He gently arranged the pearls in a circle on the pad of black velvet he’d set on the small table before him. “This exquisite piece was a Napoleonic trophy brought back from Italy-from a Venetian collection. The maker’s mark on the diamond clasp, however, indicates Constantinople as the original provenance, with the original recipient Empress Theodosia. See-here-the imperial cipher.”
Oz leaned forward to witness the imperial stamp. “I’ll take it,” he said, sitting back and offering Martin a smile. “I don’t suppose you have earrings to match?”
“Unfortunately not. Sets rarely survive the centuries. But I have some superb pearl pendant earrings you might appreciate.”
“I’m sure I will. Your taste is always impeccable.”
Martin spread out a collection of expensive baubles; Lennox only wanted the best. A design question from the baron, another about a diamond clasp, a query as to gem-stone quality, one about a goldsmith, and their business was quickly done. Lennox generally knew what he wanted, but then Martin understood the baron owned ruby mines in India. He wasn’t a novice with gems. In short order Martin left Lennox House with a light step and a broad smile. The baron never quibbled over price, but more surprising-as gossip suggested-he seemed enamored of his new wife. His lordship had purchased all the jewelry shown him, including the diamond and onyx tiger brooch that was so dear even the Prince of Wales had balked at the price.
Needless to say, the faint scent of sex clinging to the young lord’s person, in addition to the disheveled state of the baron’s clothing and hair, bore witness to the fact that he’d only recently left his wife’s bed. As any jeweler knew, such gratifying creature comforts lent themselves to a certain generosity on the part of husbands.
CHAPTER 9
ISOLDE ’SGOOD HUMOR was as fulsome as Oz’s when she woke, or rather when he woke her with a kiss.
Drowsy with sleep, she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, “I need you for a few minutes if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind, but my valet will,” Oz lightly said, untwining her arms from around his neck. “Karim’s been fussing over me for the past half hour.”
Isolde eyes snapped open. “You’re dressed!”
“As you see.” Oz was splendid in full evening rig, diamond studs sparkling down his shirt front, his black unruly hair schooled into place.
“Good God, how long did I sleep?”
“It’s seven.”
“Seven!”
“You needn’t panic, darling.” His voice was particularly indulgent-a contrast to long held custom, the afternoon of wild, frantic sex no doubt cause for his conversion. “Your bath is being drawn, Mrs. Aubigny and servants are awaiting your commands in your dressing room, and Achille has sent up a small collation to tide you over until he serves his lavish reception repast. You have well over two hours.”
She groaned. “I find you thoroughly disagreeable.”
He smiled. “No you don’t.” Her orgasmic screams were still vivid in his memory. “One evening, sweetheart, and you’re free of any further appearances. Your obligation to society and to my inflexibility on the subject will be over.”
“Then I may be rude to you again without fear of your ruthless temper?” she sweetly said.
“As rude as you wish.”
“Arrogant man. As if I can resist you.”
“Hold that thought,” he said with a grin, “and we’ll both better survive this tedious affair. Thank you, by the way, for this afternoon. You’re damned entertaining, and my bites and bruises hardly show.”
She blushed furiously. “Oh Lord, what will people think?”
“That I’m a very lucky man. Now come, darling, a good number of people are awaiting you.”
“Must I?”
“Duty has it own rewards,” he drolly noted.
“How would you know?”
“I believe one of my tutors had me write that phrase a thousand times. But in your case, I’d be happy to serve as your reward.”
“How can I refuse?” she purred.
“How indeed when you haven’t had an orgasm in three hours.” At the look in her eyes, he quickly put up his hand. “Afterward, darling. If I disarrange so much as a hair on my head, Karim will sulk for a week.”
“In the interests of household amity,” she said with a pout not altogether feigned, “I suppose I must renounce my desires.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
Her smile was instant. “How nice.”
OZ TOOK CURIOUS pleasure in watching Isolde bathe and dress, even sharing in the light collation Achille had sent up, when he’d previously steeled himself with a good deal of liquor for occasions such as this. How many times had he impatiently watched some lover taking overlong to outfit herself or primp before a mirror for his benefit, how many times had he counted the minutes and drunk to excess? Tonight he was practically sober, his drink at hand but barely touched, his enjoyment of the intimate scene affording him a degree of contentment long absent from his life.
He’d recognized how restful his wife was their first morning together, and so she was now-allowing the maids to bathe and dress her without complaint or direction, doing what was necessary with amazing good humor.
It was simply a matter of keeping her well fucked, he decided.
A task he was more than willing to assume.
She smiled at him over the heads of her maids from time to time, and he smiled back from his chair across the room, his libido reacting to her smile. At which point, he invariably felt like ordering everyone out, tossing up her skirts, and saying to hell with their guests. But ultimately, sanity prevailed; he softly swore and silently consigned the bloody reception to perdition.
She heard him, and at the last, watching him in the mirror as the hairdresser finished pinning her glossy curls into an artful arrangement, she dulcetly inquired, “Can I help you?” knowing full well what he was thinking.
“I wish you could,” he murmured, glancing at the clock with a significant look. “Thirty minutes, darling.” In thirty minutes, they’d be standing at the top of the stairs offering imitation smiles to everyone who arrived to ascertain the reasons for and authenticity of their hasty marriage.
“My compliments, Mrs. Aubigny. You outdid yourself,” Oz said as Isolde rose from the dressing table and turned to him. The dressmaker had performed her office superbly, the gown fit to perfection: bared shoulders, half-bared breasts, the slenderness of Isolde’s waist enhanced by the subtle drapery, the curve of her hips prominent with the current snug-fitting styles, the glittering diamant ornament on the dark velvet calling attention to the low dйcolletage.
“My lady’s beauty enhances any creation,” the modiste replied, although it was obvious she was pleased with the result. “And the pearls are superb.”
Even Isolde hadn’t begrudged the pearls. The necklace was stunning, its history a thing of romance, Theodosia’s rise to empress a spellbinding tale.
Equally spellbinding was the sight of the gleaming pearls resting on the sumptuous curve of her breasts, Oz reflected, drawing in a breath of restraint. She was an amazingly beautiful woman. With another glance at the clock, he decided they’d escape the throng at midnight no matter what.
Mrs. Aubigny opened her arms with a flourish. “She’s all yours, my lord. An ornament to you and the ton.”
Isolde might have taken issue with being spoken of as an object if Mrs. Aubigny hadn’t been of such enormous service. She’d called in a hairdresser, procured exquisite new lingerie, had a shoemaker at the ready with a selection of evening slippers suitable for Cinderella herself. “I’m in awe of your talent, Mrs. Aubigny.” Isolde offered the modiste a glowing smile. “Thank you so very much.”