The Duke's Indiscretion (3 page)

“I think you've inquired about me, Lottie. That's how you know who I am,” he said intently, his fingers tarrying at the base of her throat, his palm closing over her bare collarbone.

She almost smiled. “I have my fantasies as well, your grace,” she replied, her tone raspy and deeply sensual as she gave in to the feel and closed her eyes.

Colin could hardly contain both his mental and physical reactions to her response. He grew hard from nothing more than the sound of her voice, from the sheer knowledge that he'd captured enough of her interest for her to ask about him, to show a desire in him, to express a need, ever so slightly, for his touch,
to want him almost as badly as he wanted her.

Oh, yes. They would be lovers. Nothing had ever been more clear.

“Then we should share those fantasies,” he murmured. “I'm looking forward to it, to our becoming…close friends.”

Her lips lifted a fraction and she opened her eyes, looking directly into his as she closely regarded him. “So my…friendship is the need you said you'd help me with?”

He smiled and quietly admitted, “It will be my pleasure, and yours, I promise, to help you with
every
need. I want nothing more than to be with you.”

She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “I see.” Lowering her gaze, she added in a murmur, “I can't say that I've ever been so charmed.”

A sudden knock at the door startled them both, and Colin quickly lifted his palm from her neck, dropping his arm to his side.

“Yes?” Lottie said at once, her tone returned to one of confident sophistication.

The door opened a crack and a woman in full costume peered inside, fully taking note of him with her mouth open a little in surprise. “Uh…forgive me. Five minutes, Lottie.”

“Thank you, Sadie, I'll be right out.”

After only the briefest pause, the woman closed the door again.

Colin turned back to Lottie, the sensual angel of his dreams, wishing like hell he had more time. A few minutes in her presence seemed like seconds.

“So, you'll see me then?” he asked in a deep whis
per. “Privately?”

She inhaled shakily, then stood, her large hoops flowing around her as she turned to look up at his face.

He met her blatant stare, capturing her gaze with his, wondering what beauty lay beneath the costume, the cosmetics, the wig, the entire facade, and eager to begin the discovery.

Very slowly, she grinned, her eyes narrowing in mischief. “You'd like that wouldn't you?” she asked slyly. “To take me to your bed, make love to me with infinite passion. To make me your own?”

Her boldness inflamed him and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. His palms itched from his enormous desire to reach out for her; perspiration broke out on the back of his neck. “I've dreamed of it for years,” he whispered, revealing more of himself than he'd originally intended to share. With a quake in his voice, he added huskily, “You, and
only
you, are the center of my most private, most
intimate
fantasies.”

He wanted her to know what she did to him. If he'd shocked her by revealing his erotic visions of her during his personal moments of solitary arousal, she didn't show it, which told Colin much about her experience with men.

She raised her chin a little, regarding him almost thoughtfully, her fingers toying with the string of pearls laying against her chest. “It's my understanding that men grow quickly tired of playthings,” she murmured. “Perhaps I want more from a gentleman friend than his intimate devotion.”

Colin swallowed from her candor, uncertain how to respond. Then, with a vagueness that surprised him, he said, “I think we can settle that with time. And you would never be just a plaything, Lottie. I want all of you.”

That seemed to take her aback as her gaze faltered. Then, to his sheer disbelief, she raised herself on her toes and placed her painted lips on his, kissing him softly, withholding an urgency beneath the surface that he could all but feel. It took everything in him not to grab her around the waist and lift her skirts, to savor every inch of her right here in her dressing room. He restrained himself, not wanting to respond too abruptly, but the moment she felt his eagerness begin to build, she slowly pulled away.

Coyly, her breathing quickened, eyes closed, she placed her palm on his chest and whispered, “I'll consider it, your grace.”

And then with a lift of her skirts, gaze averted, she walked to the door and opened it.

Bursting with hope and gratification, he called out, “Lottie?”

She drew a long breath and turned back to face him, her palm resting on the door frame.

“My name is Colin.”

He supposed he was hoping she'd reveal her real name as well, but she didn't. Instead, she smiled vaguely and lifted her hand to run her fingertips across the edge of her gown at her breasts.

