Sexy As Hell

CHAPTER 10

SEEING JOSEF APPROACH, Oz turned to Isolde. “I invited a friend of mine and his wife to meet you before the reception.” He looked as his majordomo drew near. “Are they here?”

“In the Dresden sitting room as you requested, sir.”

“The time?”

“Eight forty, sir. This way.” Josef walked alongside Oz.

“Fetch us at nine.”

“Of course, sir,” Josef said with mild affront.

“Sorry, Josef. Nerves.”

“I very much doubt that, sir.”

“You’re right. I dislike the fashionable world.”

“With good reason, sir.”

Oz shot an amused glance at his majordomo. “You think you know everything, don’t you, Josef?”

“I was the one who carried you to your father on the day you were born. Begging your pardon, sir, there’s very little I don’t know.”

Oz grinned. “Then I must pray you never resort to blackmail.”

“If you prayed, sir.”

“Darling, see what happens when one allows too much license in one’s household?” Oz pointed out, suppressing a smile. “It’s anarchy.”

Between Oz and Josef, she rather thought they could set an army into the field, but this was no time to disagree. “I’m sure you’re right, dear.”

Oz gazed at her, one brow raised. “Now that must be nerves.”

“I relinquish sedition for the greater good, my lord,” she sweetly said.

He chuckled. “Until later, I assume.”

“We’re both waiting for midnight, my lord.”

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I might be willing to strike a bargain for eleven o’clock.”

“Done.”

“Witch,” he murmured, but the word was velvet soft. With a glance at Josef, who’d come to a stop, Oz took Isolde’s hand and smiled. “Curtain up, darling.”

Josef nodded at a footman to open the sitting room door.

“You needn’t announce us.” Oz waved Josef away.

“Groveland and I are past such drills.” Both habituйs of London’s finest brothels until Groveland’s surprise marriage last fall, the men had been companions in vice, sharing common pleasures and women on more than one occasion. Not, however, since Groveland had dropped from sight and left that prodigal world. Oz was meeting his wife for the first time.

“Evening, Fitz,” Oz cheerfully exclaimed on entering the room. “Thank you for coming early.”

The Duke of Groveland had risen to his feet. “Our pleasure. Allow me to make my lovely wife known to you.” He turned to a stunning redhead seated on the sofa behind him, the yellow silk upholstery perfect foil for her hair and Nile green gown. “Rosalind, Oz.”

“I’m pleased to meet you at last,” Oz said with a graceful bow. He drew Isolde forward. “I’d like to introduce my beautiful bride. Isolde, Countess Wraxell in her own right, Rosalind and Fitz, the Duke and Duchess of Groveland.”

Smiles and the usual banalities were exchanged, Isolde and Fitz took seats, and Oz moved toward the liquor table. “I refuse to face the mob sober. Let me bring us something to ease the strain.”

“I may have a head start on you,” Fitz waggishly noted. “I never face these entertainments sober. With your marriage the talk of the town, you have even more reason to indulge in an extra drink or three. To deal with the guile.”

Rosalind smiled. “As you can see, Fitz isn’t keen on mingling with society.”

“Who is?” Isolde frankly replied. “Oz is the one insisting on this affair.”

“Because your husband knows the best defense against the inquisitive is a preemptive offense,” Oz offered over his shoulder as he poured the drinks. “In case you can’t tell, we’ve been arguing about this soiree.”

“And as you can probably tell,” Isolde said with smile for their guests, “I’ve lost the argument.”

“You can win the next one,” Oz cheerfully offered, returning with the drinks expertly balanced on his large palms. “I understand congratulations are in order.” He offered Fitz a drink, set his aside, and handed champagne to the ladies. “When is the blessed event?”

The duchess blushed and the duke took her hand. “May we’re told,” Fitz said. “Apparently, the timing of these matters isn’t always certain.”

The duchess added, “We’re both complete tyros as well.” Isolde was surprised to experience a small lurch of jealousy, outrageous of course and instantly dismissed. “How pleased you must be. Is this your first?”

