Gorgeous As Sin

by Susan Johnson

  Apparently not-at least to this point, she huffily reflected, entering her store to find an unknown man behind the counter and the shop bustling with customers.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. St. Vincent,” Stanley courteously said in greeting. “Did you enjoy your holiday in the country? ”

  Biting down her anger, she answered with equal politesse. “Indeed I did. Thank you for taking over in my absence.”

  “My pleasure, Mrs. St. Vincent. Miss Eastleigh is upstairs waiting for you.”

  Did nothing fall outside Groveland’s purview, she indignantly brooded as she walked through the store. Next thing she knew, her parents would be coming to visit. Or some long lost childhood friend. Damn his interference!

  As she walked into her parlor a few moments later, Sofia jumped to her feet. “Thank God you’re back. Was it gruesome? ”

  “Yes, it was. Who’s that man downstairs? ”

  “Groveland’s secretary. There’re other servants in the back of the store.”

  “Who summoned you? ”

  “I didn’t ask his name. A solicitor I’d guess from his appearance and manner. Come sit down. You must be exhausted. He said you’d been arrested.”

  “I’m fine now,” Rosalind said, dropping into a chair, profoundly grateful to be home. “Have you been here long? ”

  “Since morning.”

  Rosalind held Sofia’s gaze. “Who else knows? ”

  “No one. Workmen were repairing the door when I arrived at seven, the shop was filled with Groveland’s flunkeys, and the solicitor who brought me here in his carriage explained I alone had been summoned since we were close friends.”

  “Christ. Is there anything they don’t know? ”

  “It doesn’t seem so. A chef and his helpers brought over food and wine and stocked your larder; some maidservants straightened up the apartment, changed the linens, and took the soiled things away.”

  “Damn him,” Rosalind muttered.

  “For what precisely if you don’t mind my asking? ”

  “I was arrested because of him. Because of my store, I suspect, although we weren’t precisely on good enough speaking terms for me to ask for details. The police took all Edward’s manuscripts from the armoire as well as mine from my desk drawer and no one knew of their location.”

  “Except Groveland.”

  “Yes, except him.”

  “Because he snooped in your bedroom.”

  Rosalind scowled. “He’s utterly ruthless when he wants something.”

  “Now what? ”

  Her expression lightened. “Now I keep my store for certain. He won’t dare press me after what he did to me.”

  “How do you know you’re safe if he’s as ruthless as you say? ”

  “He tried to apologize-at least at first,” Rosalind explained.

  “He did? Hardly his style.” Sofia had been in company with Groveland at enough art events to be aware of his patrician air of command. Not that he was arrogant; rather, he was unaware of dissent since his wishes were largely unchallenged. Or perhaps always unchallenged.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Rosalind said with a shrug. “Maybe he’ll change his mind. Not that I care a whit. I had no intention of selling before, and after my recent experience in jail, I certainly won’t now.” She pushed herself out of the comfortable chair, suddenly feeling weary to the bone. “I need a bath and some sleep. I didn’t dare sit down all night. The place was squalid.”

  “I’ll make you tea and a plate of some of Groveland’s chef’s delicacies.”

  “If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d spurn his food, but I haven’t eaten for a very long time.”

  “Go, take your bath. I’ll stay with you tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Rosalind offered her friend a grateful smile. “I’m exhausted.”

  After Rosalind bathed, Sofia served her dinner in bed and listened to her postmortem of the frightening events. “He’s exactly what I thought he was from the first: a selfish, uncompromising tyrant who simply wants what he wants without regard for anyone else,” she bitterly finished. “I shouldn’t have been foolish enough to have been taken in by his charm.”

  “At the risk of resorting to a platitude, all’s well that ends well. You’re free, you have your store,” Sofia pointed out, not for the first time. In the interval before she fell into an exhausted sleep, Rosalind gave voice to the full tumult of her feelings, as if the horrific hours she’d recently survived required exorcizing. And more than once, she raged at Fitz for his role in her vile confinement. Then, as if her psyche was completely without judgment, after she dozed off, she dreamt of him.