In a low, seductive voice, she replied, “I know.”

And then she was gone.

Colin dropped his body hard into the dressing
chair, where she'd been sitting only moments before, stunned by her reaction, thrilled beyond anything he could have imagined, and shaking in his shoes.

She wanted him. And God, she had
kissed
him. He ran his fingers through his hair. Nothing in his fantasies had ever compared to the actual feel of her soft lips on his, teasing him, coaxing him, silently pleading for more.

Composing himself as fast as he could, he stood erect, straightening his waistcoat, then practically raced from the dressing room, ignoring the sideways glances and odd looks he garnered from the cast and crew as he walked with ease through the guarded door and out into the lighted corridor.

He reached his box and sat with confidence just as the orchestra began.

“Well?” Olivia asked impatiently, nudging him with her elbow.

He couldn't stop grinning. “Well, what?”

Suddenly she gasped. “Good heavens, you
kissed
her!”

Sam's head shot out from behind his wife's, and then after looking at him strangely for a second or two, he burst out laughing.

“What?” Colin asked again, annoyed.

Olivia snickered, then pulled off a glove by the fingers and reached up to wipe her thumb harshly across his lips. “She left a trace of herself on you, dear man,” she said.

Now he understood, and he didn't care. Turning back to the stage, he replied lightly, “I'm never going to wash my mouth again.”

“You're a devil,” Olivia said with feigned disgust.

“Indeed,” he agreed with a sigh. “But you just watch. She'll acknowledge me before the night is through.”

And she did. As the performance came to a close, the cheering began, and when the diva bowed to the crowd with roses in her arms, she glanced up to his box and smiled.

C
olin's week had been hell. Aside from having to dismiss a member of his staff for laziness, then tend to his books to discover a critical error his banker had made, he'd been plagued by the overwhelming urge to see Lottie again, to touch her, kiss her in passionate need, make love to her slowly with a velvet, lingering caress that left her begging for more. It had been nearly a week since that eventful night he'd introduced himself to her at last, and although he hadn't wanted to, he did actually break down and wash his mouth, even as he remembered the gentle pressing of her lips to his that incited a desire he couldn't yet manage to suppress.

He fully intended to contact her again tomorrow night, after watching another performance at the theater, and waiting all week for their next moment together had been pure agony. He really wished he knew where she lived, who she was, so he could call on her at home, but her secrets were, of course, part
of her great mystery and appeal, he supposed. At this point he didn't care if she was the daughter of a rubbish collector, he still wanted nothing more than to join her delicious body with his own.

Brushing his impatience aside, he rang the bell of Earl Brixham's townhouse, located, he discovered, not three streets from his own. Immediately, the broad door opened by a dignified butler and he stated his business. He was taken at once and without question to the earl's study to await him. Upon entrance, Colin began observantly noting his surroundings, assessing what he could of the earl's standard of living.

Brixham kept his study fairly elegantly decorated, despite a lack of furnishings. The room contained two black leather wing chairs in fairly good condition facing a slightly chipped and sturdy oak desk, on top of which sat bundles of scattered paperwork and a lone inkwell. The wallpaper peeled at one of the corners, though it would hardly be noticed by a casual visitor. A coal fire softly burned in the grate to his right, its mantelpiece bare aside from the small watercolor painting of trees on a hillside that hung just above it.

Taking a moment before the earl arrived, Colin casually glanced down to the desktop, moving a paper or two and scanning the contents for anything that might appear out of order in the man's business dealings. Nothing struck him as unusual, however, except one small notation on scrap paper listing numbers that might give a clue to the man's funds. Swiftly, he stuffed it into his pocket and took a seat in one of the leather chairs just as the Earl of Brixham entered the room.

Colin noted his stature, his well-groomed appearance and casual attire in light brown, his strawberry-blond hair and freckled face, though he appeared older than he'd expected. Brixham looked to be nearly forty, and clearly a confirmed bachelor like himself.

“Good afternoon, your grace,” the man said politely, walking toward him to shake his hand. With a genuine smile, he added, “I can only hope you're here to inquire about my sister?”

