Susan Johnson - Sexy As Hell

“The lady’s indisposed at the moment, Compton. She’s rare tired after last night,” he added with an insolent smile.

Flushing red with anger, Frederick glanced over his shoulder to assure himself his hired roughs were in place. “Nevertheless, I must insist on speaking with her,” he said, the extent of his gambling debts prompting him to stand his ground. “This is a civilized country, Lennox,” he added, the obvious slur referring to Oz’s Indian background. “I have simply come to call on the lady.”

“With bully boys at your back.” Oz nodded at the menacing crowd. “If you recall, Compton, I shot Buckley last month for irritating me. So don’t fucking irritate me or I’ll shoot you where you stand.” What the hell is he doing with a frock-coated minister? The man suddenly hove into view behind a brawny ruffian.

“I have armed men to protect me,” Frederick blustered. As if mention of his bodyguard gave him fresh courage, Frederick foolishly added, “Step aside, Lennox. I have business with Lady Wraxell.”

“If you wish to see her, you’ll have to go through me,” Oz silkily said. “I have six shots. One for you and the rest for your thugs if they choose to die today.”

The men hired by Frederick lived in a hazardous, dog-eat-dog world; they were survivors or they’d never have lived to adulthood. None of them questioned the cold-blooded malevolence in Oz’s eyes or the steadiness of his pistol hand.

“There now, that’s a sensible lot,” Oz said. Not one man so much as shifted his stance. “I have some money in my coat pocket, Malmsey. Give it to these gentlemen so they might have a pint or two on me.” He calmly waited, his finger on the trigger, while the barrister found the coat and the money and hurried over to the door.

“All of it, sir?” the barrister quavered, holding up a thick bundle of large notes.

“Yes, I’m in a charitable mood.” He was patently undisturbed, his voice unemotional. “Buy the wife and kiddies a present from me, too, gentlemen.” Taking the bills from Malmsey’s outstretched hand, he tossed them well down the passageway.

As Frederick’s guard melted away in raucous pursuit of the windfall, Oz nodded at the minister who’d not been touched by the greed of lesser men. “Come in, sir. I have need of you. It’s not a request,” he gruffly added as the man hesitated. “Although, if you do your duty by me,” Oz said with a pleasant smile, “your parish will be richer for it.”

Ah, there are calibrations of acceptable greed, he thought as the minister walked toward him. “Good day, Compton.” He waved him away with his pistol. “Although, I’m more than willing to put a bullet in you if you want to argue the point.”

Left to face the formidable Lennox alone, Frederick could do little but glower. “You won’t get away with this disgraceful behavior, Lennox! I shall have my revenge on you and my cousin!”

The man must be obsessed by the prospect of Isolde’s fortune that he dared threaten him. Most men would have been more prudent. “Not, I think, before I have mine, Compton,” Oz returned, a plan having leaped full-blown into his mind at the sight of the minister. And so saying, he shut the door in Compton’s fat face and locked it securely.

Turning, he set his pistol on a small table and offered Isolde a graceful bow. “Fear and money, darling-an incomparable combination.”

“Very effective. My compliments and thanks.”

“You’re welcome, but you heard him. He’s not about to give up without a fight.”

She shrugged. “I’ve dealt with Frederick for years. I’ll manage his next threat when it comes.”

“He owes money everywhere. I’m not sure he’s going to be manageable this time. I have a proposal. A business arrangement as it were-temporary and capable of permanently discouraging your contemptible cousin.”

Isolde’s gaze flicked to the minister, then back to Oz in warning.

“Malmsey, would you be so kind and take the minister-” He stopped and nodded toward the frock-coated man. “Lennox, sir.”

“Pelham, sir.”

“You have a marriage license, I presume.”

The man flushed. “I was told the marriage was by mutual consent, Mr. Lennox.”

Oz didn’t correct him; he wore his title lightly. “If you’d leave us for a few minutes,” Oz submitted. “This won’t take long.”