  Resting in a chair by the bed, Sofia heard Rosalind murmur Fitz’s name in her sleep, with fondness and yearning. Not that her wistful longings were likely to prosper, Sofia decided, knowing Groveland’s reputation for serial dalliance. But at least there was a possibility that Rosalind would no longer have to defend her store from his covetous ambitions. With luck, Sofia reflected. She wasn’t entirely sure Groveland would give up so easily.

  Chapter 29

  FITZ SHOULD HAVE slept that night. Particularly since he’d slept little since leaving London-what was supposed to have been a holiday in Scotland having turned into a period of sleeplessness and drink. He’d hunted very little, indifferent to the sport for the first time in his life. Indifferent to everything for the first time in his life.

  And the feeling apparently followed him to London.

  Fuck.

  Another problem-that had nothing to do with profanity. He found himself uninterested in sex unless Rosalind was involved, that disinterest not only disturbing to his bachelor spirit but also leaving him with considerable free time on his hands. He’d picked up the telephone to call Clarissa at least a dozen times that evening because fucking her was a mindless amusement and he could use both at the moment. But each time he’d stopped just short of making the call and poured himself another drink instead.

  Christ, he hadn’t been sober since leaving London.

  Nor did he break the cycle in the next few hours.

  It was nearly two when he walked into Stanley’s bedroom and woke him. “I was wondering how your day at the bookstore went,” he said to the startled young man he’d shaken awake. “Sorry,” he said with a smile, “I can’t sleep.” As Stanley scrambled out of bed and pulled on his robe, Fitz sat down, took another drink from the bottle he’d brought with him, crossed his legs, and looked as though he was settling in for a lengthy conversation.

  “Well, sir,” Stanley mumbled, racking his brain for some pertinent facts with which to regale his master, who apparently hadn’t slept since he was still dressed, albeit casually sans jacket and tie. “There was a steady stream of customers throughout the day, starting very early in the-”

  “What did she look like when she walked in? Did she seem angry? Exhausted, I suppose. What did she say to you? ”

  Understanding the reason for this late night visit, Stanley took a chair across from Fitz. “Mrs. St. Vincent was very courteous, Your Grace. She asked no questions but replied to my greeting most graciously. She went directly upstairs when I told her Miss Eastleigh was waiting for her.”

  “She didn’t seem angry? ”

  “No, sir, not at all.”

  “I thought I heard you up,” Julia cheerfully noted as she walked into the room.

  “You have excellent hearing, Mother,” Fitz drawled, his mother’s apartments well away from Stanley’s room.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she pleasantly said, smoothly lying. Fitz had been closemouthed and drinking heavily when she’d come home from her evening’s entertainment; she was concerned enough to check on him. “Is Stanley going to help at the bookshop again tomorrow? ”

  Fitz gave her a sardonic look as she stood in the doorway. “Do you know everything? ”

  “Really, darling, as if the servants don’t talk. I hope Mrs. St. Vincent is none the worse for her unfortunate arrest.” She could have been asking after Rosalind
’s bridge score so bland was her query.

  “She’s fine,” Fitz brusquely replied.

  “She looked quite well, Your Grace,” Stanley politely interposed, trying to appear undisturbed by his employers’ presence at two in the morning. “Her friend Miss Eastleigh said she fell asleep early.”

  “Excellent. I expect she was exhausted after her ordeal.”

  “Yes, apparently.”

  The dowager duchess smiled at her son. “You should do something nice for her, dear.”

  “I shall, Mother.”

  “But not jewelry, darling. She’s not like the others, as you’ve already discovered.”

  He could have asked, What would you suggest? since he had no clue, but the last thing he wished to do at the moment was discuss his love life with his mother. “I’ll think of something,” he crisply said.

  A small silence fell.

