Read Online Gorgeous as Sin by Susan Johnson - Free Book Online Page B

realized it or not. “Have you seen the painting?” Sofia’s pale brows rose in signal hyperbole. “ Very impressive male anatomy.”
    “I rather think the correspondent from Country Life will be taking advantage of Groveland’s impressive anatomy tonight,” Rosalind said with a little sniff.
    Sofia looked up from the petit fours she was placing in neat rows on a tray. “I think it bothers you that she might.”
    “It certainly does not!”
    “Please, I’ve know you too long. Be honest—it does.”
    “Well if it does, it shouldn’t,” Rosalind crisply retorted.
    “Yorkshire rules? Come, darling, you’re in London now. There aren’t any rules when it comes to passion. Here it’s strictly about self-indulgence or better yet,” she added with a wink, “overindulgence.”
    “I’m not interested in passion or indulgence of any kind,” Rosalind firmly said, as if a resolute delivery would translate to an equal decisiveness in her mind.
    “Of course you are,” Sofia calmly returned. “Despite your protests. So why not indulge in the breathless joys of passion? And who better than Groveland to offer you those pleasures?”
    Rosalind smiled tolerantly at her friend; how many times had they covered this subject in the course of her widowhood? “While you may embrace such breathless sensibilities, my life is about customers and sales, book orders and events like this. But should the time ever come when I’m in the grip of your thrilling emotions, you can be sure I’ll consider gratifying them.”
    “Perhaps later tonight,” Sofia slyly murmured.
    “No, not tonight.” Rosalind placed the last strawberry tart in place and picked up the tray. “Now enough nonsense. Let’s see if we can sell another painting.”
    As a matter of fact, several more paintings were eventually sold, and by eleven the gallery guests were departing, the tarts and petit fours were all eaten, the champagne drunk, and a sense of an evening well spent pervaded the air.
    Groveland was standing beside Rosalind as the clock struck the hour.
    Taking note of the time, he said, “It’s getting late. Thank you for a lovely evening.” His smile was practiced, but Mrs. St. Vincent was quite inexplicably redefining his casual regard for the women in his life. She inspired a rare predatory instinct; he disliked the feeling. “I’ll send my men in the morning to collect my paintings.” It had been a mistake to come.
    No, don’t go! Rosalind impulsively thought, only to instantly equivocate. Just say goodnight; do not become involved with the much too charming Duke of Groveland.
    Who, unfortunately, wanted her store.
    It may have been gypsy fate that Sofia walked over at that moment, or random chance or kismet. Or perhaps scheming design. She was clinging to the arm of the Times art critic, who in turn was holding up a bottle of Fitz’s champagne. “If we open this last bottle, will you two have a drink with us?” Sofia brightly inquired. “Since we seem to be the only ones left.”
    “I wouldn’t mind a glass,” Fitz heard himself say. So much for reason in the presence of a hot-spur libido.
    “I don’t know,” Rosalind objected politely, her voice of reason still operating. “It is late.”
    “How long will it take to drink one glass?” Sofia coaxed, intent on Rosalind taking advantage of Groveland’s obvious interest when her dearest friend had been celibate too long. “One little drink, darling,” she cajoled, “to celebrate the success of the show and my increased fortune.”
    Since Sofia’s good fortune was due to Groveland’s numerous purchases, Rosalind relented. Or told herself she did because of that. “Very well. One drink.”
    The die was cast.
    Not that Rosalind knew until later.
    But Sofia did.
    And Fitz did.
    In fact, he knew with such certainty that he literally checked his watch as if marking the time when he’d carried the day. Or night as it were. As for his obsession with Mrs. St. Vincent, by morning he’d have had his fill of her and he could get on with his