“Yes. And I’m more delighted than most expectant mothers because I never thought I could have children,” Rosalind said, squeezing her husband’s hand. “It’s a miracle of sorts.”

“My wife was a widow when I met her,” Groveland explained.

“And my husband was a confirmed bachelor, so you and I have something in common,” Rosalind teasingly remarked, smiling at Isolde. “We both astonished the ton by successfully luring these men into marriage when so many before us had failed.”

“We must be two very clever women,” Isolde playfully observed, responding to the duchess’s levity.

“Or perhaps we’re two remarkably clever men,” Oz countered gallantly.

“I’ll drink to that.” Fitz raised his glass.

“I’ll drink to anything tonight,” Oz said, lifting his glass to Fitz.

The men drained their brandies, the ladies exchanged conspiratorial glances, and Oz rose to refill their glasses. “The champagne’s not to your liking?” He nodded at the women’s untouched drinks. “Josef can bring something else if you wish.”

“My stomach is uncertain at this stage,” Rosalind said in demur.

“I don’t dare drink too much or I might be excessively rude to someone,” Isolde declared.

Oz glanced at Fitz as he walked away. “Then it’s up to us to maintain the family honor.”

Groveland laughed. “Never a hardship, especially at times like this. How many curious guests are you expecting?”

“Two hundred.”

Isolde gasped. “You never told me.”

Oz turned from the liquor table. “I didn’t dare. You scream.”

“I certainly do not.”

“I’m sure you have good reason,” the duchess sweetly observed. “And disregard Fitz’s rudeness. We’re pleased to be here. As for these men, I’m sure they need someone to scream at them from time to time. They’re much too familiar with male privilege.” While Rosalind had never met Oz, Fitz had mentioned they were good friends and she knew what that meant for men of their repute. Or in her husband’s case, his previous repute.

Isolde couldn’t help but smile at Rosalind’s pithy viewpoint. “I’m afraid my husband has an excessive need for authority,” she mockingly lamented.

“Mine as well,” Rosalind agreed with playful forbearance.

“You forget I’ve promised to be on my best behavior tonight,” Oz pointed out, returning with two very full glasses. With the blood sport about to begin, he needed a bracing tonic.

Isolde grinned. “Rest assured, I shan’t forget.”

Oz rolled his eyes. “As soon as you marry them, they start giving orders.”

“And yet the trade-offs are exceedingly pleasant,” Fitz said with a lift of his brows.

“Agreed.” Oz smiled, Isolde blushed, and a sudden silence fell. “Speaking of trade-offs, two or three hours in society is my limit. After that everyone can go to hell.”

“If we can help in any way to ward off the obnoxious,” Groveland offered, responding to Oz’s note that had asked him to do just that. “Consider it done.”

“Thank you.” Oz held Fitz’s gaze for a telling moment. “If I’m called away for a moment or two, I’d appreciate you stepping in.”

“We’ll be Isolde’s phalanx against the unruly rabble,” Rosalind submitted. “I’m becoming wider every day, and Fitz can be masterfully rude. His mother tells me he had much too much practice,” she added with a bright smile for her husband.

The duke accepted his wife’s assessments with a beneficence any of his friends would have found incomprehensible short months ago. Groveland had been distinguished for his shameless indifference to his lovers; as for his rudeness, his mother was right. “We’ll protect Isolde, never fear.” He expected Oz was concerned about his former lovers who’d try to lure him away from his wife. “Do you have any cognac?” Fitz asked, rising to his feet.

Oz quickly stood. “Of course.”

As the men strode away, Fitz quietly said, “I wished to mention Compton. You must have heard what he’s saying.”

Oz nodded. “He concerns me. It’s the main reason I’d like you to stay by Isolde’s side if I’m absent. Compton’s creditors are about to become vindictive I understand.”

“Does he harbor expectations even now?”

“So I gather. He claims the marriage is a hoax, which implies that even if Isolde has a child, he remains the legitimate heir.”

