Susan Johnson - Sexy As Hell

“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.

ISOLDE ’S TRAVELING CARRIAGE, brought to Oz’s from Blackwood’s after the wedding, was at the curb outside Lennox House the next morning. Oz had been up early as usual and came up to speak to Isolde when she woke. He had a few arrangements to make before he could leave, he explained. One of his ships was due in port that morning. He’d ride up later. He wanted to have his favorite thoroughbred with him in Cambridgeshire.

Achille fussed over them at breakfast, so they smiled at each other more than they spoke, both of them pleasantly relaxed after their night of wild passion. Although they frequently took note of the time: Isolde was anxious to return home; Oz had a call to make.

After breakfast, Oz escorted Isolde to her carriage. In anticipation of the scandal accruing to the published reports of her denouement, she’d chosen to avoid the train. “I shouldn’t be long in London,” he said, offering her his hand to step up into the carriage. He was already dressed for travel in a dark coat, chamois breeches, and riding boots. “I may even overtake you before you reach home. Lift your feet.” He took a foot warmer from a waiting footman and slid it under her booted feet. “You’re sure you don’t want a lady’s maid with you?”

“I’m sure. I’ll be home in a few hours.” Pulling her fur-lined cape over the skirt of her traveling gown, cleaned and pressed by Oz’s staff, she wiggled her toes against the heat of the ironstone container filled with hot coals.

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.

“Your man might be killed in the melee,” Oz silkily replied. “You went berserk. Everyone knows you’ve been drinking a lot.”

“You wouldn’t get away with it,” Compton blustered.

“Of course I would. The only real question is whether you survive this meeting. I suggest you listen to my proposal and more to the point, agree to it.”

“Do I have a choice?” Encouraged by the word proposal, however, Compton’s native venality came to the fore.

“No.”

Nevertheless, it looked as though Lennox was here to deal. Further emboldened by recall of what he’d heard last night, Compton rallied his confidence. “Say what you have to say then,” he sneered. “Although, I might have plans as well. Have you thought of that?”

“Unless it involves you having a weapon in your hand right now-and you don’t appear to have one-you’re fucked,” Oz pleasantly said. “So I’d listen if I were you. You’ve a count of three to make up your mind before I blow your head off. One, two-”

Oz’s finger tightened on the trigger, and Frederick’s false courage evaporated. “Don’t, don’t!” he screamed. “I’ll listen!”

“Excellent choice.” A soft, expressionless statement. “How much do you owe in gambling debts?”

“I’m not sure.” Hedging, his mind racing to find deliverance from this madman, Compton mumbled, “I’d have to add it up.”