Susan Johnson - Gorgeous As Sin

The first book in the Gorgeous as Sin series, 2009

London, August 1891

PROSPER HUTCHINSON, THE barrister of choice for Londons wealthy, rose from his chair to greet the tall, handsome aristocrat walking through his door. At last, Your Grace. Hed sent the duke a message five days ago.

I was in the country. The Duke of Groveland stripped off his tan riding gloves as he crossed the sumptuous Axminster carpet custom-made for the imposing corner office overlooking Piccadilly Square.

Yes, I know. The duke was entertaining his newest paramour while her husband was shooting in Scotland. Everyone knew.

An easy smile graced the dukes fine features. Dont glower so, Hutchinson. I eventually arrived, and admit it-your messages always smack of crisis.

This crisis could cost you a fortune.

How much of a fortune? George Montagu Fitz-Robbins Monckton calmly asked, tossing his gloves on Hutchinsons large, ornate desk and taking a seat across from his barrister.

Ninety thousand. The portly barrister dropped into his chair with a grimace.

The duke arrested his slide into a lounging pose, his dark brows rising faintly. That much.

Perhaps more should your plans for Monckton Row come to naught because Mrs. St. Vincent wont sell.

Mrs. St. Vincent? A theatrical name or-a smile quirked his lips-a female of a certain profession? Apparently over his initial surprise at the sum quoted by his barrister, the duke unbuttoned his fawn-colored silk tweed jacket, stretched out his jodhpur-clad legs, and rested his head against the tufted green leather some decorator had chosen for Hutchinsons office chairs.

She is rather a lady of a certain obstinacy, Your Grace, Prosper Hutchinson grumbled, rapping his fingertips on his desktop to emphasize his displeasure. All the other properties east of Berkeley Square have been purchased, but with Mrs. St. Vincent standing in your way, your ninety thousand is at risk. The very mulish lady has asserted that she has no intention of ever selling. She told me your grace may go to Hades for all she cares.

She did, did she? You spoke to her? As a rule, Hutchinson didnt take part in purchase negotiations. He employed twenty barristers to take care of such matters.

I had to. Hutchinson leaned forward over his paunch to underscore his vexation. The troublesome female had flatly refused five of our offers. And Id sent my very best men. The barrister picked up a gold filigreed letter opener, held it between his fingertips, and gazed at it for a moment, pursed lipped. Then he looked up, met the dukes languid gaze, and said ruefully, You might as well hear it from me first, Your Grace. Apparently Mrs. St. Vincent disapproves of-I believe her words were Odious, prodigal scoundrels who think their titles and wealth give them carte blanche in the world.

The duke looked amused. It seems the lady is of a socialist bent.

I rather think her remark was of a more personal nature. Grovelands reputation for prodigality and dissipation was well known.

She isnt the first woman to disapprove of me, the duke casually returned, his indifference to censure a marked trait. But a female whos not susceptible to your bank drafts-a note of drollery colored his words-now thats a first, isnt it, Hutchinson?

Yes, Your Grace. Grovelands female entanglements occasionally required the barristers intercession to amiably end an affair. And to date, bank drafts had always proved effective.

So what now? A soft, unruffled query. In the dukes experience, the world generally bent to his will. It wasnt hubris, just a recognition of reality. He was illustriously titled, the bearer of an enormous fortune, and for what it was worth-in matters of seduction more than anything-blessed with the Montagu dark good looks.

We are at an impasse unless you wish to increase your offer substantially. I didnt feel I had the authority to do so without speaking to you and explaining the unfortunate situation.

The twenty-third Duke of Groveland pursed his lips. Substantially you say.

Im afraid so, Your Grace. The woman is obstinate to a fare-thee-well and in my estimation outrageously so for someone in her circumstances.

Grovelands grey gaze turned razor sharp. What circumstances?

Her husband left her all but destitute when he died. From all appearances she is eking out a living. She resides above the bookstore, which is a saving, of course, but really, she should be exceedingly grateful for your generous offer rather than refusing it out of hand. Leaning back in his chair, Hutchinson softly sighed. Women, Your Grace. Quite irrational creatures.

Now the duke knew women better than most. In fact he had outstripped all previous records apropos the number of females who had fallen prey to his charms. And gentlemens clubs were partial to keeping such scores. Seduction was a major amusement for Groveland-some said his avocation. It was only natural he would say, Why dont you leave her to me, Hutchinson. I have had some luck with convincing women to, ah accommodate me.

Forgetting his consequence for a moment, Hutchinson exhaled loudly and blurted out, I was hoping you might take a hand. The lady is beyond my capabilities, and Ill admit, I havent felt such frustration in a decade or more. I never lose, sir-you know that. Its intensely disconcerting to acknowledge defeat.

Nonsense, Hutchinson. You have no reason to feel defeated. Havent you masterfully acquired every piece of property Ive ever wanted? Of course you have. This woman may be irrational or addled in some way-particularly, he added with a faint smile, if shes a socialist. Her personal biases are certainly not your fault. Let me talk to her, and then well see where we stand.

Since her shop is on the corner, its a pivotal piece in the architects plan, the barrister pointed out, his shaggy brows knotting in a scowl.

Perhaps Mrs. St. Vincent knows as much. She may have spoken to some of the other property owners who sold to us. She may feel she now holds the winning hand.

Another grim scowl. If so, I wish you well, Your Grace.

Come, enough long faces. The duke nodded at the liquor trolley behind Hutchinsons desk; a Scotsman was never far from his drink. Pour me a whiskey and tell me what you know about the properties youve already acquired.

Since hed cajoled Clarissa into leaving Green Grove and seen her comfortably settled at Frances Knollys country house party, the duke was currently free of encumbrances. And frankly, after a fortnight with Clarissa, no matter how heated and exotic the sex, hed been ready to transfer her into someone elses care. His capacity for boredom was slight, a defect no doubt of a life free of restraints. Hed been indulged from the cradle save for by his father, and when the former duke had had the good grace to drink himself to death before George could kill him, the title had devolved to the young heir. Despite his youth, the twenty-third Duke of Groveland had found the larger world equally amenable to his wishes.

Although no one but his mother dared call him George. Since he loved her unconditionally and she him, he even allowed her to call him Georgie on occasion. To the world, however, he was Groveland or Your Grace; to his friends he was Fitz or The Monk, while his lovers generally called him darling with great enthusiasm and affection.

Surely he could charm one woman into accepting his offer-particularly a destitute female. Accepting his glass from Hutchinson, he listened while the barrister explained in some detail the entire litany of recent property purchased for what would soon become Monckton Row-God willing and Grovelands cultivated charm gainfully applied.