When His Kiss Is Wicked (17 page)

Colette sat frozen in place, not believing what she heard, too stunned to move. The pretty cabbage rose–patterned wallpaper in the parlor blurred in front of her, forming a hazy sea of red before her eyes. Her heart hammered wildly and her hands shook in her lap. Staring numbly at her mother and Uncle Randall, she could barely make her mouth form the terrible words. “You sold it? You sold the shop? Our home, the building, everything?”

“We had no choice, Colette. Money had to be gotten from somewhere. You and your sister turned down half a dozen offers of marriage. Selling this building was the most logical solution.” Uncle Randall’s voice seemed hollow and surreal to her. The spider veins on his nose seemed more prominent and his bushy eyebrows narrowed over his cold eyes.

“Who bought it?” Colette could focus on nothing but the fact that she’d lost the bookshop. Her mother and her uncle had betrayed her. She had suddenly lost everything she had ever worked for. They had not even consulted her before ripping her heart out.

“That is the strange part,” he explained, sitting back in the armchair near the mantle. “It was bought, for a higher price than we asked for I might add, under the strict condition that the buyer remain anonymous.”

“What in heaven’s name does that mean?” Colette cried in confusion.

Uncle Randall shrugged. “It’s none of my business why, but someone wishes to keep the fact that he bought this building a secret. So for the time being there is no rush. The contract stipulated that the new owner was not interested in occupying the space anytime soon, so no changes are necessary right away. Ample notice will be given before they even require you to vacate the premises, which means that your mother can choose a new house with ease. Isn’t that right, Genevieve?”

Swallowing against the wave of nausea that flooded her, Colette could not look at her mother. Genevieve had sold the shop without a word to her eldest daughter, knowing how much it would hurt her. After all Colette had done to support the family. The feeling of betrayal knifed her heart deeply. Her mother had given Uncle Randall her consent to sell, when she had promised Colette that she would not.

“
C’est pour le mieux.”
Her mother’s weak voice wafted over from the velvet chaise where she reclined in her usual debilitated pose. “It is all for the best, Colette.”

Ignoring her, Colette asked a question of her uncle. “Does that mean I can at least keep the shop open until I hear otherwise from the new owner?” If the new owner had no imminent plans to occupy the building, then perhaps Colette had a chance to try to buy or even rent the shop back. However remote such a possibility was.

“I suppose so, although why you are spending your time there baffles me,” her uncle said gruffly. “You need to put your energies into finding a husband, not managing a bookshop. You should be grateful to be rid of the place.”

“Your uncle is right.” Again her mother chimed in. “It is high time you were married and had a husband to look after you.”

Colette still refused to look at her mother or even acknowledge that she had spoken. An anger, a white-hot rage, that she had never before experienced flooded every fiber of her being. Suddenly unable to speak for fear she would begin screaming, she stood without a backward glance to her mother or uncle and left the room, slamming the door behind her. She raced down the steps and out the front door.

Once out on the street, she was not sure where to go. She stood looking up at the small dark green building she had loved her entire life. The sight of the elegantly scripted letters that spelled out “Hamilton’s Book Shoppe” above the front window brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She stood there for some minutes, staring until she could bear it no longer. But the pent-up anger and frustration within her compelled her to go somewhere. Anywhere but where she stood.

Turning hurriedly, she walked ahead blindly, blinking back tears, not seeing the ladies and gentlemen strolling by or hearing the large omnibuses loaded with passengers clambering along the street. The dusky sun lowered behind a cloud-strewn sky. Shops closed their doors for the night. Lamps were being lit in the windows of the houses. Colette kept walking, oblivious to where she was going. Her steps became more hurried as she went. She had to think what she would do next.

Mother sold the shop. Mother lied to me. Mother sold the shop. Mother lied to me.
The words repeated over and over in her head, becoming louder and louder. She’d lost everything, everything she had worked so hard for, all for a little cottage by the sea. Not only had she lost the bookshop, but she had made a complete fool of herself over Lucien Sinclair. Now she would be reduced to an old maid in a cottage by the sea, spending the rest of her life living with her mother. Tears ran down her face as she made her way along the street.