“Is he serious?”

“I’m not sure. But with someone like him-” Oz shrugged.

“I know… a cheat and a bounder. It might take more than threats to send him on his way.”

Oz looked up from his pouring. “An excellent idea. I have ships regularly leaving London.”

“Think about it then. If you’re concerned with the niceties”-Fitz raised one brow to discharge the consideration; they were both men of unlimited power-“you might think of it as saving Compton from his creditors. A benevolence as it were. If you recall, he tried to extort money from Topham last year, threatening to inform his wife of the little wench Topham had set up in St. John’s Wood.”

“And?”

“You know Topham’s temper. He paid Compton a visit. In any event, no one would miss the scoundrel.”

“But his mother,” Oz drawled.

The duke smiled. “Maybe she’d enjoy an ocean voyage as well. Beresford spent a year abroad in involuntary exile after the Tranby Croft affair, as have any number of other nobles who’ve unwisely strayed from the path of righteousness,” he sardonically murmured. “And surely Compton is not in the least righteous, nor is his dreadful mother.”

They were both men of enormous wealth who understood the advantages allowed those of great fortune. The world was neither democratic nor fair, nor-sacred opinion aside-did the meek inherit the earth.

Oz dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I’ll let you know how things transpire.”

“Just send me their sailing date. I’ll understand. By the way,” Fitz added with a grin, “those bruises and bites will draw comment. I expect your wife requires protection from leers and snickers on that score as well.”

“If you don’t mind.”

Fitz grinned. “I expect it was worth it.”

Oz grinned back and handed Fitz his drink.

While the men quickly tossed off their cognacs and had another, Rosalind and Isolde conversed with comfortable ease. They were both women who’d lived lives of relative freedom.

“I don’t know if Oz told you,” Rosalind said, “but Fitz and I married as precipitously as you. Against all reasoned practicalities, he managed to sweep me off my feet. I couldn’t say no.”

“I can understand why. He’s not only gorgeous, he obviously dotes on you. Even on short acquaintance that’s evident.”

“Fitz is a sweetheart. Although it seems that Oz was as insistent on marrying you.” She smiled. “Neither man has any regard for convention. They rather do as they like. You hadn’t known Oz long, had you? Fitz didn’t think so,” she added, seeing her question had unsettled Isolde. “Forgive me. I’m sure it’s none of my business.”

“No, really, it shouldn’t matter. I was simply debating whether to present the fiction Oz had promoted at our first appearance in public.

“If it helps, Fitz told me you’re not related.”

Isolde exhaled in relief. “Then I needn’t dissemble. The truth is that we met at Blackwood’s Hotel quite by accident and married the same night.”

“How wonderfully romantic,” Rosalind exclaimed. “Love at first sight-a thing of beauty! I once wrote romances, so I firmly subscribe to the notion. Although Fitz and I rather disliked each other on first meeting.”

“Obviously that changed.”

Her smile was affectionate. “Fitz can be very persuasive.”

“Oz as well,” Isolde softly replied, not altogether sure she wasn’t beginning to care too much for a man whose genius for persuasion was apparently much in demand.

“Your delightful story is safe with me and rest assured with Fitz as well. Fitz and Oz were quite close in their prodigality; two of a kind,” she added with a grin. “Or rather I should say, were two of a kind.”

How to respond when her husband was still the prodigal rake?

“He’ll change with marriage,” Rosalind assured Isolde, as if reading her thoughts. “I had my reservations as well. Who wouldn’t with men like them?”

“You’re happy, I can tell,” Isolde said rather than deal with the brevity of her and Oz’s future.

“Over-the-moon happy. My life had been one of struggle, so I’m grateful beyond words for Fitz’s love.”

Such unalloyed happiness triggered a wretched and utterly useless ache of misery. No happy ending would befall her, Isolde reflected, although salvation from Compton certainly would be the sweetest of triumphs. And at the moment, Oz was everything she could possibly desire. “I’m equally grateful for Oz’s kindness. He’s incredibly benevolent.”

