Gorgeous As Sin

regard to Mrs. St. Vincent. I’ll offer her an abject apology for my impetuous temper.” He smiled. “I mentioned her husband’s death in uncivil terms for which I’ll eat humble pie and do penance. Then I’ll ply her with the usual bibelots women fancy and attempt to win her over with my”-he smiled again-“largesse. We shall employ your sticks and my carrots to a, hopefully, successful conclusion. By the way, I offered her twenty thousand.”

Hutchinson wasn’t prone to gasp, but twenty thousand drew a rare gasp from him. “She turned it down?” His barrister’s mind wished complete clarity on such breathtaking moral rectitude.

“Emphatically. And caustically, I might add.” Fitz stood. “I won’t intrude further on your time. Keep me informed of whatever information you unearth. I’m off to speak with Williams now. He might be able to redesign that corner or at least postpone construction as it relates to her bookstore until we acquire it.” Turning, he waved at Somerset. “Thanks, Charlie! Are you hunting at Arlie’s next month?”

“Would I miss it?”

“Then I’ll see you there.”

His mood much improved, the duke leisurely strolled toward St. James’s. Hutchinson’s staff would be fully engaged in obtaining pertinent details on Mrs. St. Vincent’s personal life that could prove useful. She, like everyone, had skeletons in her closet-the husband’s gambling activities, for one. And with a woman of Mrs. St. Vincent’s arresting beauty, he doubted she lived a chaste life.

While he personally ignored society’s strictures when it came to morals, a woman, particularly one of lesser rank, could not so easily disregard them. Scandal accrued to females of middling rank who engaged in fornication outside the marriage bed. And as he understood it, the husband had been deceased for some time. Surely, in her widowhood, the beautiful, voluptuous Mrs. St. Vincent had been tempted to indulge her passions on occasion.

In fact, had he not detected a moment of prurient interest-however quickly suppressed-this morning over tea?

The thought of which was intriguing. Nor could he completely discount the satisfaction he would experience- beyond the obvious sexual gratification-if he were successful in bringing the lovely Mrs. St. Vincent to bed in the course of his persuasion campaign.

Was she a screamer?

He smiled.

He rather thought she might be.

Chapter 5

AT THE SAME time Groveland was contemplating making love to his adversary, the object of his musing was seated across from her friend, Sofia Eastleigh, and explaining in a voice of contained fury, “You can’t imagine the high-handed, barefaced gall of the man! His Grace, the esteemed duke of every profligacy on the face of the earth, said to me with shameless arrogance, ‘Your property stands in the way of my project,’ as if I should instantly capitulate because my bookstore happens to be in his way and his wish is my command! Ha! Never!”

Sofia grinned. “I expect he was angry when he left.”

“Not as angry as I, believe me! If Mrs. Beecham hadn’t come in as he was leaving I would have screamed the heaven’s down around his insolent head! I am so completely disgusted with rich nobles who think they can have anything they want simply because they want it! It’s outrageous! And wrong!”

Sofia had lived too long on her own resources to look askance at wealth of any kind, but she kindly said, “You see the world through your social consciousness, darling. I confess I don’t. Not that I don’t understand policy reforms would offer better lives for the poor. But consider, Groveland is offering to buy you out for a considerable sum.”

“I’m doing very well on my own,” Rosalind said with a contemptuous sniff, reaching for another slice of poppy cake in her frustration.

“You just don’t like men of his ilk. Admit it.”

“Of course I don’t,” Rosalind said through a mouthful of cake. “Why should I when”-she swallowed-“men like Groveland do nothing but make love, gamble, and hunt? What a useless life!”

“Useless he may be in some respects,” Sofia murmured, “but I thought him very charming when I met him at Leighton’s last year.” Unlike Rosalind, Sofia viewed men as utilitarian adjuncts to her life: as lovers, payers of rent, amusing companions over dinner, race track associates when she was flush.

Rosalind scowled. “I suppose he can be altogether charming when he doesn’t want anything of yours!”

“Or anything other than a roll in the hay. Which is his speciality as everyone knows-not precisely hay, of course; I’m sure he prefers more civilized venues for making love.”

“From all accounts he’s not so scrupulous,” Rosalind said haughtily.

“That could be. He was flirting with Flora, Leighton’s model, that day I met him, and everyone knows she’s not averse to offering herself standing up in a corner if a suitor comes bearing gifts or is handsome enough.” Sofia lifted her pale brows. “And you must concede, Groveland is extremely handsome.”

“I don’t care if he’s the handsomest man in the world! Nor do I care if he and Leighton’s model had relations in the middle of Leighton’s studio! His Grace,” Rosalind wrathfully articulated, “is rude, overbearing, brazenly autocratic, and he’s not getting my bookstore!” She reached for another slice of cake.

“Then you win and he loses. And you needn’t spend another second infuriated with him. Nor,” Sofia pointed out with a smile, “eat the entire cake because you’re in a rage.”

Rosalind sighed. “You’re right.” She looked at the slice of cake in her hand, then at the few remaining pieces on the cake plate, and grimaced. “If I keep this up, I’ll look like a horse.”

“Hardly, darling. I could only hope to have your voluptuous curves.”

“Then you might think about eating occasionally. One of these days you’re going to simply float away. While I shall waddle away,” Rosalind said with a grin, putting down the slice of cake. “As for Groveland and his kind, they don’t deserve another moment of my time.” She sat up straighter. “There. I am calm. Calm and in control. My life is agreeable in every way.” She smiled. “I apologize for my rant. You’ve been a dear to listen so patiently.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re always willing to hear my laments about Luke and the evils of the Academy?”

“How is he by the way?”

Sofia wrinkled her delicate nose. “As bad as ever.”

“You really must find someone else,” Rosalind insisted with the objective clarity of an uninvolved party.

Sofia smiled ruefully. “Like you found someone other than Edward?”

“He couldn’t help his gambling addiction,” Rosalind murmured.

“He didn’t even try.”

Rosalind made a moue. “I know.”

“And of course you wouldn’t think of divorce.”

“No.” She and Sofia had gone over this ground before. Who would have taken care of Edward had she divorced him? And more to the point, who would have paid for the divorce? “But do consider finding someone who treats you well, darling. You’re so enormously talented. Luke will never be a brilliant painter like you, and he resents your artistic gifts.”

“I wish I could argue the point.” Sofia shrugged. “At least the world is slowly changing. Just think, before long, women might win a place in the greater scheme of things.”

Rosalind smiled. “First we need the vote.”

“True, and yet,” Sofia softly replied, “we have more options than our mothers did.”

“Indeed. My mother has given up her entire life to care for my father. She doesn’t begrudge her role, but I find myself unwilling to play the mute, compliant wife.”

“As if you ever did,” her friend drolly noted.

“Someone had to deal with the day-to-day living. It was not Edward’s strong suit.”

“Maybe it’s time you think about playing the merry widow,” her friend suggested with a sly smile. “You work too hard. You don’t have enough fun.” Sofia winked. “Carnal amusements can be a very satisfying diversion. And