Gorgeous As Sin

“I haven’t felt this good since…” He shrugged.

“Since you last came? ”

He laughed. “Tart.”

“And glad of it.”

“Not as much as I, darling. Would you like to try a bed in another bedroom for variety? ”

“I thought you’d never ask…”

When morning came, they repeated the bland courtesies of the previous morning but without the argument this time. And after a delightful bath and an early breakfast, Fitz had them driven back into the city. They parted at Bruton Street Books with well-bred politesse. Both were careful not to speak of future meetings, but they were careful as well, not to rule them out.

It had been a night of memorable pleasure.

Chapter 20

GOOD MORNING, YOUR Grace.”

“Good morning, Mallory. Quite a nice day in the making out there,” Fitz cheerfully said as he entered Groveland House. “Bring me coffee in the study.” It was too early for his mother to be out of bed; he needn’t play host yet.

For a fraction of a second Mallory debated ruining the duke’s good mood, the staff protective of the young master-as they called him in private, the term of endearment impervious to the passage of time. The majordomo glanced at the envelope on a silver salver set on a table in the center of the entrance hall and understanding what was required of him, cleared his throat. “Mr. Hutchinson sent a message early this morning, Your Grace.” He moved to the table and picked up the envelope. “Hutchinson’s man said it was urgent.”

They’ve found something. His pulse rate quickening, Fitz took the envelope held out to him, ripped it open, and pulled out the card enough to read the single line: The search was productive. Glancing up, Fitz said, “Send some bacon and toast with the coffee. And tell the duchess when she wakes that my schedule will be uncertain today.” Shoving the note into his jacket pocket, he set off across the grand baroque entrance hall transported from Rome by some long-ago ancestor.

While not yet in full possession of the facts, but knowing that Edward St. Vincent had been involved in illegal activities, Fitz experienced a moment of triumph. Not that he’d seriously considered failure. With enough money, one could always find capable people willing to perform a service. The bromide The end justifies the means was a respected business practice for the industrialists, financiers, and wealthy landowners who ruled Britannia.

Fitz was no exception; he played the game his way with his rules. Within the law, of course. But then that’s why Hutchinson was on permanent retainer-to distinguish the legal nuances. Not that Fitz felt he’d stepped over the line in regard to Mrs. St. Vincent. She would be handsomely paid for her property. Very handsomely indeed.

As for his small niggling unease undermining a sense of total victory, he reminded himself that Rosalind would soon be a woman of no small wealth. Her life would be considerably altered for the better because of his purchase. She could even buy herself some new furniture, and if she didn’t, he would.

By the time he reached his study, he’d rationalized away all the disquieting issues having to do with pretense and evasion and dispatched the lot to perdition. Coffee arrived practically on his heels and in short order, he was enjoying the morning paper with his breakfast.

As he was reading the latest reports on the civil unrest in South Africa, Stanley appeared in the doorway. “I apologize for interrupting, Your Grace, but there’s a rather… delicate matter…”

“No need to apologize. Come in,” Fitz offered, immune to delicate matters after all the scandals in his past. He set aside the paper. “Would you like coffee? ”

“No thank you, Your Grace.”

“Sit down.” Fitz waved him to a chair. “What can I do for you? ”

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t bother you about the matter, Your Grace, since you instructed me to handle these, er, situations myself. But, the thing is,” Stanley went on, sitting on the edge of his chair, “Lady Buckley has been most persistent and… well, that is… I’m at a loss how to deal with her demands.”

Fitz grinned. “Can’t tell a peeress to go the hell, you mean.”

Stanley sighed. “I’m not sure even that would help. She doesn’t take no for an answer. Yesterday, she sent three notes, then dispatched her personal maid with a further message in which she threatened to descend on Groveland House herself if you didn’t reply. I had to make clear to her maid that you literally were not at home; I wasn’t simply respecting your privacy. Your mother didn’t even know where you’d gone, I said. Lady Buckley’s maid finally accepted my explanation.” He grimaced. “It was most disturbing.”

“I happened to speak to Lady Buckley last night at the Turner show at the National Gallery. I doubt she’ll bother you.”

The young man’s expression brightened. “Perfect, sir. Then I shan’t be deluged with her ultimatums today.”

Fitz half smiled. “I can’t fully guarantee that. I may have left Lady Buckley in a pet. But, look, my dear boy, should Clarissa come to the house, let her in. If I’m home, I’ll be happy to see her. And if I’m not, she’ll soon realize she’s wasting her time.”

Stanley pursed his mouth. “It’s just that ladies don’t as a rule call on gentlemen.”

“Clarissa rather overlooks the rules, I’m afraid. Just do your best.”

Stanley blew out a breath. “Very well, Your Grace.”

“And consider, Stanley, if you can handle Clarissa, it’s good training for the machinations of Parliament. After you’ve worked for me for a time, I’d be happy to sponsor you as an aide to any number of members I know. Mother said you had an interest in government.”

“Yes, sir. I do, sir. I’d be most grateful for your sponsorship,” the young man said with feeling, clearly overwhelmed by the prospect. “Thank you so much, Your Grace.”

“You’re perfectly welcome. God knows we could use some intelligent men in government. Do what you can about Clarissa. But I’m relatively indifferent to her tantrums so don’t anguish over the situation.”

“I shall do my very best, sir.”

“I’m sure you will.” Fitz smiled. “Is there anything more? ”

“No, no, Your Grace.” Stanley jumped up. “Thank you for your advice and consideration.”

“Anytime, Stanley. We’re quite informal at Groveland House, so if you ever have a question about anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Clarissa was going to be a problem, Fitz reflected as Stanley walked out. Not that he hadn’t anticipated as much even before taking her to Green Grove. She was spoiled, impetuous, self-centered, and demanding. But she was also a hot little piece, which partially offset her volatile personality. Still, poor Stanley would have his hands full. Fitz glanced at the time, decided he still had leisure to go through his mail, and coming to his feet, walked to his desk. Stanley had stacked everything in neat piles, private correspondence, business documents that required his signature, the daily papers, magazines. Fitz quickly scanned the several notes and invitations Stanley understood required his perusal, even more quickly flipped through the business documents, pushed the papers aside, and sifted through the new periodicals.

If the cover of Facts and Fantasy hadn’t prominently displayed the title The Duke’s Doxy in a bold red font, and if an image of a scantily clad female with a peach in her hand hadn’t appeared beneath the title, Fitz wouldn’t have pulled the magazine from the pile and studied the cover with a frown. A frown that deepened as he turned to page ten and began reading the salacious account.

He swore under his breath several times as he read, and once finished, he leaned back in his chair and swore some more. The characters were clearly recognizable at least to him. With luck, not to others. He wasn’t concerned with scandal so much as he was infuriated at the lurid level of detail. Bitch. She’d used him. That’s why she’d asked so many questions that night. It wasn’t naпvetй; it was a damned cross-examination!