Sexy As Hell

She was incredibly self-reliant. Unlike the ladies he knew who never traveled without dozens of pieces of luggage and a full array of servants. “Then I’ll see you at dinner if not before.” Shutting the carriage door, he raised his hand in farewell and signaled the driver to move off.

He watched the coach pick up speed. Once the carriage disappeared from view, he turned suddenly. Crossing the pavement in two strides, he took the stairs in a bound, nodded at Josef who was holding open the door, and said with a grin, “Don’t say I’m becoming responsible just because I’m obliging to my wife.”

Josef’s mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

“Has Sam come down?”

“He’s waiting in your study.”

“I may be away from the city for some time,” Oz said over his shoulder as he strolled away.

“So I understand, sir.”

Knowing Josef could command the Queen’s household if necessary, there was no question his would be left in good hands. Although Oz was wondering how long he’d manage to remain civil, cooped up in the country with a wife. The sex aside, of course, which was a considerable attraction. But his business was in London, as was Brooks’s, not to mention his habitual vices weren’t likely to be found in the country.

“She’s off?” Sam asked as Oz entered his study.

“Yes, on her way to Cambridgeshire-and pleased to be. Is our pigeon home?”

“Compton staggered in at four I’m told.”

“In that case, he’ll still be half-drunk.” Oz picked up the overcoat that had been left on a chair for him and slipped it on. “I’ll have to speak slowly so he understands. He was being difficult last night.”

“These should help.” Sam held out two pistols.

Oz’s brows lifted. “Always useful in gaining someone’s attention.” Taking one of the pistols, Oz shoved it in his pocket. “Has Achille left?”

“They’re loading up now. You’re not taking your chaise?”

Oz shook his head. “We’ll ride. I want Sukha with me. Isolde rides every morning. Ready?” At Sam’s nod, the men left the study and moved down the hall toward the front door.

“If Compton listens to reason, we should overtake Isolde before she reaches home.”

“If he doesn’t listen to reason-what then?”

“Plan B, I suppose.”

“You don’t have a plan B.”

Oz shrugged. “Maybe he’ll inspire me. Although, I don’t have a lot of patience for a man who’d force a woman into marriage.”

“For gambling debts no less.”

Oz grunted. “It’s hard to have much sympathy for a prick like that.”

“You’re taking on enormous responsibility for this woman.” It was a question rather than a statement. Not since Khair had Oz shown concern for a woman.

Oz grinned. “When I haven’t of late, you mean?”

“Damn right.” Sam gave a lift of his brows. “And I’ve known you a long time.” Sam had come to work for Oz years ago in Hyderabad after being cashiered from the king’s tenth fusiliers.

“I expect my wife will soon tire of me. I’ll accommodate her with a divorce, and life will return to normal.” Oz shot Sam a cautionary look. “For your ears only.”

“Acknowledged, sir.” Now this curious arrangement makes sense.

A few moments later they were striding down the street, making for Compton’s apartments. Two men in a hurry.

“I hope Compton finally realizes that his choices are limited. He argued with me last night. About his rights as heir.”

“Which he has so long as the countess is childless. Will you accommodate her there as well?”

“Hell no. So,” Oz added with a significant look, “Compton must be dealt with once and for all-firmly and finally. Not that a loaded pistol shouldn’t prod his understanding.”

“I’m not so sure, sir. Stupid’s stupid. Stevens took a bullet in the head rather than listen.” Sam had been flogged for refusing to lead his men into an ambush. The brash, inexperienced Lieutenant Stevens had been killed soon after leading the charge instead-Sandhurst military tactics the kiss of death in the Hindu Kush.

“I doubt Compton has martial spirit.”

“What if he does?”

Oz grinned. “Then I’ll try not to get blood on my boots.”

Shortly after, as they approached Compton’s lodgings, Oz murmured, “Stand guard outside his door.”

“Yes, sir. Although if you’d like my advice, I say get rid of the scum.”

“I can’t just shoot him in cold blood.”

“I sure as hell would.”

Oz smiled. “I sure as hell would like to.”

Pulling out a flask from his jacket pocket, Sam held it out. “A wee dram? Pure and fine, sir.” Sam was a big, strong, sandy-haired Highlander.

Taking the flask, Oz swallowed a long draught. Smiling, he handed back the flask. “Excellent as usual. Now, tell me about Compton’s debts. What do I have to deal with?”

“Five to the moneylenders, four for chits at Brooks’s-”

“Due by Friday next.”

Sam nodded, the men’s clubs rules, like jockey club rules, were etched in stone. “And a thousand more give or take to the gambling hells.”

“That’s not so much.”

“It is for anyone but a nabob like you.”

“But since I am,” Oz drawled, stopping before the entrance to the building, “let’s see what it takes to buy my wife’s peace of mind.”

The foyer of the building that catered to bachelor apartments was silent, the lack of activity no surprise considering the early hour and the late-night habits of London’s young bucks. The third floor where Compton resided was equally deserted. When they reached his door, Oz glanced at Sam.

Pulling out a slender metal pick from his pocket, Sam inserted the makeshift key and after a few deft twists, stepped back and softly turned the latch.

Drawing his pistol from his coat pocket, Oz eased the door open, quietly entered a narrow hall, and shut the door behind him. With the efficiency of a man impatient to finish an unpleasant task, Oz hustled Compton’s manservant out of his bed in a small antechamber, made him understand his silence was required, and locked him in his room.

Entering Compton’s bedchamber a few minutes later, Oz glanced at the snoring lump in the bed, then moved to the window and threw open the curtains. When no movement from the bed ensued, Oz picked up a liquor decanter and let it drop from his fingers to the marble floor.

As it shattered with a crash, spewing glass splinters and liquor across the floor, Compton came up on his elbows. “What the hell?” He squinted against the bright light. “Shut the bloody curtains, Standish!”

“Your man’s indisposed at the moment.”

The familiar voice, no matter its mildness, brought Compton awake with a jerk. “How did you get in?” Struggling into a seated position, he peered at Oz standing at the foot of his bed.

“The usual way. We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Petulant and rude, Compton was emboldened by the residual alcohol coursing through his blood. Not to mention the overheard conversation that had significantly altered his plans.

“I have a few words of advice for you, however,” Oz mildly returned, raising the pistol he held at his side.

“You won’t shoot. I’m unarmed.” There were rules, gentlemen’s rules.

“Once you’re dead, whether you were armed or not is irrelevant.”

The indifference in Lennox’s voice drained the color from Compton’s face, and too late he recalled his adversary’s barbaric background. “My man would notify the authorities,” he warned, sweat beginning to bead his brow.