What an odd choice of words, Rosalind reflected. But rather than voice her thoughts, she said, “I’m so pleased for you both. Ah, here come our darling husbands. I miss Fitz dreadfully the minute he walks away. I expect you feel the same way about Oz.”

“Yes, very much.” Simple words, complicated emotions, and no fairy-tale ending in sight.

“So have you men settled the affairs of the world?” Rosalind inquired, having noticed their quiet conversation.

“More or less,” Fitz blandly replied.

“Provided we get through this evening unbloodied,” Oz said with a grin.

“Pshaw. As if anyone will dare speak out of turn to either of you. To be perfectly honest,” Rosalind declared, “I’m rather looking forward to all the spite and malice. The evening should be as amusing as a Sheridan play.”

A single rap on the door interrupted the conversation.

Josef entered and bowed. “Nine o’clock, sir.”

The men exchanged glances as if before battle, drained their glasses, set them down, and offered their arms to their wives.

This evening was warfare of another kind but equally strategic. Tonight was meant to be a deterrent to a perceived enemy-Compton-as well as a chivalrous mobilization against the fashionable world that could be tiresomely vicious. Oz wished to protect Isolde from both. And as with any duel, he felt it easily within his power to prevail.

A few minutes later, Isolde and Oz stood at the top of the stairs waiting to greet the first guests ascending the flower-garlanded and footman-lined staircase. The Duke and Duchess of Groveland were seated within sight of their hosts but beyond the need for conversation with the visitors. Josef had placed a small table with a bottle at Fitz’s side, the duchess had an iced lemonade at hand, and both were intent on the coming performance.

“You needn’t get up, dear, if you don’t wish,” Fitz said. “If Oz leaves, I’ll take his place.”

“I’ll see how I feel,” the duchess answered with a small smile. “There might be one or two of your old paramours I might wish to send away with a flea in her ear.”

“Be my guest.”

“Lady Buckley for instance.”

Fitz laughed. “I warn you, she’s a bitch. Don’t expect me to save you.”

“I already know she’s a bitch, darling. We’ve met. And I won’t need saving.”

The most avidly curious were the first to arrive, and as Josef announced them by name, Isolde and Oz smiled the required smiles, uttered the prescribed courtesies and polite trivialities, countered the expected malice with suave malice of their own, and in general averted any overt belligerency with dulcet impudence or in Oz’s case, with the occasional warning glance.

Nell’s transit of the reception line passed without controversy since her husband was at her side and in consequence she was muzzled. Lord Howe had come specifically to meet the woman who’d lured Lennox away from his wife. While Nell was resentful of Oz’s new bride, her husband was intrigued. Well aware of his wife’s sexual expertise and agility, Lord Howe suspected that Lennox’s wife was highly imaginative in the bedchamber.

“A prodigious pleasure to meet you, Countess,” Lord Howe said, his voice silken as he gracefully bowed over Isolde’s hand.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Withdrawing her hand, Isolde spoke with counterfeit warmth. “Do enjoy yourself tonight.” She was surprised that Lord Howe was so good-looking. For some reason she’d naively thought Nell’s search for pleasure was predicated by an ugly husband.

“Thank you, I will.” Lord Howe turned to Oz with an urbane smile. “Congratulations, Lennox. You’ve found a beautiful diamond of the first water. Dashing and spirited I don’t doubt. Why else would you marry?”

The insinuation was plain, the word spirited pronounced with a certain small emphasis.

“Thank you. I consider myself fortunate.” Oz cooly met Lord Howe’s amused gaze. “Did you enjoy Paris?”

“Not as much, apparently, as you did London in my absence.”

“Ah-no one new in the corps de ballet? I heard a young dancer from Hungary was all the rage.”

Lord Howe didn’t so much a blink an eyelash at the allusion to his latest adultery. “You must have better sources than I.”

“I do, of course. Mine are excellent. Enjoy our little soiree. My chef has outdone himself it seems, but then one must allow him his romantic fervor. I don’t get married every day.”

