Gorgeous As Sin

gone once again and she very much deserved a reward. So she was here for a dual purpose: to see her rival and also find Fitz, the latter far outweighing petty curiosity.

“For heaven’s sake, speak up. Tell me where he is this instant.” After several days of Harold’s unrelenting tyranny, she needed some personal gratification, and who better than Fitz to deliver pleasure?

“I have no idea where he is,” Rosalind cooly replied, tamping down her temper with effort. Already feeling deprived with Fitz having decamped, Rosalind was accutely sensitive to the differences between herself and this intruder; the stark contrast between the chic aristocrat’s wealthy trappings and her relatively meager ones not only aggravated her but also put her out of humor. “You might want to check his home,” she sullenly said.

“I already have, you simpleton,” Clarissa snapped. “No one knows where he’s gone.” Julia had been away from home, not that she would have enlightened Clarissa in any event. As for the servants, they knew better than to divulge the whereabouts of the duke. “Do you expect him tonight? We both know he’s been sleeping with you.”

Rosalind nervously glanced around, the woman’s voice having risen in volume. “I haven’t seen him for days,” she quickly replied, needing to rid herself of this dangerous interrogator before a customer took notice. This was not the time for false modesty since the woman knew Fitz had been with her. “I have no idea of his whereabouts and I doubt I’ll see him again.”

“Is that so?” Clarissa’s smile was gloating. “I suppose he tired of your common ways,” she snidely declared, surveying Rosalind with a contemptuous glance. “Dear Fitz has such a droll sense of adventure, not to mention a libertine’s indiscretion. He allays his boredom with women like you,” she said with pointed rudeness. “I hope you didn’t get your hopes up.”

Rosalind swallowed her heated retort. She dared not antagonize this woman, the risk too great with customers near. “I believe you’re right. Ultimately, he was bored.” She even went so far as to look down in feigned mortification.

“I do believe you’re toying with me, you little trollop,” Clarissa murmured. “If you’re not telling me the truth about Fitz’s whereabouts, I’ll make a scene, you little bitch.” Her smile was chill. “Consider your reply carefully, Mrs. St. Vincent. I care nothing for your reputation.”

Having been unmasked as an actress, Rosalind was momentarily at a loss. She wished to ask, How do you know my name? But more important, she needed this woman gone. “As you apparently know, the duke visited on occasion, but I assure you, he left several days ago without mentioning his plans. I have no idea where he is. And that’s the truth.”

Clarissa stared at her, her gaze coldly appraising.

Rosalind turned red under the scrutiny. “If it matters,” she said, “I have no illusions about my position in the duke’s life. We are the merest acquaintances.” There, that was the best she could do other than pray for deliverance.

“Hmm…” Clarissa weighed Rosalind’s words for a moment. With deceit so prevalent in her life, she recognized dishonesty better than most. “You’re right, of course,” she finally said. “It’s best you have no illusions about Fitz. He’s quite out of reach for someone like you.” Then without another word, she turned and swept from the store.

Only after Clarissa’s carriage pulled away from the curb did Rosalind allow herself a sigh of relief. Disaster had been averted.

And whomever her fashionable visitor had been, the lady wasn’t likely to return-rather like Fitz, Rosalind ruefully decided.

NOR DID SHE see him in the following week, her life reverting once again to a familiar routine.

Sofia stopped by to visit, and Rosalind’s Saturday night lecture was a smashing success thanks to the strong interest in new job opportunities for females of the laboring class. The lecture offered definitive information on the skills required, suggested various scholarships that were available for training programs, and explained how to apply not only for them but also for college scholarships at schools receptive to women. The enthusiasm of her audience was heartwarming. Rosalind felt as though she was making a small difference in the lives of the working poor.

Her sense of satisfaction was partially mitigated by the lingering sense of loss over Fitz. But she wasn’t so foolish as to expect to see him again. She knew better; it would just take time to forget him.

And so Sofia reminded her. Since she was the quintessential person to give advice about leaving lovers behind, Rosalind couldn’t discount her counsel. But after the Saturday night lecture, when Sofia suggested, “Let me have Arthur bring along a friend tomorrow. We’ll go on a picnic,” Rosalind shook her head.

“I wouldn’t be very good company.”

Sprawled on the sofa as usual, Sofia studied Rosalind for a moment “How long has it been? ” There was no need to elaborate.

“Slightly more than a week-ten days actually.”

“You know, darling, he’s not apt to come back. It’s just his way,” her friend added, looking at Rosalind over her wineglass. “He’s a selfish man.”

“I know.” Rosalind smiled faintly. “I’m fine-really. I don’t talk about him with anyone but you. And I’m getting better.”

“You are. I saw you laugh tonight-more than once.”

“The crowd was wonderful, wasn’t it-so engaged and interested, asking questions for such a long time. I think we might have helped those three young women apply for college, too.”

“Indeed we did,” Sofia said with a grin. “You have become our local benefactor, Mrs. St. Vincent of Bruton Street Books.”

Rosalind grimaced. “That reminds me-the word benefactor,” she explained. “My brother sent me another carping letter, reminding me that it was my duty to be the benevolent hand of charity for my family.”

“What he really means is for him,” Sofia grunted out, having met Rosalind’s brother.

“Exactly. In fact, Mother has written to say both she and Father are quite content with whatever I decide. They are in no need of money.” Rosalind smiled. “Which is very sweet of Mother, who has been stretching Father’s meager income for years.”

“Then your brother can go to hell,” Sofia brusquely said, up-to-date on the state of Algernon’s coercive measures.

“I said as much to him in my last letter, although perhaps more diplomatically.”

“I’m not so sure diplomacy works with him. You might have to be blunt or he’ll never give up. He wants that money.”

“Well, he’s not getting it.”

“Nor is Groveland it seems,” Sofia pointed out with a lift of her brows. “He’s not sent over any agents lately, has he? ”

“No. I think he understands my position. I was very plain about my feelings on several occasions.”

“So at least something good came from your friendship. He has ceased making demands.”

“Yes, apparently.” He’s ceased making demands of any kind, unfortunately. “Naturally, I appreciate his kindness and consideration,” Rosalind said, complimenting herself for her maturity and practicality. As if you have a choice, the unhelpful voice inside her head pointed out.

Chapter 27

NOT MORE THAN five hours later, in the dead of night, Rosalind came awake to the sounds of an ax breaking down her door and in due time, learned to her disgust and chagrin that the Duke of Groveland was not in the least kind and considerate.

She barely had time to throw on a dressing robe before her bedchamber was invaded and she was read her arrest warrant by a beefy constable who clearly took pleasure in citing each of the obscenity laws she was accused of violating. It was also plain that he found a woman who wrote erotica repugnant, for he’d look up from time to time as he laboriously read the legal citation and glare at her with contempt.