Sexy As Hell

CHAPTER 21

BOTH ISOLDE AND Oz set about restoring their lives to a cultivated and intentional normalcy, working very hard to rebuff or rout any memories of the weeks they’d spent together.

There was no point in dwelling on the past, Isolde decided, especially after having heard from Malmsey. Oz was going to be difficult about the divorce-no surprise from a man who conducted his affairs very much as he pleased. Not that she wasn’t grateful for all he’d done to save her from Frederick. But the original agreement had established a clear-cut time frame to the marriage. And so it would remain. Furthermore, it suited her purposes that he wished to wait until after the birth of the child to divorce. She’d avoid unwanted gossip, and since few noblemen played nursemaid to their pregnant wives, an absent husband wasn’t unusual.

Naturally, news of Oz’s departure spread quickly through the neighborhood, as all gossip did in a small, insulated community. Isolde’s staff protected her by bruiting abroad that Lord Lennox had business in London.

Isolde said as much when Pamela called on her the day after Oz left, knowing full well the time would come when such bland pronouncements would no longer serve. In the meantime, however, she smiled at her dearest friend and said with a sigh, “Men and their business. He wouldn’t be deterred.”

“Isn’t that always the way with them,” Pamela commiserated over tea. “Although, if you ask me, it’s hard to keep any husband in the country for long.”

“I’ll admit I don’t exactly mind,” Isolde replied, half-truthfully. “I’m much more familiar with my own company.”

“You always were a bit odd.” But Pamela was smiling kindly. “We never could induce you to spend much time over cards and gossip.”

Isolde returned her smile. “I have my acres to care for and my stables. And as you well know, I detest cards.”

“Still, you must miss your darling husband now and again. He’s a proper handsome devil with a smile that can charm the birds out of the trees.”

“If I miss him too much, I’ll hie myself to London,” Isolde dissembled. “Tell me about Annabelle’s new baby,” she said, deliberately changing the subject, Pamela’s sister having recently given birth. “She must be pleased to finally have a daughter.”

“She’s in raptures and writes of nothing else. The child is a paragon of every earthly virtue according to Annabelle, although I fail to see how even a mother can tell at three weeks of age.”

“How are her boys dealing with their new sister?”

“I doubt they noticed, roughnecks that they are. They spend every minute out-of-doors. Not that their father is much of a homebody.” She raised her brows in reproach.

“At least he’s in the hunting field and not in some hussy’s bed.” Oh dear, a stabbing reminder of Oz’s favorite activity. “Speaking of husbands,” she quickly went on in an effort to distract her thoughts, “is Elliot at home or in the city?”

“Don’t ask,” Pamela said in chafing accents.

Isolde was sorry she had for Pamela went on at length describing Elliot’s loathsome family and how he’d had to run to London and set to rights some Simpson dispute. The disparaging comments continued apace, a largely one-sided conversation as was often the case with Pamela. But Isolde didn’t mind. While her friend detailed the lunacy of her husband’s family, Isolde had the leisure to reminisce about recent, pleasurable events in which a devilishly handsome man with a charming smile played a major role.

It was all well and good to logically dismiss the weeks of her marriage as nothing more than a pragmatic alternative to Frederick’s harassment. It was quite another matter to quash the enchanting memories of that blissful interlude.

Clearly, Oz had lived up to his prodigal reputation.

In due time Pamela ran out of invective. “Dear me, do stop me when I rant on like that,” she ruefully muttered. “I apologize.”

“Nonsense. You’ve listened to enough of my grumbling and laments over the years. At least you aren’t in London dealing with the unruly Simpson mob; consider yourself fortunate.”

“You’re right. Elliot’s mother orders everyone about like a despotic harpy; I have to constantly refrain from saying something rude to her.” She waved her hand in a little dismissive gesture. “That’s enough-on to more pleasant subjects. Can I coax you to come to Cassandra’s luncheon tomorrow? She promises us a lecture on dahlias, which in itself isn’t enticing, but apparently, the young landscape specialist giving the lecture is very, very handsome. Irish.” She winked. “You know those dark Irishmen are absolutely delicious.”

“No, I don’t know,” Isolde said with amusement. “Nor do you.”

Pamela smiled. “We can at least look.”

“You look. I’ve promised Grover we’d purchase some new Scottish cattle he’s excited about.”

“Good God, darling, you should have been a man with your outrageous interest in farming. Wherever does it come from?”

“From my father as you well know. Papa was a very accomplished farmer.”

“My father’s expertise was in vingt-et-un. Fortunately, he was good at it.”

“And you’re the richer for it,” Isolde lightly said. “Never a bad position to be in as a woman. Particularly since the law now allows us control of our property.”

“Speaking of which, what were the terms of your marriage settlement? We all discovered what Will was looking for in marriage. More than your considerable fortune, the greedy man.”

“So it seems. I was naively unaware he had a market price on marriage.”

“You were coddled from the cradle, darling. How could you possibly know the world wasn’t all sunshine and moon-beams. Try growing up in a family of five brothers like I did. Now, Oz didn’t want your money, did he-a nabob like him?”

“No. He insisted I keep my own property, so my world is unchanged.” And she had a fortune in new jewelry as well, Oz generous in all but his constancy.