Once the door closed on Malmsey and the minister, Isolde snorted in disgust. “The vile pig. He thought to marry me by force! I’d rather die!”

“Which would only serve his ends,” Oz drily said. “As for his scheme to marry you, once the words were spoken, you might not have had recourse.”

“Of course I would! It would have been an unspeakable outrage, not to mention a crime!”

“Come, sit with me.” Taking her hand, he drew her to a small sofa. “You need to make some plans.” Oz was more aware than most men of the finer details of marriage law after listening to his many lovers’ conjugal complaints.

“My plan is to avoid the despicable blackguard. I’ll hire an army if I have to in order to keep him off my land.”

“That might work,” he diplomatically replied, sitting and pulling her down on his lap. “But I have a better scheme. A foolproof one.”

She smiled. “If this has to do with sex, we have rather too many guests at the moment.”

“I’ll get rid of them soon.” He grinned. “And then we can have sex as man and wife-don’t look so shocked. It’s an excellent idea. Now, listen.”

Afterward, she said, “Hmm,” and he was encouraged.

“It’s strictly a business arrangement.” His voice was soft and even. “We’ll have whatever legal documents you want drawn up to protect your property. I have no need of your wealth, nor do I want it. I’ve plenty of my own. I’ll live with you temporarily so all looks right and tight, and once Compton is off the scent, we can divorce easily enough. It only takes money, a good barrister, and patience.”

She grinned. “Is that all?”

“Darling, consider, Malmsey will be thrilled to take on such a lucrative commission. And admit,” he added, amusement in his gaze, “no one else will have you now that the papers have come out.”

“A blessing as you well know. But you needn’t be so chivalrous. It’s quite too generous, particularly for a man of your-”

“Selfishness?”

Her brows rose. “I was about to say a man of your sybaritic tendencies-all of which I adore by the way. But still, it would be a horrendous imposition for you even temporarily. I don’t think the lovers I assume you have will care to drive up to Cambridge to sleep with you.”

He didn’t say he’d be more than content with her for the immediate future-his driving motivation after a night of uncommonly fine sex. “It’s not permanent, darling, so it’s not an imposition. As for my lady loves, they’ll be in London when I return.”

“Are you sure?”

“About them?”

“About this marriage proposition of yours.”

“Right now I am. I suggest you seize the opportunity while you may.” He grinned. “I may sober up and change my mind.”

“Seriously, Lennox. Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I always know what I’m doing,” he softly said, his gaze crystal clear. I’ll be fucking you for at least a month. “Compton will be checkmated-which I admit will satisfy me. I dislike cheats. Your fortune will be secure. Not to mention society will buzz with excitement trying to account for our hasty marriage. Need I add,” he said, dropping his glance for a moment, “the heart of gossip will center on your stomach and whether or not you’re increasing. Particularly now after the scandal sheets have conveyed news of your denouement.”

“Will that bother you? The stares and speculation?”

He laughed. “Naive child. That’s for me to ask you.”

“Nothing bothers you?”

“Nothing in this world. Now, come,” he briskly said, thrusting aside the affliction he drank to forget, “think of the lovely tumult we will cause. Denouement or not, no one would expect me to marry for fear of scandal. My entire life is lived under a disreputable cloud. The speculation will be intense.”

“So my scandal will be a mere bagatelle next to your indiscretions.”

“Everyone will consider you a saint for marrying me. So now, Miss Perceval, will you do me the honor of accepting my ardent, heartfelt proposal or reject me and cast me into eternal gloom?”

His roguish smile offered delight. Unrivaled as she well knew. But while his audacious proposal would solve her immediate problems, she was more sober than he since he’d had a bottle close at hand all night. And, she suspected, she was incomparably more responsible drunk or sober. “You’re very sweet, but-”

“I’m not in the least sweet. Even knowing that, unlike you, none of the women I know would consider equivocating over my proposal.”

