Susan Johnson - Gorgeous As Sin

“It’s a bloody fortune,” Algernon said bluntly. “She’s a fool if she doesn’t take it.”

“Perhaps you could apprise her of your sentiments,” Symon diplomatically noted.

“Now, now,” the baron interposed. “Rosalind must have her reasons for refusing. She’s an intelligent woman. Perhaps there are extenuating circumstances. I’m not sure we should interfere.” He and his daughter shared common crusading convictions; he respected the choices she’d made. “Although, I certainly understand it’s a large sum, my dear,” he said, turning to his wife, not unaware of the sacrifices she made to keep their household solvent. “Perhaps we should at least wait to hear from Rosalind.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Algernon responded. “She obviously doesn’t understand the benefits of twenty thousand pounds. It would change her life.”

“I think she’s quite content,” the baron said, understanding his daughter’s feelings since fulfillment for him was a simple matter of puttering around his laboratory.

“Your father might be right, dear,” Lady Pitt-Riverston said, with a smile for her son. “How can it hurt to wait a bit? ”

Understanding his only ally was Algernon, otherwise his business was done, Mr. Symon proposed to have a private conversation with Mrs. St. Vincent’s brother. “Thank you kindly for listening to my proposal,” the barrister said with a pleasant smile before turning to Algernon. “If you’d care to share a pint with me before my train leaves, Mr. Pitt-Riverston,” he said, “I’d be interested in hearing about the local grouse hunting.” Rising to his feet, he picked up his hat and bowed to Lady Pitt-Riverston. “Thank you again, ma’am.”

“I’d be more than happy to help you,” Algernon returned, coming to his feet as well. “Thank you for tea, Mother. Father.” He dipped his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mr. Symon would have been willing to wait for the morning train if it meant returning with the commitment Hutchinson wanted. Now to see if the brother had a price or more aptly, the exact amount of that price.

A short time later, he and Algernon were seated at a table in the local village pub. Once their cognacs were served, Symon lifted his glass. “Thank you for keeping me company. Cheers.”

Algernon dipped his head, raised his glass, and the men drank down their cognacs.

Pleased to see that his companion was a tippler, Symon signaled for more drinks. “As you may have surmised,” he said as they waited for their drinks, “I wanted to discuss something other than grouse hunting.”

Algernon smiled faintly. “By all means, please do. I don’t hunt in any case so I wouldn’t have been of much help in that regard.”

“I was hoping you could help me in another way, Mr. Pitt-Riverston. And if you were so inclined, I’m sure the Duke of Groveland would be most grateful.”

“How grateful? ” Algernon had not inherited the philanthropic genes in the family.

“I’m sure you could name your price,” the barrister smoothly replied, pleased to find a family member who understood how business was conducted. “Just between us, sir, may I say your sister seems to put no value at all on money. Twenty thousand is an enormous sum.” Symon had been one of the many agents sent to make offers to Rosalind.

Algernon snorted. “She’s blind to the ways of the world-she sees herself as some ministering angel to the poor,” he added with a sneer. “Neither she nor her dilettante of a husband had any appreciation for the solid principles that have made Britain the envy of the world. Industry and professional men drive the engine of commerce. Not poets,” he spat, “or free libraries for the poor.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Symon would have agreed with the devil to get the job done.

“So how might I help you? ”

“How much influence do you have with your sister? ”

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure. But rest assured, I shall exert what pressure I have to make her understand the merits of accepting such a generous offer.”

“I’m sure the duke would be willing to offer you a down payment for your immediate assistance, and should you persuade your sister to sell, you need but name your reward.”

“Three hundred now.” Crisp and clipped.

“Very well.” A tidy sum Symon thought; the brother was greedy. But he took out his wallet and counted out the bills.

“I’ll send her a telegram immediately, then follow up with a letter. If she still remains adamant, I’ll travel down to London and deal with her face-to-face. I’ll make it clear to her that our parents could use financial help and with twenty thousand she could do so. There is filial duty after all; she is not ignorant of the principle. And so I will remind her.”

Their drinks came and Symon lifted his. “To a profitable association.”

“To our common goal,” Algernon added, holding his glass aloft.

The men drank, both pleased with the arrangement.

Algernon was richer by three hundred pounds, equal to a modest annual income for the lesser gentry, and the future held the possibility of real wealth.

The men parted with assurances and smiles, their bargain made.

Symon could report that he’d been partially successful in his assignment. Furthermore, he didn’t miss the evening train to London.

FITZ LEFT ROSALIND’S apartment early the next morning. Throughout the day, Rosalind half hoped he’d stop by again, even though she realized the folly in harboring such expectations from a man who viewed women as amusements. At times, relatively tender amusements as he’d indicated last night, but she knew better than to anticipate any permanent interest. Her life had been too challenging to put much store in silver-lining fantasies. And despite Mrs. Beecham’s comment about dukes marrying beneath them, she was not about to take complete leave of her senses in that regard.

While Rosalind was reminding herself not to lose sight of reason when it came to Fitz’s charming ways-sexual and otherwise-Fitz was doing his very best not to think of Rosalind at all. He refused to yield to what he considered uncontrollable urges today. It was a matter of principle.

He actually escorted his mother to a luncheon that day, followed by a short musical recital. Not short enough in his estimation, but then with plenty of brandy he managed to survive the performance without losing his good humor.