“Lucky you. A rich, handsome, deadly charming husband who doesn’t make demands on your wealth. Surely, he’s an anomaly in the beau monde.”

“I suppose he is.” But rather than continue a discussion that would only require her to contradict portions of it when her divorce was announced, Isolde said instead, “Do convey my apologies to Cassandra, but you know I’m not interested.”

“Of course; she won’t be surprised you’ve declined.” With a glance at the clock on the mantel, Pamela began gathering up her gloves and bonnet. “My dressmaker is coming over to fit that Worth gown, so I must be off.” Placing the velvet confection on her curls, she tied the ribbons under her chin. “I could say don’t be such a stay-at-home,” she said, slipping on one glove, “but since you are, I’ll come over again soon and regale you with the latest gossip.”

“Thank you.” Isolde grinned. “I shall wait with bated breath.”

The second glove in place, Pamela smiled. “Enjoy your Scottish cattle purchasing.”

Isolde dipped her head. “I shall.”

But after Pamela left, Isolde hadn’t even had time to finish her cup of tea before Will was announced.

“Your wife will hear of your visit,” Isolde remarked as he strolled into the drawing room, the image of a well-tailored country squire in chamois breeches, riding boots, and a tweed hacking jacket. “You must have met Pamela on your way in.”

“Can’t I visit a neighbor?” he murmured with a smile. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever. I’ve always liked you in that gown.”

“Thank you.” Short months ago, she would have glowed with happiness at not only his compliment but also his visit. And now his words were no more than pleasantries anyone might have uttered-a brother, for instance, or a familiar cousin from childhood. The glorious Lord Lennox had rendered her good service in more ways than one when Will no longer caused her distress. “Honestly, though, Will, Anne won’t appreciate you calling on me.” Anne Verney had made her feelings crystal clear, although she couldn’t bring herself to openly disparage his wife. “You know how servants gossip,” she blandly said instead.

“Don’t worry about Anne. I don’t. I never did.”

She was not only surprised at his candor, but she was also unprepared for her lack of pleasure at his admission. How she would have longed to hear such words short months ago. “Harboring such feelings,” she said with a practical logic no longer hindered by pangs of unrequited love, “why did you marry her?”

“You know why.” He stripped off his gloves and tossed them on a nearby table. “My family insisted.”

“Your family insisted on securing Anne’s dowry, you mean. And you willingly complied. I wouldn’t have thought you so dutiful.” And so willing to relinquish the affection we shared.

“We can’t all be financially secure,” he bluntly replied, dropping into a chair he’d sat in so many times before and stretching out his legs. “Could we talk about something else?”

She’d been unaware of his callousness. Although surely her husband’s callousness was of a kind. She’d not considered herself so naive and yet… the implication was clear. “What would you like to talk about?” she asked, telling herself she was capable of civility. “My marriage? Your marriage? The price of cattle?” she lightly queried.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, ignoring her levity, his smile warm and intimate, familiar. “I heard your husband went back to the city. I thought you might like company. Or do you find marriage less boring than I?”

Boring was not a word she’d use to describe her marriage. “I’m sorry you’re bored; I’m quite content.” A lie but he was the last person she was likely to confide in.

“Even abandoned by your bridegroom as you are?”

“He has business in the city.”

“Will he be back soon?”

“Really, Will, do I inquire of Anne’s schedule?” She sat up a little straighter, unwilling to continue in this vein. “Speaking of your wife, you must be aware she takes exception to me,” she ambiguously noted. “I’m not sure you should linger. And I do have a meeting scheduled with my steward and farm manager soon.”

Will gazed at her from under his lashes and slowly smiled. “Are you giving me my congй? After our long and affectionate relationship?”

So he wasn’t denying it. “Former relationship. You married first.”

His gaze narrowed. “You’re still holding that against me?”

She slowly exhaled, his unwillingness to accept responsibility so unabashedly selfish, she was mortified at her obtuseness. Love is blind was a sobering fact, as was a degree of personal naivete she’d rather not acknowledge. “I’m not holding anything against you,” she said, neither angry nor wounded, but awakened now to a sumptuous pleasure Will could never offer her. “I’m simply pointing out that you and I are both married,” she kindly said, “and not in a position to enjoy each other’s company in the same way we once did.”

“You have to admit, darling, we were very good together,” he softly said, holding her gaze. “We could be again.”

“We can’t call back yesterday. Too much has changed.” How easy it was to be gracious and affable when one’s emotions weren’t involved. She began to understand Oz’s casual urbanity.

Unchastened by her words, Will’s smile was smug. “You like sex, darling. We both know it. All I’m saying is if your husband doesn’t find time to return to Oak Knoll anytime soon, I’d be more than happy to accommodate you. Anywhere, anytime, day or night.”

Her brows rose. “And your wife? What do you say to her?”

“Don’t concern yourself with my wife. Remember, darling, anytime…”

Suddenly intent on ending this disillusioning conversation, Will’s casual infidelity reminding her too odiously of her husband’s, Isolde came to her feet. That she’d been so blind to Will’s faithlessness was disturbing to a woman who prided herself on being levelheaded. That she wanted no man other than Oz who was cut from the same cloth was even more disturbing. “I do have a meeting, Will. If you’ll excuse me. You know your way out.” And in a swirl of plum silk, she turned toward the door and quickly left.