Gorgeous As Sin

Clarissa’s ripe cunt.

She squealed at his sudden, rough entry, but he didn’t hear or didn’t care and swiftly pounded his way to orgasm, jerked out, and came on her back.

“My goodness, darling,” she murmured, turning to look at him over her shoulder, her little maid’s cap all eschew. “That was rather violent.”

“I was tired of waiting.” He didn’t say he was sorry because he wasn’t, nor was he likely to explain the turmoil in his brain. “Now, get up on the bed, you hot little jade, and lift up your legs. I’m going to drink some champagne out of your pussy.”

Nothing helped though. No matter how many times he came, he couldn’t forget Mrs. St. Vincent or more to the point, the incredible sex.

It wasn’t like this. This was normal sex, sex without emotion. Orgasmic sex that never came within calling distance of fervent feeling.

Fuck-as if he was looking for that.

HOURS LATER, THEY lay sweaty and exhausted in the shambles of the bed, Clarissa’s head on Fitz’s shoulder, his arm around her.

“Are you going to Margo’s country house party next week? ”

“God no. Margo’s a bore.”

“Oh pooh. Then I don’t want to go.”

“I heard that Roddy will be there. He’s back on business. Without his family. I’m sure he’ll be happy to entertain you.”

Clarissa sighed. “Sometimes I think I should have married Roddy even if he didn’t have much money. He has a lovely tea plantation in India now and tons of servants, and everyone says the climate isn’t so ghastly in the highlands.”

“Seriously, darling, would you be happy on a tea plantation? ”

She ran her fingertip down Fitz’s taut stomach. “I think I could be.”

“You’d be miles away from everyone, with no society to speak of… except for retired military men and government clerks.” He gently stroked her back. “And you’d be poor. Why not just roger Roddy on his visits home and enjoy Buckley’s wealth.”

She sighed again. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I wouldn’t mind being poor-except that my family depends on me of course.” Another sigh. “Have you ever been in love, Fitz? I mean really in love? ”

“Nope.”

“Does it bother you that you haven’t been? ”

When in the past he wouldn’t have hesitated a second, he found that the lovely Mrs. St. Vincent had somehow leaped into his mind. But he quickly brushed the image aside and said, “It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“That’s because you’re a man. Men don’t fall in love like women do.”

“Should I send you some pearls or diamonds, or maybe those new opals from Australia? ” he interposed, intent on changing the subject.

“Black pearls,” Clarissa instantly replied. “Nicer ones than Margo’s.”

“You pick them out. I’ll let Montgomery know you’re coming in.”

His generosity elicited numerous kisses, which led to other things, and it was another hour before Fitz left Clarissa’s bed-and house.

It was all well and good, he thought, spending the day in bed playing make-believe and coming so many times he was drained dry.

What wasn’t so fine, he decided, as he strolled away from Lord Buckley’s new mansion on Park Lane, was that he’d no more than walked out of Clarissa’s boudoir, than he was thinking of Rosalind-again, no matter her guile and artifice.

Fuck.

So much for sex as a blot to memory.

Apparently, it was not a permanent modifier.

What now?

Drink, cards, another woman?

As if in answer, the pungent odor of sex suddenly wafted upward and struck his nostrils.

He grimaced.

Home first, to bathe and change.

Chapter 22

WHILE FITZ WAS entertaining himself or Clarissa or both or maybe at the core, neither, Rosalind was shocked by a visit from a doctor.

She wasn’t certain whether the woman had waited until the store was deserted or she’d only just walked in. Rosalind had been too busy stocking shelves to notice. But when Dr. Swindell approached her, introduced herself, and explained the reason for her visit, Rosalind turned bright red. “You must be mistaken,” she croaked, setting down the books she held. “Are you sure you have the correct address? ”

“Forgive me,” the slender, middle-aged woman gently replied, familiar with women who were too embarrassed to admit they needed her help. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t expected. I was asked to call on you.”

“By whom? ”

“A Mr. Hutchinson. He’s a barrister who lives in my neighborhood.”

Rosalind bristled at the name, momentarily recalling her first meeting with Groveland’s hireling. “Why would he think I need a doctor? ”

“Mr. Hutchinson didn’t say. Although his note gave the impression that a client of his had asked me to call on you. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” Since many women found it difficult to talk about female complaints, Dr. Swindell added, “Might you require medical help of some kind? I specialize in female disorders and naturally, I’m most discreet.”

Finally recognizing the common denominator at the mention of female disorders, Rosalind was about to point- blank dismiss the doctor Fitz had hired when she more sensibly realized that she might benefit from the visit. There was no question she’d been in discomfort that first morning after sex with Fitz; she was also ignorant of the long- term consequences of excessive sexual activity. Perhaps it would be wise to take advantage of the doctor’s expertise. Rosalind glanced around the store, in the event a customer had walked in.

“I waited until everyone left,” the doctor noted, conscious of Rosalind’s anxious survey of the shop. “And might I add, I have no interest in moral issues when it comes to health care.” She’d been told that Mrs. St. Vincent was a widow; she’d also assumed from Hutchinson’s letter that some man was paying the charges. “We live in a new modern era after all. The culture is changing rapidly, social conventions are in flux.” She smiled. “Even female doctors are no longer looked upon as curiosities or misfits.”

No matter how delicately put, Rosalind understood the message. There were those who would construe her behavior with Groveland as improper. “Thank you for your understanding. However,” Rosalind went on with a faint grimace, “you can understand my reluctance to disclose, er, details of a personal nature.”

“If it’s any consolation, your sense of modesty is common. I see it every day in my practice. But please be frank. I’m sure I can help remedy whatever is troubling you.”

Rosalind hesitated. “The fact is,” she began, then blew out a small breath, embarrassed to be talking to a stranger about such private matters.

“Please, go on,” Dr. Swindell prompted, cool and unruffled.

“Well…you see, lately”-another small sustaining breath-“after having been long celibate, I’ve engaged in rather a good deal of intercourse. As a result, I experienced a decided tenderness-much improved now,” she quickly added.

“Yours is a very ordinary complaint, my dear. Women who haven’t previously engaged in sexual relations or those who have become active again after a long hiatus often feel as you do. If I could examine you, however, I