Sexy As Hell

still, it would be a horrendous imposition for you even temporarily. I don’t think the lovers I assume you have will care to drive up to Cambridge to sleep with you.”

He didn’t say he’d be more than content with her for the immediate future-his driving motivation after a night of uncommonly fine sex. “It’s not permanent, darling, so it’s not an imposition. As for my lady loves, they’ll be in London when I return.”

“Are you sure?”

“About them?”

“About this marriage proposition of yours.”

“Right now I am. I suggest you seize the opportunity while you may.” He grinned. “I may sober up and change my mind.”

“Seriously, Lennox. Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I always know what I’m doing,” he softly said, his gaze crystal clear. I’ll be fucking you for at least a month. “Compton will be checkmated-which I admit will satisfy me. I dislike cheats. Your fortune will be secure. Not to mention society will buzz with excitement trying to account for our hasty marriage. Need I add,” he said, dropping his glance for a moment, “the heart of gossip will center on your stomach and whether or not you’re increasing. Particularly now after the scandal sheets have conveyed news of your denouement.”

“Will that bother you? The stares and speculation?”

He laughed. “Naive child. That’s for me to ask you.”

“Nothing bothers you?”

“Nothing in this world. Now, come,” he briskly said, thrusting aside the affliction he drank to forget, “think of the lovely tumult we will cause. Denouement or not, no one would expect me to marry for fear of scandal. My entire life is lived under a disreputable cloud. The speculation will be intense.”

“So my scandal will be a mere bagatelle next to your indiscretions.”

“Everyone will consider you a saint for marrying me. So now, Miss Perceval, will you do me the honor of accepting my ardent, heartfelt proposal or reject me and cast me into eternal gloom?”

His roguish smile offered delight. Unrivaled as she well knew. But while his audacious proposal would solve her immediate problems, she was more sober than he since he’d had a bottle close at hand all night. And, she suspected, she was incomparably more responsible drunk or sober. “You’re very sweet, but-”

“I’m not in the least sweet. Even knowing that, unlike you, none of the women I know would consider equivocating over my proposal.”

She smiled. “They would squeal with delight, shriek ‘Yes!’ and drag you to the jewelers.”

His gaze from under half-lowered lashes was sardonic. “Rich men are much coveted by unmarried females.”

“Rich, handsome men even more.”

“Then you understand the great honor I do you,” he said, softly teasing.

Shifting on his lap, she faced him more fully-indecisive, uncertain, yet not unaware of the benefits of his proposal. Including the extravagant sexual pleasures he offered. “What if I were to agree to your reckless offer?”

“Then I’d suggest we finally end this discussion, call in the minister, and embark on the blissful state of matrimony.” His lip curled lightly in mockery. “Naturally, I’d expect due compensation for my charitable impulses.”

“To that I would willingly comply,” she laughingly replied.

“And to the marriage? Come, darling, enough dithering. Think of it as sport.”

She gazed at the prodigal young man pinning her with his dark, high-strung gaze. “As everything is with you.”

“You can’t say you didn’t enjoy last night.”

“No,” she honestly answered. “But I don’t know you.”

In the only respect that mattered to him, she did. “Consider, darling, would you rather get to know Compton in my stead?” He glanced at the door to the adjoining room; the man of the cloth’s voice was raised in hectoring accents. “Darling, we’re keeping the minister waiting.”

“I’m trying to decide,” she muttered.

“Would it help if I reminded you of Compton’s paunch, foul breath, and of course, his grievous luck at cards? He owes a fortune to the moneylenders.”

“Oh God, don’t remind me.”

“Sorry, but he won’t give up. Not with the moneylenders snapping at his heels.”

Drawing in a small breath, she hesitated still. Then exhaling, she said, not without sufficient trepidation to cause a slight catch in her voice, “Very well. I accept your kind offer.”

“I’m deeply honored,” Oz said with polished grace.

“And drunk.”

“Perhaps a little,” he lied, and, turning his head, shouted for the minister.

CHAPTER 4

MR. PELHAM’S RESERVATIONS were overcome with a generous gift to his parish, Malmsey’s with a quickly scrawled note by Oz in which he relinquished any interest in Isolde’s property, and shortly after, in room thirteen of Blackwood’s Hotel, with Malmsey and Fremont as witnesses, Miss Perceval and Baron Lennox prepared to outmaneuver Frederick Compton.

“Make it short,” Oz instructed the minister. At Pelham’s frown, he thought him an ungrateful bastard considering the sizable sum he’d donated to his church, but rather than argue about the man’s lack of appreciation, Oz turned to Isolde and gently said, “Unless you prefer the entire ritual, darling. Although you really shouldn’t be standing that long.”

He was brazen and shameless out of bed as well, Isolde thought, as a blush pinked her cheeks at his insinuation. But she answered with cool equanimity. “A short ceremony would please me.”

How like her, Oz reflected, recalling that same mild tone from their first meeting. “As you see, Mr. Pelham. The lady wishes brevity.”

But as the minister grudgingly flipped through the pages of his prayer book to the essential passages, Isolde reflected on the stark difference between this humble ceremony and what she’d once envisioned for her wedding day. Like every young lady of wealth, her dreams had been romantic and starry-eyed. The family chapel would have been filled with fragrant summer flowers, she would have been radiant in a magnificent couturier design instead of her travel gown, scores of guests would have been in attendance, and of course, a different bridegroom would have stood at her side.

But then Will had been obliged to marry Anne Verney.

Frederick’s coercion had taken a dangerous turn.

And here she was-harsh reality dispatching romantic dreams.

Oz chose not to consider the bizarre occasion other than as a temporary solution to a lady’s dilemma that offered him at least a month of deeply satisfying sex. As for romantic dreams, his had been buried in India two years ago. When the minister paused at the point in the ceremony where a ring was required for the bride’s finger, Oz pulled off his gem-cut signet ring and slid it on Isolde’s finger. It was less suitable perhaps than the emerald on the fourth finger of his left hand, but that ring was too precious to relinquish.

Once the ceremony was over, Oz saw that Isolde took possession of the marriage certificate, then he thanked the various participants and politely ushered them from the room. Shutting the door, he leaned back against it and looked at his new wife, his lashes at half-mast, his gaze unreadable. “So,” Oz spoke softly. “How are you feeling?”

She was silent for a moment. “Filled with doubt,” she quietly said. Plucking up her spirit because she wouldn’t become some vaporish female now that the deed was done, she added in a more normal tone of voice, “What about you?”