  “I have some business to discuss with Stanley, Mother, if you don’t mind,” Fitz murmured, raising the bottle to his mouth and drinking a large draught.

  A faint frown creased Julia’s brow. “You’ve been drinking a good deal, darling.”

  “I’ll stop tomorrow,” he suavely said.

  She pursed her lips at his facile and obvious mendacity. “Very well, darling.” She nodded at Stanley. “Call for Darby if you need help getting him back to bed. I’ll see you at breakfast, dear.”

  Once his mother was gone, Fitz peppered Stanley with further questions about Rosalind, the store, Sofia-well aware that he was obsessed yet unable to quell the formless turmoil in his mind. And drinking obviously wasn’t the answer, if there even was an answer after his heated encounter with Rosalind in the carriage.

  “I forgot to mention, sir, two of the footmen watered Mrs. St. Vincent’s garden in the back. They said it was suffering from the heat.”

  A full-blown green and flowering prospect appeared in Fitz’s mind, the closest thing to an epiphany he’d ever experienced. The weight of the world suddenly lifted from his shoulders. In preparation for bringing this newly revealed truth to fruition, Fitz set the liquor bottle on the floor, turned to Stanley, and smiled.

  “What do you know about roses? ”

  “Very little, sir. That was my mother’s domain, along with the gardener, of course.”

  “I need all the information you can find on rose gardens. First thing tomorrow. I’ll talk to our gardeners as well. The roses out back seem to be flourishing. Those are roses, right-in those beds around the fountain? ”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Excellent. I’ll let you get some rest now,” Fitz said, coming to his feet, a plan quickly forming in his mind. “Thank you for your time.”

  “You’re very welcome, Your Grace.”

  “You’ll check on those roses first thing tomorrow?” he asked, moving toward the door.

  “Immediately, sir.”

  “Perfect. You’re a very accomplished young man, Stanley.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Fitz swung back as he reached the doorway. “I need a sizeable number of roses. Did I say that? ”

  “No, sir. How many would you like? ”

  “Enough to fill a small yard. I’m not exactly sure; I’ll see that you get the dimensions.”

  Fitz strolled away, smiling, his spirits much improved. He rather thought he’d found something other than jewelry to warm the lady’s heart.

  Chapter 30

  FITZ BUSIED HIMSELF writing two notes on his return to his apartments. The first he addressed to Sofia. He explained he needed her help, described briefly what he had in mind, and enclosed several large bills as a token of his appreciation. Next, he wrote to his architect a rather lengthier message, detailing some changes he required in the development plans for Monckton Row. He sealed both letters, set them on his desk for morning delivery, promptly went to bed, and slept like the proverbial baby.

  He woke up at nine thoroughly refreshed, arranged for his messages to be delivered, quickly bathed and dressed, and arrived in the breakfast room well before his mother. In fact, he’d read most of the Times and was on his second helping from the array of food on the sideboard when Julia walked in, Pansy trotting at her heels.

  Fitz looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Mother. I need some advice on roses.”

  “Certainly, dear. What would you like to know?” He wasn’t drinking, he looked rested, he was dressed, and from the remains of food before him, he’d actually eaten something for breakfast. All clearly excellent signs.

  “Have you ever had an epiphany? ”

  “Don’t say you’ve turned religious,” his mother responded, wondering if his present repudiation of drink had to do with some strange religious experience.

  “No, Mother. Nothing so radical. An idea came to me last night completely without warning. A very good idea, I believe.” He smiled. “Something for Rosalind other than jewels you’ll be happy to know.”

  Julia’s smile was sunshine bright. “I am indeed, although I knew you’d think of something, darling. She’s a most delightful young woman. Unlike so many others you’ve amused yourself with,” she added, sitting down at the table and nodding to have her coffee cup filled by a servant who stood by. “Not that a young man shouldn’t take his pleasures, but I must admit, I’d hoped your heart wasn’t involved with all the frivolous ladies of your acquaintance.”