Her mother, her bitter mother who carelessly dropped the responsibility of raising her children on Colette’s shoulders, who could not be bothered with the tedious task of paying the bills or managing the bookshop, suddenly felt she knew what was best for Colette and sold the shop. The woman who cried, fainted, and pleaded a headache at the slightest inconvenience, the woman who avoided financial matters, the woman who had not left the confines of her house in years and was content to let her daughters manage everything on their own—now she knew how to make a business decision without consulting Colette?

Her anger at her mother seethed and roiled within her.

In one calculated move, her mother had swept away the one part of Colette’s life that she had made her own.

She ignored the strange looks she received from passersby, not caring what anyone thought of her. She simply needed to get away. Away from her mother. Away from her uncle. Her sisters. The shop. But where could she possibly go? It did not really matter as long as it was not home. For an instant she thought of walking to Devon House to see Lucien, and then just as quickly as she considered it, she dismissed the idea. She had not seen Lucien since their passionate night together, and her pride would not allow her to go crawling back to him. She would not go back to Lucien, however much she longed to be held in his arms.

She crossed the crowded street and continued up the avenue, just walking.

“Miss Hamilton! Miss Hamilton, over here!”

The fact that someone was shouting her name slowly registered in her angry fog-shrouded brain, and she turned to see who had called to her.

His black top hat perched jauntily on his head, Lord Jeffrey Eddington waved to her from inside his fine carriage, smiling broadly. Pulled by two ebony horses, the shiny black-lacquered carriage came to a stop before her. Jeffrey’s charming grin disappeared and his handsome face clouded with concern as he drew closer. In an instant the door flew open and he bounded to the sidewalk beside her.

“Here now, Colette. What’s happened? You look dreadfully upset.”

She hastily wiped the tears from her eyes, suddenly aware that she had fled the house without a hat or gloves. She must be a sight! “I’m fine, thank you,” she whispered.

His keen eyes missed nothing and he shook his head. “No, you’re not fine at all. Come with me.”

Before she knew it, Jeffrey had whisked her into his carriage and they were moving down the road. Not caring where they were going, she allowed Jeffrey to take over. She sat opposite him, and he stared at her, his longs legs stretched out in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” His light blue eyes peered at her intently. “Has something happened to you or one of the girls? Juliette?”

She thought about saying nothing. She thought about telling him it was none of his business. She thought about making something up. Her pride almost kept her from revealing the truth, but she was suddenly too tired.

“My mother sold the bookshop.” The words hurt as she said them aloud, but they still did not seem any more real.

“What do you mean?” His shocked expression conveyed more emotion than his words did.

Colette nodded sadly and her voice cracked as she explained. “She sold it without even consulting me. It no longer belongs to us, and she’s moving us all to the seashore.”

In a quick motion Jeffrey moved to sit beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her against his broad chest before Colette could even make protest, had she wanted to. In actuality she was more than a little grateful for his comforting presence.

“That’s terrible news. Surely there must be something we can do.”

She shook her head. “It’s already done. My mother and my uncle just told me about it this afternoon. I was so upset I simply ran out of the house. I didn’t even know where I was going, but I had to get away, and that’s when you found me. I’ve lost everything, Jeffrey. Everything.”

He continued to hold her, his hand gently patting her back with long strokes. The swaying of the carriage rocked them back and forth in a gentle motion, and Colette relaxed against him.
How odd to be held by Jeffrey Eddington!
Yet the oddest part was that it was very nice. More than nice. There was a good, clean scent about him, and his arm felt strong and protective around her, giving her a wonderful sense of calm.

Usually cheerful and full of amusing stories and laughter, Jeffrey now seemed grave and serious. She had not witnessed this side of his personality before, and it surprised her.

“You haven’t lost everything, Colette. You still have your sisters and your friends.”

“Yes,” she agreed wearily. “It’s not the same, though. I love the bookshop. I was the one who worked in it every day. I was the one who took care of everything. I made it mine, and she had no right to sell it.”