In fact, on the carriage ride back to Groveland House, Julia said, “You seem in fine fettle today, darling. Even playing cavalier to me without so much as a grumble.” She looked at him with a twinkle in her eye. “To what do I owe this pleasure? ”

He was lounging back on the seat opposite her, the carriage top down on the warm afternoon, his gaze half-lidded against the sun. “I haven’t seen much of you since you arrived. I thought I’d do my filial duty.”

“Why today? ”

He laughed. “Don’t look at me with such suspicion. You’d think I never accompany you anywhere.”

“You don’t.”

“I do when you ask me.” He lifted his brows. “The Turner exhibit, for instance.”

“You left me there. Along with Miss Nesbit.”

“If you’re going to quibble with me,” he drawled, amusement in his gaze, “I won’t ask you where we’re going next.”

She looked at him as she had when he was young and trying to keep something from her. “Are you sick, darling? You can tell me.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not sick, Mother. I’m in excellent health.”

“You were out all night.”

“I’m out most nights.”

“That’s true,” she agreed, experiencing some relief. “I thank you then for your company, although you have to admit, darling, you don’t often escort me to luncheon.”

“I was just in the mood today.”

“If you say so.” She wasn’t convinced.

“I do.” Then he took out a flask from his coat pocket, uncorked it, and drank a long draught.

It must be that woman, Julia thought with a mother’s instinct. “I was planning on going to Charlotte’s tea next if you’re looking for something to do.”

He groaned. “Good God, Mother, why do you bother with that self-righteous prude? ”

“If you must know, Kemal will be there. Charlotte’s husband is in the Ministry of Trade, and he and Kemal are discussing something or other,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“If Kemal’s there, you won’t need me.” Being dutiful had its limits and Charlotte Dalton was his. He couldn’t stomach the woman; she thought she could entice him as a suitor by slyly calling attention to her daughter’s virginity.

His mother smiled, well aware of Charlotte’s crude presumption. “You could just tell Charlotte you can’t abide virgins.”

“I believe I have in every possible way short of gross discourtesy, Mother. She is completely obtuse and oblivious to the fact that virgins went the way of sailing ships.”

“I believe there are still a few.”

He offered her a jaundiced look. “If they’re very plain.” At which point a picture of the splendid Mrs. St. Vincent sprang into his mind in not so subtle contrast. “I’ll get off at Brooks’s,” he abruptly said and swivelling around gave instructions to the driver. “You don’t need me with Kemal for company, do you? ”

“No, of course not.” Julia scrutinized her son, taking note of his sudden discomfort. “If you need anything or if you wish for entertainment tonight, Kemal and I are dining with Derby.”

Fitz looked up, his flask halfway to his mouth. “Thank you, but I’ll find some entertainment of my own.” Raising the flask to his mouth, he drained it.

“Do you have plans to go to Green Grove anytime soon?” Fitz normally went grouse hunting in August or rusticated in the country.

“I’m not sure. What about you? ”

“We might drive out next week,” Julia said.

“I’ll come along if I can,” he lied. It wasn’t that he disliked Kemal; he just preferred not seeing Kemal play husband to his mother when the man already had four wives. A son’s protective impulse perhaps, but there it was.

Despite drinking and gambling at Brooks’s in the course of the following hours, however, his memories of Mrs. St. Vincent persisted. In fact, the more he drank, the more vivid they became. Not a particular surprise. He’d decided to play cicisbeo to his mother in order not to spend the day drinking, knowing what it would do to his self-control. He was like a dog with the neighborhood bitch in heat, he thought-driven willy nilly to fuck her. And liquor only made the craving worse.

He didn’t stay more than a few hours at Brooks’s. He left for Madame Rivera’s determined to exhaust himself. If he fucked someone else until he couldn’t fuck anymore, he hoped to annihilate his lustful need for the enticing Rosalind.

A petite, pretty blonde was riding Fitz some time later and silently offering up thanks for her good fortune. All the ladies vied for his attention when he called, knowing darling Fitz always gave pleasure in rich full measure. “I’m so glad you’re staying,” she purred, slowly sliding back down his cock.

After hours of drinking, he was fighting to stave off the compulsion that had brought him here. “I can’t think of a better place to spend the night,” he murmured.

“Lucky me…” He was the only man she knew who could last til morning.

WHILE FITZ WAS doing his prurient best to forget Rosalind, she was locking up the bookstore before setting off for her appointment with Dr. Swindell. In the course of the day, she’d reconciled herself to the practicalities of serving as the Duke of Groveland’s idle entertainment. All the pros, cons, and harsh realities had been neatly compartmentalized and locked away.

If she saw him again, fine. If she didn’t, she understood the rules apropos casual liaisons. They were by definition casual.

She took a few moments to stop by Mr. Edding’s. With the interruptions of late, she wished to let him know she was behind schedule. Not that she would divulge the reasons why-that Fitz had been consuming all her leisure time. But Mr. Edding deserved some warning so he could adjust his publication schedule.

As she walked into his shop, she immediately noticed his apprehension. Thinking perhaps she was jumping to conclusions, she smiled. “Good evening, sir. I came to beg your indulgence. My next manuscript will be delayed I’m afraid.”

“You mustn’t be seen here,” he whispered, although they were quite alone. “I didn’t dare send you a message in the event someone was watching, but you must go. Immediately.”

The panic in his voice was disturbing. “Watching? ” she whispered back.

“I believe I’m under surveillance.” He glanced outside with a furtive look. “Someone learned of my publishing activities. The authorities may swoop down on me at any moment. You must go and don’t under any circumstances come back until you hear from me. Now go!”