Sexy As Hell

escort Isolde into the supper room? I won’t be gone long.”

He waited until Isolde and the Grovelands had disappeared into the crowd before quickly making his way downstairs.

“Sorry to bother you,” Sam said as Oz entered his study. “Davey thought you wanted him to go with you,” he added, indicating the secretary. “I said I thought not. He’s wondering whether he has to pack your business ledgers and papers tonight. Tell him what you want him to do.”

Oz glanced at the clock. “I have to get back. Compton hasn’t come yet. You’re staying in London, Davey. Follow me and I’ll explain what I need.”

As the two men walked down the corridor, Oz gave directions in crisp, rapid-fire accents: he needed a daily courier between London and Cambridgeshire; more than once a day if matters were urgent; Davey could sign anything that wasn’t of singular importance; he particularly needed the shipping schedules of his fleet. “The exact times of departure, dates, hours, the captains, destination. Everything.”

Davey was half running to keep up with Oz’s long stride. “Are you shipping an important cargo?”

“I might. It depends. Make sure that the departure schedules are current-to the minute.” They were entering the entrance hall. “If you have any more questions, we can talk in the morning.” Oz scanned the empty stairway.

“Will you be staying in the country long?”

“Only as long as I must. Not very long as far as I can tell. I’ll let you know.” Catching sight of the man he’d been waiting for out of the corner of his eye, Oz came to a stop. “We’ll talk later,” he murmured, waving off Davey before turning to his right. “What are you doing skulking in my entrance hall, Compton?”

Isolde’s cousin stepped from behind a malachite pillar into the light, a petulant thrust to his jaw.

“No answer? Have you seen all you wish to see?” Oz’s brows lifted faintly. “Mute tonight? Very well,” he calmly said. “Since you’re here, go upstairs and wish Isolde happiness on her marriage.”

“If she’s married,” Compton blurted out. “You of all people married?” he sullenly added. “I’m not the only one suspicious.”

“Would you like to see the marriage license? Your hired minister brought it to the hotel as I recall.”

“He seems to have disappeared.”

Oz looked amazed. “Are you sure?”

“You know damned well he’s gone,” Compton spat. His solicitor had immediately attempted to see the minister.

“You may find this hard to believe, but men of the cloth are of no interest to me.” Oz’s gaze was direct and pointed. “Nor will they ever be.”

Compton’s expression took on a cunning look, and his voice turned silken and sly. “Ministers and licenses aside, perhaps the question should be instead-how long will your marriage last?”

Had Compton heard him answer Davey’s question? Perhaps. Did it matter? “Rest assured, my marriage will last longer than you can wait,” Oz bluntly said, for realistically that was all that mattered. “Your creditors are becoming anxious, and Bedlington has been known to break legs and fingers. Time isn’t your friend.”

Compton sucked in his fat belly and puffed up his chest. “I’m still the Wraxell heir. That means something.”

“Good luck in that regard. Isolde’s only twenty-three. She might soon have an heir of her own.” Not that I’ll be involved, but she can marry again and start a family. “Ask Bedlington if he’ll wait fifty years for his money or how he’d feel about never getting paid if Isolde has sons.”

“Will they be yours?”

“Surely you’re not so unwise,” Oz said very, very softly, “as to question my wife’s fidelity to my face.”

Compton immediately took a step back, the lethal threat in Oz’s eyes turning his blood cold. “No, no, of course not. I meant-nothing… of the kind,” he stammered. But beneath his trembling fear, he knew what he’d heard. Then again, perhaps not.

“Go and wish your cousin happy,” Oz growled. “And don’t be rude or you won’t have to wait for Bedlington to break your fingers.”

As Compton scuttled away and made for the stairs, Oz watched him with a frown. Had he overheard his discussion with Davey? Merde. As if he needed another complication from the little worm. Oh, hell, he’d best be standing at Isolde’s side when she spoke to Compton.

He ran for the stairs.

Just as Isolde’s back stiffened at the sight of her cousin making his way through the crowd, Oz came up behind her.

“I’m here. Relax.” He nodded at Fitz and Rosalind, who flanked his wife. “Let me deal with this.”

“In that case, I think I’ll speak with Lady Buckley,” Rosalind said, smiling up at her husband. “She keeps looking your way. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course I do. There’s no reason to bother with her.”

“But I wish to gloat, of course. Come now, indulge me.”

“Just for the record,” Fitz grumbled, “it was a long time ago. Clarissa’s no more than a blur in my memory.”

“Only because there were so many, dear. You must allow me this satisfaction. Did I tell you she came to the bookstore once and was exceedingly rude? Go and get yourself a drink. I can handle this perfectly well.”

When it came right down to it Fitz wasn’t so cavalier as to allow his wife to face Clarissa without protection. “I’ll get a drink afterward. I’ll need it. Let’s get this over with if you insist.”

“You’re so incredibly sweet.”

“Only because you give me enormous pleasure.”

“I do, don’t I?” the duchess said with a sultry glance.

It was left to Fitz to deal with Clarissa, however, for the moment they met, Clarissa took one look at Rosalind and curled her lip. “I see you didn’t waste any time breeding.”

“Nor was it the immaculate conception,” Fitz cooly said. “How are your children?”

“Good God, you can’t mean Buckley’s loathsome brood.”

“Buckley’s heirs, aren’t they?”

“How tiresome you can be, Fitz. You know perfectly well, I’m getting my share.”

“In bath soap?” Rosalind dulcetly asked. “Someone said your husband is giving Pears soap stiff competition.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know. I don’t deal with such bourgeois matters.”

“Other than bourgeois husbands, you mean,” Rosalind said in honeyed accents.

“What a vicious little cat you have for a wife, Fitz. Does she amuse you?”

“Every minute of every day.” Fitz turned to Rosalind. “Darling, please, I need a drink. Now,” he growled.

“Of course, sweetheart. Why didn’t you say so before? If you’ll excuse us, Lady Buckley.”

“I hope you’re satisfied,” Fitz muttered as they walked away. “Christ, I don’t-”

“-know what you saw in her?” Rosalind supplied. “I suppose you didn’t talk much,” she angelically noted.

Fitz shot her a disgruntled look. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Very much. Thank you.”

He smiled. “You can thank me when we get home.”

“Whatever do you mean?” the duchess purred.

“I mean I’m going to keep you up all night.”

Rosalind lowered her lashes and offered him an enticing smile. “Maybe we should leave now.”

Fitz glanced at Oz and Isolde over the heads of the crowd. “We’ll check with Oz as soon as Compton’s gone.” He looked down and grinned at his wife. “And you’re not allowed to talk to anyone else.”

“None of your former lovers, you mean.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he whispered, leaning over to kiss her without regard for the public. “Start thinking about what you want first…”

COMPTON DISPLAYED NONE of his sullenness or pomposity when he stopped before Isolde. He merely said,