“Indeed. Brooks’s betting book was inclined to wager-never.”

“Then someone won a tidy sum.” Oz deliberately turned to the next person in line, dismissing Lord Howe and his wife. Not that the following couple was an improvement. Another of his lovers had come with her husband, and unlike Lord Howe, the Earl of Dugal took issue with his wife’s infidelity.

“Will married life rein in your debauchery, Lennox?” the Scottish earl demanded in his heavy brogue.

“Marriage has brought it to complete standstill, Dugal. What about you?”

The elderly man turned a mottled red and cleared his throat. “I don’t see how that concerns you,” he growled.

“Nor does it, no more than my life concerns you,” Oz said, an edge to his voice. “Now make your bows to my lady wife and go off and drink my liquor. Unless you have something more to say.”

Dugal’s pretty young wife smirked behind her husband’s back, dipped her head to Oz, and turning to smile at Isolde, said with sweet innocence, “I wish you well, my lady. Lord Lennox is exceedingly kind.”

“I know. Thank you.” She almost felt sorry for the young wife who gazed at Oz with such longing. If she were married to a frightfully old as well as unfaithful man, she’d be looking for love elsewhere, too.

And so it went, the men offering their good wishes with leers at Isolde, the many women who’d slept with Oz predictably offering him seductive smiles and winks and whispered asides. Then there was the general herd who’d come to gawk or scrutinize or hope to ferret out the freakish and unaccountable explanation for Lord Lennox’s marriage. And last but not least, Achille’s reputation was well-known due to Oz’s wild bachelor parties. A small percentage of guests with epicurean tastes had come for the haute cuisine alone.

Those who dared mention Oz’s bites and bruises were ignored if Oz was in a lenient mood or were warned off with a look even the most obtuse recognized if he wasn’t. Also as promised, he was ever gracious and adoring to his wife, so much so that those who didn’t actually believe in love were given pause. If cupid’s arrow could strike a reprobate heart like Lennox’s, surely the concept was more than a matter of poetic license.

Isolde had long ago given up any notion of publically exerting control over her husband. Oz was at his charming best in any event, and at base she found herself indifferent to all but the pressing need for escape.

An hour had passed, Josef had brought Oz several brandies, the number of arriving guests had dwindled, the drawing rooms were crowded-and still no Compton.

Oz was impatient. He needed Compton; he wanted this over.

Isolde was relieved. If she never saw her cousin again, she’d be content.

A footman jogged up the stairs, spoke to Josef, who in turn spoke to Oz. “I think we’ve done our duty long enough, dear,” Oz said. “Why don’t I have Fitz and Rosalind escort you into the supper room. Try some of Achille’s special dishes. He did it all for you. It seems that Sam has something he can’t deal with. I’ll be right back.”

A look of fear came into her eyes. “Is it Compton?”

“No, a matter to do with our departure tomorrow. It’s nothing serious.” Turning, he signaled to Fitz. “Would you 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, subdued and ingratiating, his gaze nervously flicking to Oz, “My compliments… on your marriage, cousin. I wish you the best.” He saw Oz frown and quickly added, “And much happiness… in the future. Naturally… from Maman as well.”

“Thank you, Compton,” Oz remarked, bringing the stumbling recitation to an end. “We appreciate your kind regards. I’m sure Isolde and I desire all the very best for you as well,” he offered in a meticulously gentle tone. “Might I tempt you with some of my chef’s offerings or a drink perhaps,” he added, taking Compton’s arm in a hard grasp. “If you”ll excuse us, darling.” Isolde was ashen. Catching Fitz’s eye over the crowd, he nodded at his wife and drew Compton away.

“You’re shaking,” Rosalind murmured moments later, taking Isolde’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“I shouldn’t be so fainthearted,” Isolde said with a small sigh. “Frederick’s been intimidating me too long, I think. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Rosalind looked up at her husband.

“We could put an end to that intimidation,” Fitz said, reading his wife’s gaze. “Oz and I.”

