brother was forced to clear his throat twice before Fitz looked up.
“I’m Pitt-Riverston,” Algernon said. “I came down to London to speak with you.”
Fitz regarded Rosalind’s brother with a shuttered gaze. “May I offer you a brandy? ” he said, and after a nod from Algernon, he waved him to a chair and raised his hand for a flunkey.
The men spoke of the weather and train travel until a servant brought a glass, poured Algernon a brandy, topped off Fitz’s glass, and left.
“Now, what can I do for you? ” Fitz softly asked, the man opposite him bearing no resemblance to Rosalind, looking very much like a country solicitor dressed in his best suit.
Algernon smiled. “I was thinking perhaps I could do something for you.”
“Persuade my sister to sell her little bookstore.”
Fitz’s brows rose faintly. “You have no loyalty to your sister? ”
“Rather, Your Grace, I consider family loyalty of greater import. Something, apparently, my sister fails to recognize. As you may know, my parents have little wealth, they’re elderly, and I thought I might make it clear to Rosalind that she is now in a position”-he smiled silkily-“because of your generous offer, to alleviate the burdens of poverty for my parents.”
“You are unable to do so? ” A cool, gentle query.
“Alas, my country practice doesn’t allow for such assistance. If only I could, of course, I’d be more than willing to relieve my parents’ need.”
“You think you might be successful in persuading your sister to change her mind?” Fitz’s bland query belied his watchful gaze.
“If not, there are other ways to deal with her, Your Grace. From time to time, I take care of small legal issues for Rosalind. I drafted her husband’s will, for instance, helped her with the death duties and such. She doesn’t always take notice of what she’s signing.”
“So you would be willing to circumvent your sister’s wishes? ” Fitz said with deliberate composure.
“Only for the good of my parents, sir,” Algernon suavely returned. “For no other reason. It’s not as though Rosalind would suffer unduly. Your agent made it clear that she’d be amply compensated for her property.”
“I see.” Fitz wondered what he might have done a week ago with such an offer. “Let me think about your proposal,” he said after a moment, setting his glass on the table beside his chair. “Leave me your direction. Where are you staying in London? ”
Algernon shook his head. “I’m taking the train home today.”
“Then I can find you in Yorkshire. In the meantime, let me offer you a small payment for your journey. Will five hundred do for now?” Fitz asked, taking money from his pocket. “My architect is redrawing my project, and once he’s finished, I’ll discuss this with you again. I appreciate your interest in helping your parents. Very commendable I’m sure.” Taking out a large bill, he handed it to Algernon. “The merest down payment, sir. We’ll be talking again in the near future. Now then, may I offer you a carriage for the ride to the station? ”
His lip was curled in a faint sneer as he watched Rosalind’s brother walk from the room.
Which was the dilemma of course.
Which was why he was sitting in the empty reading room at Brooks’s nursing a bottle of brandy, trying to deal with the chaos in his brain. Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to have happened. None of it. Not the obstinate Mrs. St. Vincent throwing a wrench into his plans, particularly not her insinuating herself into his life and raising havoc with what had been prior to their meeting a perfectly contented and orderly existence.
He knew what the remedy was; he’d known almost from the first.
Put distance between himself and his craving.
Coming to his feet, he walked from the reading room, then from Brooks’s, and swiftly made his way home. There was no need to wait until tomorrow to set off for Scotland.
In short order, Fitz was dressed in country tweeds, and along with Darby was boarding a train to Aberdeen. He was in too deep, thinking of Mrs. St. Vincent too much, going to see her like some love-struck callow youth. He might be headstrong, but he refused to be foolhardy. Not over some woman.
He’d even had Stanley telegraph ahead to insure that his gamekeeper and beaters were in readiness on his arrival. He’d concentrate on grouse hunting and salmon fishing as he’d done every August.
For a fleeting moment, Fitz had debated taking Clarissa north with him but quickly dismissed the thought. If he was alone with the volatile Clarissa in the isolation of his hunting lodge he’d go out of his mind. In any event, there were local women enough to entertain him-should he be interested. Which choice of phrase stopped him cold.
Bloody hell, since when wasn’t he interested in fucking?
He was careful after that to make certain that he had distractions aplenty. He’d had Darby buy every magazine and paper at the station, and once on board, he immediately dispatched himself to the club car. As it turned out, several of his friends were traveling north for hunting, and thus he was able to divert himself enough that he managed to keep thoughts of Rosalind largely at bay.
When he stepped off the train in Aberdeen, he inhaled the cool air off the ocean, and sleepless during the long train ride, found himself looking forward to his bed. Not an immediate possibility with the lengthy drive to his lodge still before him, but in a little more than an hour he’d be snug in his hermitage.
AFTER THE THIRD day of waiting for Fitz to appear, Rosalind resigned herself to the fact that she’d been discarded like so many of his lovers. In that anxious time of expectation and dashed hopes, she’d experienced the full range of emotions: chagrin and humiliation, moping and discontent, even the occasional forlorn tear. But ultimately she’d come to the conclusion that rather than dwell on regret, she’d instead be grateful for the pleasure Fitz had given her, and get on with her life.
Never say she wasn’t of a practical bent.
In fact, she’d had a lifetime of challenging experiences to nurture that pragmatism.
She actually slept for the first time that night, reconciled to the realities of Fitz’s ephemeral passions and if not precisely content, at least no longer burdened with useless hope.
HAVING REACHED WHAT she felt was a reasonable assessment of her brief and pleasant liaison with Fitz, Rosalind was surprised at the hot wave of jealousy that swept over her when Clarissa walked into her shop two days later. Not that she knew her name; she knew only that the woman had been with Fitz at the Turner exhibit and had flaunted her intimacy with him as a lover would.
The pretty blonde was even more voluptuous at close range, Rosalind peevishly thought, her summer walking dress of rose pique displaying her considerable assets in the form-fitting style currently in fashion. Her breasts were impressive under the tailored bodice, as was her wasp waist and the swelling curve of her hips. She wore a wide- brimmed leghorn straw hat embellished with large cabbage roses and gracefully tipped to one side in order to display her magnificent ear drops of pink diamonds.
Her stylish appearance made Rosalind feel dowdy and graceless in her plain blue skirt and white blouse. She might as well have had a sign on her forehead that proclaimed
Clarissa didn’t even bother to pretend she’d come in for a book. She made directly for Rosalind, recognizing her as the woman Fitz had followed out of the Turner exhibit. Coming to a stop before the counter, she placed her fingertips encased in fine white kidskin on the countertop, leaned forward slightly, and said with a distinct scowl, “Where’s Fitz? Tell me.”
Rosalind was taken aback at the sharpness of her tone
“You needn’t look so surprised. I know you’re taking him to bed,” Clarissa tartly said. What she didn’t say was that her maid had spoken to a maid at Groveland House and she’d discovered that the bookstore lady from the Turner exhibit was regarded as Fitz’s latest paramour.
That she’d resisted the inclination to view her competition for so long had to do with her tiresome husband’s unexpected return to the city on business. She’d been obliged to play the dutiful wife-disgusting role-but he was