Colin's brows rose. “Your sister?”

Brixham's smile faded a little as he strode around his desk and sat in the wooden rocker behind it. “I was hoping—oh, never mind.” He waved a palm through the air. “What can I do for you today?”

Colin eyed the earl thoughtfully, realizing at once that he seemed more than eager to send his sister packing to a new husband, probably so he could rid himself of her expense. Of course there was nothing particularly wrong with that, especially if his sister was of marrying age, though he certainly didn't intend to be the one to take the girl off his hands. Yet the acknowledgment was telling; Sir Thomas had been right about his debt.

Colin leaned back in his chair and casually regarded the man. “Actually, Brixham, I'm here to inquire about your pianoforte.”

The man fairly gaped at him. “My pianoforte?”

He folded his hands in his lap. “I've heard you've got an antique, quite old, and I'd like to purchase it. For a fair sum, of course.”

Brixham leaned back in his chair as well, hands folded in his lap, studying him cautiously. “I see.”

Colin tipped his head to the side. “I collect antiques.”

That probably sounded utterly ridiculous, but then he'd warned Sir Thomas about his lack of investigative skills, and everybody knew he didn't lie very well. But the man across from him didn't seem to witness any prevarication in his pronouncement, for he rubbed his fingers together absentmindedly and frowned.

“The pianoforte belongs to my sister,” he said, his thick, reddish-blond brows pinched in thought.

That stumped him for a moment; he hadn't prepared himself for such a complication. “I see.”

Suddenly Brixham leaned forward, closing his hands together on top of the paperwork on his desk. “But since she is my responsibility, I suppose it's mine to sell should I choose to.” He shrugged, then laughed. “Besides, she needs to get married; let her husband buy her a piano, right?”

Colin decided he didn't like Brixham very much, or at least that part of him that cared so little about his sister's feelings. Nodding, he agreed, “Exactly. How old is she?”

He had no idea why he asked that, though he supposed he was vaguely curious.

“Nearly twenty-four,” the earl fairly blurted, unable to hide his irritation. “She refuses every suitor, and I'm at the point where I'm ready to force her to take the next one or I'm tossing her out on her backside.”

Colin didn't like him at all, but he covered his annoyance well. Chuckling, he remarked, “Females are a menace, are they not?”

Brixham shook his head. “You've no idea,” he replied, “unless you have a sister of your own?”

Truthfully, Colin said, “I've got two, both well married by twenty and giving me more nieces and nephews than I can count.”

“As every good lady should,” Brixham agreed.

Suddenly Colin heard the faintest music drift in from beyond the study. “Is that her?”

Brixham nodded. “Can't get her off the thing, though I suppose once I sell it to you, she'll have to take her responsibility of choosing a husband a bit more seriously.”

“Indeed,” he replied, squirming a little in his chair.

“Would you like to see it?” the man asked, already standing.

“Very much,” Colin replied, completely uncaring what an antique pianoforte looked like at all, though oddly desirous of meeting the poor sister.

The earl strode quickly to the door. “You can also get an idea of its sound from Charlotte's playing. Sadly, she's quite good.”

Sadly? Apparently, the man seemed to think his sister spent too much time wrapped up in nonsense.

Earl Brixham led them down the dimly lit hallway, then paused in front of the last door on their right. Turning back to him, he advised, “Don't mind her if she's rude, your grace. She's not going to like this at all.”

“I understand,” Colin returned, his tone harsher than he'd intended.

With a strong hand on the latch, Brixham opened the door to the music room and stepped inside. Immediately the music stopped.

“I've already embroidered this morning, brother, and I'd like to play for a while.”

Colin heard the soft voice before he saw her. Then he strode around her tall brother to view the stubborn, though clearly talented, Charlotte Hughes for the first time.

Instead of introduction, as he expected, she gaped at him, her mouth dropped open in surprise as she pushed her thick spectacles up the bridge of her nose to see him clearly.

“Don't be sassy with me, girl,” her brother ordered through a snort. “His grace, the Duke of Newark, is here to inquire about the pianoforte.”