  “Are you disparaging your own kind?” Fitz drolly inquired.

  “I beg your pardon? I do believe I take an interest in things other than fashion and gossip. My racing stud is as good as yours, and if I didn’t help support our local politicians, you would have to pay for all those elections on your own. Not to mention, my charities are well funded and well run.”

  “I was only teasing, Mother. You’re not frivolous in the least.”

  “I should hope not. I forgot to mention my support of the suffrage movement. A cause by the way that Mrs. St. Vincent is actively involved in I understand.”

  Fitz looked up from his kippers. “Who told you that? ”

  “I forget,” Julia airily replied, dropping two sugar lumps into her cup. “Now what’s this about roses?” she queried, not wishing to continue a conversation about her monitoring Fitz’s activities.

  Understanding he was more or less defenseless against his mother’s meddling, he decided he might as well put it to good use. “Recently, Rosalind saw a lovely rose garden and was lamenting about the state of her roses, which are a disaster even to my unpracticed eye. Things look rather brown and wilted-no doubt the hot weather is somewhat to blame. But, regardless,” Fitz went on, leaning back in his chair, “I thought I’d surprise her with a rose garden-something green and lush and blooming. Bring her faded garden to life as it were and in the process, hopefully put myself back into her good graces.”

  “How clever you are.”

  His lashes lowered faintly. “We’ll see. She may not like it.”

  “Of course she will. What woman doesn’t like roses? Not one,” Julia briskly said, answering her own question. “Now is this a surprise? It must be of course.” She smiled. “Women love affectionate surprises as you no doubt know.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Fitz murmured, smiling back. “I’ve already asked her friend, Miss Eastleigh, to lure her away from her apartment this evening in order to give us time to plant the garden.”

  “Capital! This will be such fun, darling. I’ll ring up the gardener immediately and begin making plans.”

  “Stanley is doing some research on roses as well, so stop and see him on your way out. I’ll see to the setting up of lights for the workmen. We won’t have much time. Three hours at the most.”

  “Matheson will arrange for the men. And, darling, you can’t imagine how many new roses have come on the market lately. Every woman I know has added scads of roses to her garden. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your rose garden is rather nice out back.”

  “I have,” he politely lied. “Thank you, your taste is excellent.”
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  “A word of warning, darling; some women have what they call friendship gardens-you know, plants that are mementos of family and friends. So make sure nothing is pulled up that might have that look.”

  His brow furrowed. “That look? How do you recognize it? ”

  “Oh, dear, if I didn’t have a diplomatic dinner to attend with Kemal tonight, I’d come and oversee the project. Never fear,” she crisply added, “I shall warn Matheson. He’s very good, you know.” An understatement for the man who managed all the lavish gardens on Fitz’s estates. “Don’t worry about a thing, darling. You will have your garden.”

  HIS MOTHER’S ASSURANCE wasn’t sufficient to persuade Fitz that his gesture would produce the requisite results. Nor could he fault Rosalind for being angry with him. He had played a rather major role in her imprisonment; that it had all been a misguided blunder did not excuse him.

  He was gratified to receive a reply from Sofia shortly after noon, promising to carry out his wishes. He went out to talk to Matheson after that, only to find that the head gardener and his mother were out shopping for roses. But in answer to his questions, another of the gardeners took him around the garden and pointed out a great variety of roses in every imaginable color. And none were in the least wilted, Fitz was pleased to see. Which meant he could indeed deliver on the little patch of Paradise he’d been picturing in his mind. Not that a few little trifles of jewelry might not be advisable. An added token of his affection just in case.

  Which thought brought him to a standstill on the steps of the terrace, the essential question: exactly how much affection was involved in this effort of his? That decisive calculation was not yet completely resolved in his mind. He knew he wanted Rosalind more than he’d ever wanted anything, but for how long? he asked himself, not unaware of his past record with women. He must decide before he saw her again. This time, with this woman, he daren’t make a mistake he’d live to regret.