“No, no, please-that’s not necessary.” The duke sounded just as Oz had when he’d threatened to shoot Frederick. “I’m sure my cousin will leave soon. Perhaps if I sit for a minute…”

“Of course,” Rosalind said. “Would you like Fitz to fetch you a lemonade? Good. Fitz, darling. We’ll go and sit down over there.”

Moments later, Fitz returned with Oz and the lemonade.

“He’s gone,” Oz said, unruffled as he’d been throughout. “Here, dear, take a sip, although you probably could use something stronger.”

Isolde drank down a good portion of the lemonade before handing it back to Oz. “I’m feeling more myself now. Thank you, everyone. I didn’t mean to make a scene.”

“Nonsense. You may do as you wish.”

Isolde experienced a great wave of relief at the transcendent power in her husband’s simple words. He lived his life without restraint, uncowed and undaunted. And with Frederick’s menacing image still vivid in her brain, she deeply appreciated the confidence and strength that lay beneath Oz’s glittering charm. “If you mean it,” she said, astonished at the timidity of her tone, “perhaps we might-”

He smiled. “End this charade?”

She nodded, suddenly exhausted in body and spirit.

Oz turned to the Grovelands. “Many thanks for your support and assistance tonight. I’m sure you’re as ready to leave as we.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Fitz said, taking Rosalind’s hand. “I hope you’re more yourself in the morning,” he gallantly added with a smile for Isolde.

“I will be, I know. I so appreciate your company.”

Oz met Fitz’s gaze, the men of a height, temperament, and understanding.

“If you need anything, let me know.” Although in terms of human management, Oz’s skills were impeccable. Turning to Isolde, Fitz offered their good-bys.

“We must have dinner when you’re back in town,” Rosalind said, their earlier conversation touching on their departure for Cambridgeshire.

“Yes, thank you,” Isolde said, because it was expected of her.

Oz nodded. “We’ll call on you.”

A moment later, Oz quietly said, “Would you like me to carry you?”

“Heavens no!”

He smiled at her alarm. “You have to learn not to give a damn, darling. I’ll teach you.”

“Just not at this moment if you don’t mind,” she quickly said, coming to her feet. “I’m fine… really-perfectly fine.” She held out her arm. “Look-a steady hand.”

He liked that toughness she prided herself on-occasional moments in reference to Compton notwithstanding. Her stubborn intrepidity was what had first endeared her to him. Not that her independent streak didn’t turn mutinous at times, but then that only added to her allure. He wasn’t bored yet when he always was long before this.

“Am I allowed to take your hand?” he sportively inquired, doing just that.

“No.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, tightening his clasp. “You’re always so accommodating. That must be why we get along.”

“We get along because I can keep up with you in bed.”

“And even exceed me at times.” He shot her a grin as they moved toward the corridor. “I find that exceptional flair most attractive in you.”

His hand was large and firm and reassuringly warm. “While I find you exceptionally difficult.” She was smiling though.

“But loveable.”

“If only so many other women didn’t think so as well.”

“How can it matter?”

“So practical, Lennox.”

“We both are.” His voice was relaxed. “Practical with regard to this marriage.”

“And with regard to the sex.”

“Especially the sex. Which provides me uncommon delight.”

She wanted to ask, For how long? but consoled herself with knowing that he was feeling perhaps as beguiled as she.

And in that she took solace.

But it turned out to be a night quite separate from anything so tame as beguilement. It was a night of hot, steamy sex, of frenzied, furious sex, of sex with a hint of violence at times, but not without a fanatical degree of pleasure as well. Until Isolde finally cried, “No more!”

“Are you sure?” Oz panted, trying to drag air into his lungs. “Sorry,” he whispered, meeting her gaze. “You’re sure.” Exhaling softly, he rolled onto his back, gathered her into his arms, and watched her fall asleep in seconds.

His heart was still pounding like a drum.

He felt as if he could last a week, a month.

She was amazing.

He was looking forward to his conjugal duties with real pleasure.