Gorgeous As Sin

dressed lady’s possible relationship to Groveland. Which, inevitably, turned her thoughts to Groveland himself-and more pertinently resurrected heated memories from last night. Titillating, sensual memories that provoked a fierce, explosive rush of pleasure into every impressionable nerve ending in her body. Even those still somewhat tender.

Instantly repressing her wayward senses, she sternly reminded herself that she was not lost to all reason. Especially now that Groveland is out of reach, a little voice inside her head drolly noted. And if you really don’t care, the pesky little voice went on, don’t listen to what Lady Tweedsdale is saying now.

“Groveland has tired of Clarissa, I hear. She was quite left in the lurch,” Lady Tweedsdale colorfully noted. “Margaret had all the tiresome details from Clarissa, who is quite resolved to cut your son cold next she sees him.”

“If only Fitz cared,” Julia sardonically returned.

But Rosalind didn’t notice her reply with the words your son ringing in her ears and her body responding like a tuning fork to the mere mention of the notorious rogue. Half-breathless with a tremor of longing shimmering deep inside her, she wondered if it was possible to become addicted to sex overnight. Or had Groveland woven some spell over her?

She knew the answer even as she asked the question.

Anyone even remotely familiar with the scandal sheets knew what he was and where his skills lay. It wasn’t addiction she was feeling so much as craving the pleasures Groveland so casually dispensed- casual, unfortunately, the operative word. The reason as well that she would firmly and emphatically curb her desires.

Thank God, Lady Tweedsdale was coming her way. Salvation.

In a very few minutes, she could dispatch Groveland’s spies and with them her dangerous and shameless cravings.

“I wish to order more of Lady Oliphant’s work,” Lady Tweedsdale briskly pronounced. “As quickly as you may,” she imperiously added. “How soon may I expect them?” She always spoke to Rosalind in her lady-of-the-manor voice, making it clear who was inferior to whom.

“If I order them today, I should have them tomorrow.” If she took issue with every customer who treated her like a servant, she’d not sell many books.

“Send them round the moment they arrive.” With a dismissive nod, Lady Tweedsdale turned away, called out good-bys to Julia and Sarah, and exited the store.

Now was her opportunity to send the women away, Rosalind resolved. With their departure, she could dismiss Groveland from her thoughts and return to the safety and orderliness of her life. Walking toward the two women with a determined tread, she rehearsed her presentation. She must be firm and resolute in telling them that she wouldn’t allow herself to become the object of Groveland’s harassment and insist that they leave.

Before she could speak, however, Julia looked up as she approached and pleasantly asked, “Would you happen to have any books on Turkey?”

Her smile was familiar, the cadence of her voice echoing her son’s, and suddenly Rosalind’s thoughts were in tumult-vacillating between fascination and affront, interest and umbrage as various replies raced through her mind.

But she finally said, “You don’t actually want a book on Turkey, do you?” because, ultimately, she saw no advantage in befriending Groveland’s mother. Not when Groveland had infuriated her in numerous ways-most prominently by seducing her purely for personal gain.

“But I do if that’s all right with you,” Julia calmly replied, thinking this young lady must have led Fitz on a merry chase last night. She was different from his usual inamoratas who fawned and flattered him. She had an edge.

“I doubt I’d have anything you’re interested in,” Rosalind said, thin-skinned and peevish.

Julia smiled. “I see why Fitz has had such difficulty negotiating with you.”

“Then you’ll also understand why I’m not interested in any further conversation. He’s already sent over a dozen people with offers, all of which I’ve refused.”

“I don’t want your store,” Julia said bluntly.

“Allow me to be skeptical. You’re here because your son sent you.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here, and,” Julia added with a smile as charming as her son’s, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him. He doesn’t like when I meddle in his affairs.”

“Rest assured, I won’t be telling him,” Rosalind testily replied, “because I won’t be seeing him again.”

“You’re angry with Fitz.”

“A mild word for what I’m feeling,” Rosalind cooly retorted.

“If it’s any consolation,” Julia offered, not sure why she was confiding in this woman but heeding her motherly instincts, “Fitz drank his breakfast today-I’m assuming because of you.”

“He’s just displeased because I turned down another of his offers. But then, I’m not silly enough to be blinded by his amorous charms.” There was no point in beating around the bush. They both knew where he’d spent the night, and living as she did outside the beau monde, she didn’t have to worry over much about its censure. Not that Groveland’s lady loves endured condemnation by the fashionable world. According to the gossip sheets, they were, in fact, envied.

“I see you’re a woman of principle. Quite uncommon, my dear, as you no doubt know,” Julia observed. “Over and above Fitz’s business, though, I really would like some books on Turkey. I have a friend who would enjoy them. And rest assured, I have no ulterior motive for coming here other than wanting to see the woman who has put my son out of sorts. He’s normally quite indifferent to the women in his life, so you understand my curiosity.”

Rosalind was momentarily taken aback by such candor. The dowager duchess certainly couldn’t be accused of prevarication. Quickly deciding that refusing such a civil request would give her the appearance of a petulant child, she said, “This way if you please,” as if their conversation had never occurred. “I have a very nice section on Turkey.”

As she guided the women to the back of the store, the duchess’s remark about Fitz drinking his breakfast looped through her brain.

And warmed her heart when it shouldn’t.

She cautioned herself not to interpret so innocuous a comment as anything more than it was-a simple statement of fact.

She also warned herself against feeling anything at all for a disreputable rogue who did little but play at love. She would only be hurt.

There. Reason had come to the fore.

Moments later, as the duchess began perusing books, Rosalind realized she was being offered an excellent opportunity to send back Fitz’s jewelry. She’d already wrapped it, intending to have it delivered to Groveland House. But how much better to entrust the expensive items to his mother.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” she murmured as the duchess leafed through a book, “I have something I’d like you to bring back to the duke.”

Julia looked up and without so much as a scintilla of query in her gaze, said, “Certainly, my dear. I’d be delighted.”

At least two of them would be delighted, Rosalind decided, as she made her way upstairs. She wasn’t so sure about Groveland.

Taking the stairs with considerably more speed than she’d descended them that morning, she was pleased to no longer be wincing in pain. She felt almost normal again, and once she’d disposed of Fitz’s jewelry, she’d feel even better. Both the gift and the casualness with which it had been bestowed offended her.

She disliked being bought and paid for.

She disliked even more being classified as simply another of Groveland’s apparently numberless lady loves.

Returning downstairs a few minutes later with the small parcel, she set it on the counter and waited for the duchess and her companion to select their books.

“I will see that Fitz gets this,” the duchess said, picking up the silk-wrapped bundle when they were ready to leave. “And thank you for your help with the books. My friend will be delighted.”