She smiled. “They would squeal with delight, shriek ‘Yes!’ and drag you to the jewelers.”

His gaze from under half-lowered lashes was sardonic. “Rich men are much coveted by unmarried females.”

“Rich, handsome men even more.”

“Then you understand the great honor I do you,” he said, softly teasing.

Shifting on his lap, she faced him more fully-indecisive, uncertain, yet not unaware of the benefits of his proposal. Including the extravagant sexual pleasures he offered. “What if I were to agree to your reckless offer?”

“Then I’d suggest we finally end this discussion, call in the minister, and embark on the blissful state of matrimony.” His lip curled lightly in mockery. “Naturally, I’d expect due compensation for my charitable impulses.”

“To that I would willingly comply,” she laughingly replied.

“And to the marriage? Come, darling, enough dithering. Think of it as sport.”

She gazed at the prodigal young man pinning her with his dark, high-strung gaze. “As everything is with you.”

“You can’t say you didn’t enjoy last night.”

“No,” she honestly answered. “But I don’t know you.”

In the only respect that mattered to him, she did. “Consider, darling, would you rather get to know Compton in my stead?” He glanced at the door to the adjoining room; the man of the cloth’s voice was raised in hectoring accents. “Darling, we’re keeping the minister waiting.”

“I’m trying to decide,” she muttered.

“Would it help if I reminded you of Compton’s paunch, foul breath, and of course, his grievous luck at cards? He owes a fortune to the moneylenders.”

“Oh God, don’t remind me.”

“Sorry, but he won’t give up. Not with the moneylenders snapping at his heels.”

Drawing in a small breath, she hesitated still. Then exhaling, she said, not without sufficient trepidation to cause a slight catch in her voice, “Very well. I accept your kind offer.”

“I’m deeply honored,” Oz said with polished grace.

“And drunk.”

“Perhaps a little,” he lied, and, turning his head, shouted for the minister.

MR. PELHAM’S RESERVATIONS were overcome with a generous gift to his parish, Malmsey’s with a quickly scrawled note by Oz in which he relinquished any interest in Isolde’s property, and shortly after, in room thirteen of Blackwood’s Hotel, with Malmsey and Fremont as witnesses, Miss Perceval and Baron Lennox prepared to outmaneuver Frederick Compton.

“Make it short,” Oz instructed the minister. At Pelham’s frown, he thought him an ungrateful bastard considering the sizable sum he’d donated to his church, but rather than argue about the man’s lack of appreciation, Oz turned to Isolde and gently said, “Unless you prefer the entire ritual, darling. Although you really shouldn’t be standing that long.”

He was brazen and shameless out of bed as well, Isolde thought, as a blush pinked her cheeks at his insinuation. But she answered with cool equanimity. “A short ceremony would please me.”

How like her, Oz reflected, recalling that same mild tone from their first meeting. “As you see, Mr. Pelham. The lady wishes brevity.”

But as the minister grudgingly flipped through the pages of his prayer book to the essential passages, Isolde reflected on the stark difference between this humble ceremony and what she’d once envisioned for her wedding day. Like every young lady of wealth, her dreams had been romantic and starry-eyed. The family chapel would have been filled with fragrant summer flowers, she would have been radiant in a magnificent couturier design instead of her travel gown, scores of guests would have been in attendance, and of course, a different bridegroom would have stood at her side.

But then Will had been obliged to marry Anne Verney.

Frederick’s coercion had taken a dangerous turn.

And here she was-harsh reality dispatching romantic dreams.

Oz chose not to consider the bizarre occasion other than as a temporary solution to a lady’s dilemma that offered him at least a month of deeply satisfying sex. As for romantic dreams, his had been buried in India two years ago. When the minister paused at the point in the ceremony where a ring was required for the bride’s finger, Oz pulled off his gem-cut signet ring and slid it on Isolde’s finger. It was less suitable perhaps than the emerald on the fourth finger of his left hand, but that ring was too precious to relinquish.