Sexy As Hell

Oz turned. “I have no idea why I’m here.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Fitz said with deliberate courtesy. “Come say hello to Rosalind. She’s in back.”

Fitz led the way through the store into the gallery, and coming up behind his wife, dressed in soft apple green silk tussah, he kissed her lightly on the nape of her neck.

She swung around slowly, her pregnancy advanced. “That didn’t take long,” she said with a warm smile for her husband. “Ian must have had the new drawings ready.”

“He did; I approved them. Demolition begins next week.” Stepping to one side, Fitz said, “Look, darling, Oz stopped by.”

“What a pleasure to see you again,” Rosalind pleasantly said, keeping her counsel about the earlier visit. “Would you like tea, coffee”-she lifted her brows-“something stronger perhaps?”

“We’ll both have a brandy,” Fitz said, having drunk his breakfast often enough in the past to keep Oz company. “Come, sit down, Oz. I’ll shut the door so customers don’t wander in.”

A few moments later, they were seated in a corner of the gallery in comfortable chairs and had been served tea and sweets for Rosalind and brandies for the men.

“How are you feeling?” Oz impetuously asked, his gaze concentrated on Rosalind. “You look lovely. Healthy”-he smiled-“I believe the word is glowing.”

Rosalind and Fitz exchanged an affectionate glance. “At this stage,” she said, turning to Oz and indicating her belly, conspicuous beneath the soft silk, “I mostly feel fat. But thank you for the compliment.”

“Isolde’s pregnant.” While softly uttered, Oz’s declaration was a precipitous rush of words.

“That’s what Fitz said,” Rosalind smoothly replied. “Congratulations.”

It remains to be seen whether congratulations are in order. But as capable of politesse as his companions, Oz graciously replied, “Thank you. Isolde’s extremely pleased.”

“Do you have any questions about”-Rosalind again gestured at her swollen stomach-“pregnancy in general or in particular?” He’d not taken his eyes off her since he’d walked in.

“A thousand.” He smiled. “I won’t bore you. Have you picked out a name?”

Rosalind glanced at her husband, then at Oz. “We’re arguing about names,” she lightly said.

“We’re discussing names.” Fitz grinned. “I expect I’ll lose in the end. Not that I mind, darling, considering you’re doing all the work.”

“Indeed. Although I’ve been feeling wonderful from the first. Since I never thought I could have a child,” she said on a small exhalation, “I’m not inclined to complain in the least. Oh my,” she murmured, placing her hand on her stomach, “the baby’s kicking again; the little dear’s getting stronger every day.”

The movement was obvious beneath the fine silk.

“May I feel it?” Oz’s voice was low, constrained, his dark gaze fixed on her belly. “Forgive me,” he added in a normal tone. “You must think me exceedingly rude.”

“Not at all. Fitz was just as fascinated, weren’t you, darling? Remember the first time the baby kicked?” She turned back to Oz. “We were all agog. Here, put your hand right here.”

Leaning forward in his chair, Oz reached out and delicately placed his fingertips on her belly.

“Put your palm down so you call really feel the movement. Don’t be shy.”

He did as instructed, the baby suddenly kicked, and Oz jerked his hand back. His heart was racing.

“When is Isolde due?” Rosalind asked, Oz’s expression one of wonder.

“I don’t know. She’s not far along yet.”

Fitz caught his wife’s eye and warned her off. “I don’t suppose you have any suggestions for names.” Fitz tactfully changed the subject.

Grateful for the civility, Oz collected himself, and when he spoke, no evidence of his emotions remained. “With my background, my repertoire of names is more Indian than English. I wouldn’t be much help.”

At that point, the conversation turned to India, a country Fitz had visited several times. Rosalind was fascinated, asking a multitude of questions. With India the crown jewel in Britain’s empire, the store’s stock of books on India was considerable. Later, the men compared hunting experiences, India fertile ground for exotic game.

But as they conversed, Oz’s glance would drift back to Rosalind, his fascination with her pregnancy profound. He was young, Rosalind thought, a novice in dealing with the event; she understood his interest. Fitz understood other factors were in play as well, questions of paternity perhaps, although no one had explicitly said so.

After a convivial hour of conversation, Oz took his leave with an open invitation from Fitz and Rosalind for dinner or tea or a visit of any kind.

Fitz escorted Oz out.

“I don’t pretend to know your situation,” he said as they stood on the pavement outside the store, “but if I were to give a single piece of advice, I’d say, don’t burn your bridges.” He smiled. “You never know until you know.”

Oz laughed. “Since I’m currently in limbo, I won’t find it difficult to follow your advice. Now, if only I experience some epiphany before I drink myself to death.”

“At least you’re not involved in a duel every other day.”

“True. Marriage has emasculated me in that respect.”

Ftiz grinned. “I’m sure the members of Brooks’s are relieved.”

“No doubt.” Oz put out his hand. “Thank you. You and Rosalind are an island of calm in a highly volatile world.”

Fitz gripped his hand. “Come visit anytime. I’m always ready for a brandy.”

Later that day, Fitz sent Marguerite a brief note:

Oz is beginning to question his resentments. He came to see Rosalind and was enthralled with her belly. If he doesn’t drink himself to death in the meantime, I feel that a suspension of hostilities is possible.

CHAPTER 30

AT THE SAME time Oz was riveted by the spectacle of a heavily pregnant belly for the first time in his life, Isolde was riding hard after the hounds. Will and Anne had invited her for the neighborhood hunt they were hosting that week, and since Pamela and Charles had promised to serve as shield to Will’s unwanted attentions, Isolde had accepted the invitation. In a few weeks, she’d no longer be able to ride hell-bent for leather but would have to content herself with a more gentle pace.

True to their word, either Pamela or Charles were at her side throughout the day as well as at dinner that evening. Isolde enjoyed the exhilarating afternoon, the soaring jumps and wild gallops, the warm spring temperatures and lush green countryside, the agreeable company of her neighbors, other than the Fowlers. All in all, she had a most gratifying time.

Even dinner was pleasant, with Charles and Pamela on either side of her at the table, the conversation animated, farming and horses favored topics, the food excellent. And when it came time to retire-the company staying over as was usual-Pamela saw her to her bedroom.

“I’ll wait to hear you lock your door,” she said as they reached Isolde’s door.

“Thank you, and thank Charles. I had a wonderful, peaceful day with no harassment from Will.”

“He was exceedingly grumpy by the end of the day, but you made Anne happy, if you care.”

Isolde shrugged. “Why not. As long as I escaped his attentions, I can afford to be magnanimous. Although,” she said with a smile as she opened her door, “the reviling looks sent my way by our hostess were not in the least charitable.”

“The poor girl doesn’t have a charitable bone in her body,” Pamela returned. “Although knowing her parents, it’s no wonder.”

“None of which is my problem,” Isolde airily noted, and with a wave, she entered her bedroom and locked her door.

But she didn’t immediately sleep that night, as was the case since Oz had left. It was most difficult to distract her thoughts once she was alone, when the activities with which she kept herself occupied during the day were at