Chapter 28
TH E CELL DOOR opened, and Rosalind turned around to find a uniformed policeman with Fitz standing behind him, a finger to his lips.
Her first impulse was to fly at him screaming in rage.
Her second more practical reaction was to quietly wait for events to unfold. Time enough for vengeance. Although Fitz’s appearance probably meant that hiring a barrister wouldn’t be required-which also meant she could keep her store. That in itself qualified as revenge.
Fitz took note of her smug smile and inwardly winced.
Not that he didn’t deserve her displeasure, but he wasn’t looking forward to the coming row. He had no experience with truckling.
“Lady Groveland, allow me to apologize for the shocking miscarriage of justice,” the superintendent said with a stiff bow and a nervous smile. “You have been most grossly served by Captain Bagley. I assure you he will be severely punished for his conduct.” Red faced, the superintendent swallowed hard and putting a finger to the brim of his hat, bobbed another awkward bow. “My apologies again, my lady. You’re quite free to go.”
Rosalind dipped her head with ducal grace. “Your apologies are accepted, sir.” She smiled. “It was rather an adventure. And I’m quite unscathed. Hello, my dear,” she said, turning a bland gaze on Fitz. “Thank you for arriving so swiftly.”
“I would have come sooner had I not been in Scotland shooting. Naturally, I apologize for my tardiness.”
“No need. I was indisposed for a very short time.”
The superintendent stepped aside so Rosalind could exit the cell, his concern only that the duke and duchess be gone from his station as quickly as possible and more important, that no scandal accrue to him.
Fitz held out his arm as Rosalind entered the corridor.
She looked up and held his gaze for a potent moment before placing her fingers on his forearm. “How was the shooting? ”
“It could have been better,” he said, moving down the hallway.
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Not as sorry as I was to hear of your difficulties.”
“Pshaw, it was nothing. Don’t give it another thought.”
Her fingers were digging into his arm, and if looks could kill, he would have been dead. But she carried off her role with aplomb, even while they were in the carriage with Hutchinson. It was only when they deposited the barrister at his home that she turned on Fitz, her eyes flashing with anger.
“Aren’t you going to say it wasn’t you?” she demanded acidly.
“Would it do any good? ”
“Not in the least.” Quickly rising, she shifted to the opposite seat where Hutchinson had been sitting and coldly said, “Take me home.”
“Just for the record I didn’t order the arrest. It was a mistake.” He knew better than to offer the most bland demur. He had no real defense in any event.
“But a mistake you had a hand in,” she snapped. “You were the one who told them where to find the manuscripts, weren’t you? ”
“No.” A literal if not complete truth.
“You bloody liar,” she hissed. “No one else has been in my bedroom.”
This wasn’t the time to take heart at such news, but nevertheless he did, pleased that he alone had breached the citadel. Equally pleased after his lamentable time in Scotland that she was within reach, regardless her temper. “I’d like to make amends if you’d let me,” he quietly said. “You need but tell me what to do.”
She stared at him. “You’re unbelievable! You think this some mild outrage that can be smoothed over with a bloody apology? You think my arrest is some mere bagatelle that won’t cause a ripple in my life, that I can put this humiliation behind me with ease!” Her voice had risen, a flush colored her cheeks. “How dare you make light of this!”
“I’m not,” he muttered, willing to play the penitent for the wrong done Rosalind. “I understand the delicacy of the situation.”
“Delicacy! We’re not talking about some social gaffe! My door broken down and police swarming into my store is not a delicate situation!”
“I understand,” he said, submitting with grace. “I’ll make it up to you. Tell me what you want.”
She glared at him. “How typical. Everyone’s for sale, aren’t they, you bastard? Maybe in your world they are, but not in mine. Do me a favor,” she spat out. “From now on stay away from me and my store.”
“What if I don’t? Are you going to call the police? ” He was struggling to control his temper. Groveling wasn’t his strong suit. Nor did women ordinarily scream at him.
“Good Lord, Groveland,” Rosalind waspishly said, “surely you have any number of other ladies you can harass. Kindly acquit me of your attentions.”
“I don’t recall you being particularly discontent with my attentions in the past,” he drawled. Scotland had been disagreeable and unsatisfactory from every angle. He hadn’t slept much in over a week. And Rosalind’s damned arrest hadn’t been his fault exclusively or at all, he churlishly decided, since he’d never actually given the order to proceed.
“You’d be surprised what an arrest and a night in a foul jail can do to a sexual relationship,” she derisively noted. “You might want to think about excising that little subtlety from your future seductions.”
Bitch, he thought, although he couldn’t fault her logic. “Look,” he softly said, making a conscious effort to reduce the heated rhetoric, “none of this should have happened. I’m sorry it did. And I understand you’re angry”-he paused at her indignant snort, counted quickly to ten, then continued in a purposefully mild tone-“but I’m quite willing to do anything to atone for the wrong that’s been done you. I won’t press you anymore to sell your store. How would that be? ” It was a huge concession, a very expensive one.
“Don’t do me any bloody favors. For your information, I wouldn’t sell to you if I was penniless and starving. Now, I’m done talking,” she tartly added. “Take me home.”
“And if I don’t? ” Equally frustrated, unequipped as well to deal with resistance when he’d encountered little to none since assuming the title at seventeen, he reverted to type. “What are you going to do about it? ”
“I’ll jump from this carriage and walk home. Now give your driver directions or I’ll jump.”
Reaching out, he smoothly locked both doors, then leaned back in his seat. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Her nostrils flared. “This is exactly why we don’t suit. I don’t take orders either.”
“Sometimes you do.”
She braced her hands on the seat and lifted her chin in defiance. “I am vastly uninterested in sex with you, you ruthless bastard! If you dare touch me, I’ll fight you to my last breath.”
Astonished at the bitterness in her voice, he took pause. While he’d never yet been unable to talk his way into a lady’s good graces, he’d never had a woman thrown in jail before. He had to admit, it was an extreme event; perhaps different skills were required. “Relax,” he calmly said. “I’m not looking for a fight.”
“I’m relieved.” Sarcasm dripped from every icy syllable.
Reaching up, he rapped on the carriage roof. “Bruton Street Books,” he called out.
The remainder of the journey passed in silence.
Seated in the corner, her scowling gaze focused on the scene outside, Rosalind stewed and silently condemned Fitz to the everlasting fires of hell.
Lounging in the opposite corner, Fitz closed his eyes and dozed off.
Damn him, she fumed, even more furious on hearing his soft snores. Isn’t that just like the shameless, arrogant autocrat. Nothing fazes him because he is untouchable. The world bends to his will.