Gorgeous As Sin

night. The place was squalid.”

“I’ll make you tea and a plate of some of Groveland’s chef’s delicacies.”

“If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d spurn his food, but I haven’t eaten for a very long time.”

“Go, take your bath. I’ll stay with you tonight.”

“Thank you.” Rosalind offered her friend a grateful smile. “I’m exhausted.”

After Rosalind bathed, Sofia served her dinner in bed and listened to her postmortem of the frightening events. “He’s exactly what I thought he was from the first: a selfish, uncompromising tyrant who simply wants what he wants without regard for anyone else,” she bitterly finished. “I shouldn’t have been foolish enough to have been taken in by his charm.”

“At the risk of resorting to a platitude, all’s well that ends well. You’re free, you have your store,” Sofia pointed out, not for the first time. In the interval before she fell into an exhausted sleep, Rosalind gave voice to the full tumult of her feelings, as if the horrific hours she’d recently survived required exorcizing. And more than once, she raged at Fitz for his role in her vile confinement. Then, as if her psyche was completely without judgment, after she dozed off, she dreamt of him.

Resting in a chair by the bed, Sofia heard Rosalind murmur Fitz’s name in her sleep, with fondness and yearning. Not that her wistful longings were likely to prosper, Sofia decided, knowing Groveland’s reputation for serial dalliance. But at least there was a possibility that Rosalind would no longer have to defend her store from his covetous ambitions. With luck, Sofia reflected. She wasn’t entirely sure Groveland would give up so easily.

Chapter 29

FITZ SHOULD HAVE slept that night. Particularly since he’d slept little since leaving London-what was supposed to have been a holiday in Scotland having turned into a period of sleeplessness and drink. He’d hunted very little, indifferent to the sport for the first time in his life. Indifferent to everything for the first time in his life.

And the feeling apparently followed him to London.

Fuck.

Another problem-that had nothing to do with profanity. He found himself uninterested in sex unless Rosalind was involved, that disinterest not only disturbing to his bachelor spirit but also leaving him with considerable free time on his hands. He’d picked up the telephone to call Clarissa at least a dozen times that evening because fucking her was a mindless amusement and he could use both at the moment. But each time he’d stopped just short of making the call and poured himself another drink instead.

Christ, he hadn’t been sober since leaving London.

Nor did he break the cycle in the next few hours.

It was nearly two when he walked into Stanley’s bedroom and woke him. “I was wondering how your day at the bookstore went,” he said to the startled young man he’d shaken awake. “Sorry,” he said with a smile, “I can’t sleep.” As Stanley scrambled out of bed and pulled on his robe, Fitz sat down, took another drink from the bottle he’d brought with him, crossed his legs, and looked as though he was settling in for a lengthy conversation.

“Well, sir,” Stanley mumbled, racking his brain for some pertinent facts with which to regale his master, who apparently hadn’t slept since he was still dressed, albeit casually sans jacket and tie. “There was a steady stream of customers throughout the day, starting very early in the-”

“What did she look like when she walked in? Did she seem angry? Exhausted, I suppose. What did she say to you? ”

Understanding the reason for this late night visit, Stanley took a chair across from Fitz. “Mrs. St. Vincent was very courteous, Your Grace. She asked no questions but replied to my greeting most graciously. She went directly upstairs when I told her Miss Eastleigh was waiting for her.”

“She didn’t seem angry? ”

“No, sir, not at all.”

“I thought I heard you up,” Julia cheerfully noted as she walked into the room.

“You have excellent hearing, Mother,” Fitz drawled, his mother’s apartments well away from Stanley’s room.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she pleasantly said, smoothly lying. Fitz had been closemouthed and drinking heavily when she’d come home from her evening’s entertainment; she was concerned enough to check on him. “Is Stanley going to help at the bookshop again tomorrow? ”

Fitz gave her a sardonic look as she stood in the doorway. “Do you know everything? ”

“Really, darling, as if the servants don’t talk. I hope Mrs. St. Vincent is none the worse for her unfortunate arrest.” She could have been asking after Rosalind’s bridge score so bland was her query.

“She’s fine,” Fitz brusquely replied.

“She looked quite well, Your Grace,” Stanley politely interposed, trying to appear undisturbed by his employers’ presence at two in the morning. “Her friend Miss Eastleigh said she fell asleep early.”

“Excellent. I expect she was exhausted after her ordeal.”

“Yes, apparently.”

The dowager duchess smiled at her son. “You should do something nice for her, dear.”

“I shall, Mother.”

“But not jewelry, darling. She’s not like the others, as you’ve already discovered.”

He could have asked, What would you suggest? since he had no clue, but the last thing he wished to do at the moment was discuss his love life with his mother. “I’ll think of something,” he crisply said.

A small silence fell.

“I have some business to discuss with Stanley, Mother, if you don’t mind,” Fitz murmured, raising the bottle to his mouth and drinking a large draught.

A faint frown creased Julia’s brow. “You’ve been drinking a good deal, darling.”

“I’ll stop tomorrow,” he suavely said.

She pursed her lips at his facile and obvious mendacity. “Very well, darling.” She nodded at Stanley. “Call for Darby if you need help getting him back to bed. I’ll see you at breakfast, dear.”

Once his mother was gone, Fitz peppered Stanley with further questions about Rosalind, the store, Sofia-well aware that he was obsessed yet unable to quell the formless turmoil in his mind. And drinking obviously wasn’t the answer, if there even was an answer after his heated encounter with Rosalind in the carriage.

“I forgot to mention, sir, two of the footmen watered Mrs. St. Vincent’s garden in the back. They said it was suffering from the heat.”

A full-blown green and flowering prospect appeared in Fitz’s mind, the closest thing to an epiphany he’d ever experienced. The weight of the world suddenly lifted from his shoulders. In preparation for bringing this newly revealed truth to fruition, Fitz set the liquor bottle on the floor, turned to Stanley, and smiled.

“What do you know about roses? ”

“Very little, sir. That was my mother’s domain, along with the gardener, of course.”

“I need all the information you can find on rose gardens. First thing tomorrow. I’ll talk to our gardeners as well. The roses out back seem to be flourishing. Those are roses, right-in those beds around the fountain? ”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Excellent. I’ll let you get some rest now,” Fitz said, coming to his feet, a plan quickly forming in his mind. “Thank you for your time.”

“You’re very welcome, Your Grace.”

“You’ll check on those roses first thing tomorrow?” he asked, moving toward the door.

“Immediately, sir.”

“Perfect. You’re a very accomplished young man, Stanley.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Fitz swung back as he reached the doorway. “I need a sizeable number of roses. Did I say that? ”

“No, sir. How many would you like? ”