I have no idea where he is,” Rosalind cooly replied, tamping down her temper with effort. Already feeling deprived with Fitz having decamped, Rosalind was accutely sensitive to the differences between herself and this intruder; the stark contrast between the chic aristocrat’s wealthy trappings and her relatively meager ones not only aggravated her but also put her out of humor. “You might want to check his home,” she sullenly said.
“I already have, you simpleton,” Clarissa snapped. “No one knows where he’s gone.” Julia had been away from home, not that she would have enlightened Clarissa in any event. As for the servants, they knew better than to divulge the whereabouts of the duke. “Do you expect him tonight? We both know he’s been sleeping with you.”
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