“Your mother is just looking out for you,” he said soothingly, his expression kind. “That’s what mothers do.”

“She’s looking out for herself,” Colette couldn’t help but snap, feeling small and petty as she uttered the words.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But I’m sure she did not reach the decision to sell the shop easily. She had to know that doing so would hurt you. Did you talk to her about why she didn’t tell you?”

“No,” she admitted. “I was too angry to speak with her after I found out the shop had been sold.”

“Maybe you should try.”

“I suppose.” Colette nodded weakly, before tears suddenly spilled down her cheeks. Overwhelmed by all that had happened and Jeffrey’s unexpected kindness, she wailed, “What shall I do now?”

Without a word, he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a linen handkerchief. Handing it to her, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead. Almost stunned enough by the kiss to stop crying, Colette accepted his monogrammed handkerchief, which smelled pleasantly like Jeffrey, and wiped the tears from her face, sniffling.

“What do
you
wish to do, Colette?” he asked, his voice soft and full of concern.

She gave a half laugh, half sob, shaking her head. “I don’t know anymore, and it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve lost everything I care about. Everything.”

“This isn’t just about the bookshop, is it?”

No, Colette’s tears were not just about the bookshop. The tears were the ones she had not shed when her father died. They were the tears she had kept locked inside over the frustration of dealing with her self-absorbed and bitterly dramatic mother, of handling the responsibility of caring for her younger sisters, of the strain of knowing she had to make a financially successful marriage, and over the constant worry of managing the bookshop on her own. She was crying about everything that had occurred over the last few months. But most of all, the mortifying pain of what had recently happened with Lucien hurt more than anything else. Now, at the first sign that someone seemed to care about her enough to ask what she wanted in her life, hot tears flowed down her cheeks. Overwhelmed by emotions too numerous to name, she simply told Jeffrey the truth.

“It’s about losing the bookshop after working day and night to make it a success. It’s about my mother thinking only of herself. It’s about my uncle pressuring me to marry.”

“I see.” Again Jeffrey was surprisingly quiet. For a man who was usually quick with a wicked retort or a joking response, he was oddly reticent to say anything to her.

“I know I ought to be married by now, but I don’t wish to have a husband look at me merely as someone he can order about.”

“Has your uncle found someone suitable for you?” He eyed her carefully.

“Not yet. He’s still looking, although I’m sure he despairs of anyone marrying me or Juliette.”

“I understand his concern for Juliette. Her fierce independence and sharp tongue would scare off even the heartiest male. But you, on the other hand, you should have had a multitude of offers by now from suitable gentlemen.”

“Not as many as you would think.”

“That’s because your uncle is an idiot.”

She could not help the laugh that escaped her. Leave it to Jeffrey to make her laugh. She dried her tears, then clutched his handkerchief tightly in her palm. Colette settled into the feel of Jeffrey’s arm around her. How heavenly it would be to have someone to hold her like this whenever she was upset or worried. What a luxury that would be!

If only that someone could be Lucien Sinclair.

When Lucien had held her, she felt as if nothing bad could ever happen to her. Being in his arms had been absolute heaven. But he did not want to be with her. He had made that abundantly clear on that dreadful night. Lucien would marry a proper, traditional woman who did not enjoy running a business. He wanted a woman whose virtue was not so easily given away. A woman who would not be overcome by passion, as she was.

She cringed at the memory of the few words they had exchanged after an awkwardly tense silence in the carriage the night he took her home. Now days had passed since she had seen or heard from him.

The conversation that she had with Juliette flashed through her mind. Juliette believed Colette should marry Jeffrey Eddington. Could that even be a possibility when her heart longed only for Lucien Sinclair?

Jeffrey was a good man. Undoubtedly he would be a kind husband and would always treat her well. Handsome, witty, and fun, he also cared for her and her family. Marrying him would not be the worst decision she could make in her life. She had never been the type of woman driven by a desire to marry into an elevated social position. Even though she sensed that deep down it bothered Jeffrey, and some women would not even consider marrying him because of it, the facts of his illegitimate birth meant nothing to her.