Her face flushed pink and she bit her lip. Or rather chewed on it. Colin stood with his hands behind him, silently amused, noting her shock, taking in what he could see of her behind the instrument, her slight figure dressed in a simple day gown of cream muslin. She possessed the same coloring as her brother, though her features seemed more refined, her massively curly, thick strawberry-blond hair pulled back from her face with pins and tied with a ribbon, exposing a wide forehead, and sadly drawing attention to her spectacles, which did nothing more than hide her feminine appearance. A scattering of freckles fell across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, which, he noticed, had abruptly gone quite pale as she peered at him from across the top of her pianoforte.

“Well, don't just sit there, girl,” Brixham fairly bellowed. “Either play for the man or stand up.”

Her fair lashes fluttered as she realized she was staring. “Your grace,” she mumbled in acknowledgment, attempting to stand, still in apparent confusion.

He bowed slightly, offering her his most engaging smile. “I'm delighted to meet you, Lady Charlotte.”

She seemed quite confounded for a moment, glancing at him, and then back to her brother. “What's going on?” she asked, her voice meekly hushed.

Colin felt suddenly sorry for the girl, wishing for her sake that she could find a husband, and fast.

Her brother pulled down on his sleeves. “His grace wants to buy the pianoforte, and I intend to sell it to him. For a fair price, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Colin repeated.

Within seconds, Charlotte's face burned with a rush of hot color. “It's—it's not for sale.”

Colin looked at her oddly, cocking his head to the side, wondering if her submissiveness and soft voice were only an act. She seemed as determined as any lady could be under such circumstances, but she didn't sound at all defiant.

“Not for sale?” her brother repeated, incredulous. “That's not your concern. Get on with you, girl, we have business to discuss.”

Lips thinned in a rage she couldn't hide, she moved out from behind the object of their deliberation, and Colin couldn't help but admire her figure—lush and curvy with nicely rounded, uplifted breasts that would fill a man's hands. Although she had unruly hair and a fair, freckled face, she should be able to attract a man with her curves alone. But more to the point, he had to wonder why she continued to refuse suitors when, if he were in her shoes, he'd have jumped at the first proposal just to be rid of her brother. But then he wasn't in her shoes, and she was, after all, a female without options.

Slowly, hands on hips, she walked toward them, glaring at her brother. “You're ruining my life.”

“I wouldn't have to if you'd get yourself married,” the earl said through clenched teeth, trying to remain composed for the sake of his guest but ultimately failing badly.

Lady Charlotte shot a quick glance at him, and the look on her face, determined and incensed, made him pause. She seemed oddly familiar, in a manner he couldn't understand and didn't particularly want to contemplate as he grew more uncomfortable with each passing moment. The guilt he felt burned in his chest, and he had every intention of forcing Sir Thomas to give her back her damn pianoforte. Poor thing seemed to have nothing else that made her happy.

Her face pink, eyes narrowed to slits, she fisted her hands on her sides and glared at him. In a low murmur, she said thickly, “I'll never forget this, your grace.”

With that, she breezed by them and took her leave, slamming the door behind her.

Earl Brixham groaned and rubbed his eyes. “See what I mean? She's incorrigible.”

Colin felt his ire brimming. He needed to be done with them, and fast. “I think she's appealing, actually, and certainly talented.”

The earl scoffed and waved his hand with annoyance. “She's too wrapped up in her music, is what she is.”

That made him think of Lottie English, the bold seductress who made him crazy with her enchanting voice and sensual presence.

Colin cleared his throat, smoothing his hair on the
back of his head. “Why don't you take the money I'll offer you for the pianoforte and purchase her a new piano?” he suggested casually. “Perhaps then she'll take more kindly to your idea of giving her away to the next man who comes along.”

Earl Brixham looked at him askance, his own impatience surfacing as his features grew tight, his body rigid. “I'll take care of Charlotte,” he said brusquely. “Now, let's get down to business, shall we?”

Colin knew if he got any more personal with his feelings about the girl and her treatment, he'd be asked to leave, thus receiving no bill of sale, no signature, and alas no pianoforte.

He smiled, though he wasn't at all amused. “Of course, Brixham. Let's get down to business.”