Sexy As Hell (Berkley Sensation) Page 13

  “Will they be?”

  “Of course. In the ton manners are uncertain, snideness is an art form, and we are perceived as a divertissement of the first water. You already saw as much during our at-home.”

  Reminded, Isolde softly groaned. “Promise to save me.” “I believe I already have,” he said easily, “but I shall again tonight. Consider this my Lancelot phase.”

  “If only you weren’t so wicked, you might aspire to a Lancelot.”

  He shot her an amused look. “Who says I’m wicked?”

  “Who doesn’t? Although I’m sure all your admirers mean it in the sweetest way.” The tittle-tattle was impossible to ignore, whether below-stairs whispers or those she’d overheard at their at-home. Or her own personal assessment of the spoiled young lord who’d done her the huge favor of marrying her—temporarily. “As do I, darling. Have I told you that you intrigue me mightily?”

  “No, but I rather have that feeling with your, shall we say, captivating enthusiasm for my person.”

  “For your cock, darling. Be more specific.”

  He laughed out loud, causing the many servants still crowding the corridor to look their way. “You don’t know how pleased I am to have stumbled into your little drama that night at Blackwood’s. I haven’t been so pleasantly entertained in ages.”

  “We’re pleased we amuse you,” she dulcetly replied. “So long as the next amusement isn’t too long delayed.”

  “Midnight at the latest. You’re not the only one waiting.”

  “How sweet. May I say you’re the most charitable and obliging of husbands.”

  “You make it easy, puss. Everything in life should be so simple.”

  He was in too fine spirits to question the motives behind that ease. Or the reasons why his wife had become of such material interest to him. It had been an extremely busy few days he would have said, had the question been posed to him.

  But it wasn’t.

  Which was perhaps just as well.

  Because then he would have been required to think about a woman in something more than sexual terms for the first time since India.

  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 habitués 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.”