Sexy As Hell

heatedly added. It was not a role with which she was acquainted. Although, what provoked her most-disobedient jealousy defying reason-were the looks of longing on the faces of all the pretty seamstresses gazing at her husband. To which he was profoundly indifferent.

A lesson there.

If her task wasn’t so formidable, Mrs. Aubigny might have enjoyed the power struggle she was witnessing. She glanced at Lennox, wondering if she dared interfere. Perhaps not, she decided. She’d seen him like this before when he was out of patience with one of his inamoratas.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way,” Oz quietly said, his jaw set.

“Then you didn’t listen to me this morning. Or did and chose to ignore me.”

“I must have misunderstood.” The faintest twitch slid along his jaw.

“No, you didn’t. But I’ve had enough of this charade,” Isolde waspishly said. She turned to Mrs. Aubigny. “Unpin me.”

“Would you excuse us for a moment?” Oz spoke with exquisite courtesy, his glance at the dressmaker barely perceptible. “One of the footmen will show you to the conservatory. Tell him to bring you tea.”

He might have been God himself for the speed with which the room emptied.

He waited silently until the door closed. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked with a cool and deliberate civility, hoping to appease his wife before the situation turned into open warfare.

“The problem,” she caustically said, “is you giving me orders and your obsequious dressmaker pretending you’re not, and the fact that I’m opposed to all of this as you well know! I want to go home!” Partial truths. The rest having to do with all the wistful seamstresses didn’t bear closer reflection. Since yesterday she’d come to understand that Oz didn’t pursue women; it was the other way around. And stupidly, it irritated her.

“We went over this before,” he said with restraint. “You can’t go home just yet.”

“I certainly can. Just as soon as I’m unpinned from these bloody yards of velvet,” she pettishly muttered, plucking out pins.

Oz blew out a breath, his exasperation showing for the first time; Josef and everyone else were moving mountains to see to this night’s work. “Don’t be a child. You can go home tomorrow.”

She glared at him in the midst of her unpinning. “Since when did God appoint you his authority on earth?”

His smile was impudent. “It’s been a while. Any other questions?”

“Tell me honestly, how can any of this possibly matter?” she said, lowering her voice, trying to match his restraint. “Compton’s going to believe what he wants to believe regardless of this spectacle.” While I’m going to have to watch all your lovers stalk you tonight, like the breathless little seamstresses gazing at you with such hope. She jerked out a handful of pins.

“We’re going to change his mind tonight.”

She paused in her unpinning. He was speaking to her softly as he would to a recalcitrant child, damn his bloody composure! “I don’t happen to agree with you,” she snapped, her effort at restraint melting away. “Do you hear me!”

His nostrils flared. “The entire household heard you. Let’s not argue, though,” he smoothly said, focused on achieving success tonight. “I apologize for anything I’ve done to offend you.”

“I don’t want your apology. I want to go home! Don’t look at me like that. And don’t speak to me like I’m a bloody child. I’m not obliged to agree with you on everything. For one thing I think I know my cousin slightly better than you. And more importantly, you can’t tell me what I can or cannot do.”

He didn’t blink or move so much as a muscle. “You’re tired,” he said, his voice level. “I’ll tell Mrs. Aubigny to finish without you.”

“She can’t. Handle that by imperial fiat,” Isolde spat, sullen and pugnacious.

Rather than rise to the bait, Oz shrugged. “Mrs. Aubigny must have your measurements; she can do her best.” He was paying her enough; she’d have to manage. “Here, let me unpin you,” he calmly added, coming to his feet and moving toward her.

“Don’t touch me!”

He stopped, drew in a breath, and slowly exhaled. “You’re my wife.” An act of excessive charity on his part, he rather thought. “I’ll touch you if I wish.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” His air of command was exasperating to someone who laid claim to an equal authority in her own life.

He stopped before her and smiled, a faint, humorless twitch of his lips. “Is the honeymoon over?”

“It certainly is! But I’m sure you need only lift your finger and any of Mrs. Aubigny’s seamstresses would be more than willing to accommodate you. Perhaps Mrs. Aubigny would herself.”

Oz lowered his lids faintly. “Is that what this is about?” “No, it’s about me going home!” A half truth, a lie, her own tangled web of emotions beyond comprehension.

Now that Oz understood their argument wasn’t exclusively about Isolde going home, in the interests of conjugal peace and the two hundred guests arriving in a few hours, he set out to cajole. “I promise you can go home at the crack of dawn,” he said, soft-spoken and conciliatory. “The minute the last guest leaves tonight if you prefer. Be reasonable, sweetheart. Think of all Josef’s work.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”

“You were last night,” he gently said.

“I’m not anymore!”

She sounded so much like a child throwing a tantrum that he couldn’t contain his smile.

“I’m sure it’s all very amusing to you,” she huffily muttered.

Wiping the smile from his face, he said with punctilious gravity, “Not at all. I want only to serve your interests.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean,” he answered in an ordinary voice.

“Because you’re always amenable to women.”

He generally was but this wasn’t the time to admit it. “It means”-he hesitated and added sweetheart anyway-“that I want to give you whatever you want in order to have you at my side tonight. Name your price. I’ll willingly pay it.”

“I suppose women always say jewelry.”

He supposed they did. “Just tell me what you want.” He wasn’t stupid enough to mention other women. “I’m throwing myself at your mercy because the reception is that important.” Because of Compton’s whisper campaign and also because, at base, he didn’t like to be gainsaid.

“You already promised to be tractable tonight.”

“Ask for something else then.” Compton was coming; below stairs was already buzzing with the news.

“Something expensive?”

“Christ, Isolde, I don’t care.”

This time she was the one who smiled. “When was the last time you faced dissent?”

“Never. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I thought so,” she jibed, triumph in her voice.

“And I didn’t think you could be so bloody stupid,” he cooly returned, suddenly weary of this senseless polemic.

“This reception is meant to establish the authenticity of our marriage. It’s simple. You smile, I smile, we assure everyone we’re madly in love, your cousin in particular, and after everyone eats and drinks all the food and liquor they go home. Then remind me not to play good Samaritan again,” he said flatly. “Especially with an ungrateful bitch like you.”

She slapped him so hard she thought she’d broken her wrist. He flinched but otherwise didn’t move, fighting to control his temper as any number of unacceptable options raced through his mind. Then he turned, walked to the door, locked it, and swiveling back, surveyed her with an icy gaze.

“What are you doing? Unlock the door.”

He didn’t move. He’d lived an untrammeled life too long.

“I’ll scream.”