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
“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
“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
