The Duke's Indiscretion (13 page)

Startled, she stilled in his arms.

“Stop it.
Stop it
,” she gasped in a whisper, turning her face away from his.

Reeling, Colin inhaled a shaky breath, his hand lingering on her breast until she reached up and removed it for him as if it scalded her.

Suddenly their driver opened the door and she jerked as far away from him as she could get, pushing her palms against his shoulders with all of her strength.

He reacted quickly. In one smooth move he leaned around her and grabbed the handle, yanked it from his driver's grasp and slammed the door shut.

“We're not through,” he murmured huskily, gripping her chin with his free hand.

“You're insane, sir,” she whispered, her confusion, even frustration, apparent in her impassioned eyes.

He placed his fingers softly on her lips. “You're making me that way, Charlotte. I need you, and you know it.”

She blinked quickly several times, then swallowed and righted herself, brushing his fingers aside. “We're making a spectacle of ourselves and rumors among servants—”

“I don't care about the servants,” he interjected, his jaw tight. “We're married, my darling, and it pains me not to act that way, in and out of the bedroom, especially when I know from your response to my kisses that you need me just as much.”

The flush in her cheeks deepened. “You know what I need you for,” was all she could think of to say.

He almost laughed. “Yes, I do, and I want to hear you say it.”

She struggled, but he held her down.

“Say it,” he repeated in a low, intense murmur.

“Say what?” she seethed. “Say that I need you financially? I do. Now let me go.”

“You need me physically, as well,” he persisted, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb.

Furiously she slapped at his hand.

He didn't budge. “Admit that, at least.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she spat.

“Tell me,” he said very slowly, his intent to show her nearly exceeded by his desire to make her believe. “Tell me that you know there's passion between us, that you're attracted to me, and that you need me physically.”

She glanced to the door, then back into his eyes. “And if I refuse?”

“I'll make love to you right here, right now.”

Her expression turned to one of horror. “You wouldn't.”

“And you would let me. I know that for a fact,” he breathed, gliding his hand down her neck to her chest.

Suddenly, to his great shock, tears filled her eyes. “I'm not stupid, Colin,” she whispered with a tremble in her voice. “You don't want me. You want the infamous, sensual Lottie English, the fantasy you met backstage during a performance. You always have. Now let me go.”

It was a truly deciding moment for him. He blinked, his gut twisting even as she rendered him speechless. And during those few brief seconds of bewilderment and inaction, she slipped beneath his arm, grabbed the handle, and pushed the door open.

With a marvelous dignity, she offered her hand to the driver, who stood waiting next to the coach, expressionless.

“I think I'll retire early,” she called over her shoulder. “Good night, your grace.”

Colin didn't even acknowledge the man as he stepped from his coach and followed her silently inside, noting to himself that for the first time in his life, a woman, and her emotions, had shaken him deeply.

D
inner had been routine and rather uneventful despite the awkward tension pervading the air. Although they'd only finished eating dessert a few minutes ago, Colin couldn't even recall the main dish. Roasted hens, he thought. Or was it duckling?

As he'd done since their kiss in his coach three long weeks ago, he'd spent the entire evening concentrating only on his wife, dressed in peach silk, her glorious hair piled loosely on her head, her cheeks flushed with color as she laughed and sliced her poultry and chatted easily with his two friends' wives, Vivian and Olivia, as if he weren't even in the room. She'd hardly paid any attention to the other men, either, as the three ladies had been in deep discussion about female trivialities like perfume, seamstresses, and the latest fashion, topics about which he couldn't care any less and frankly knew nothing.

Will and Sam had lightened his mood somewhat by recounting some of their boyhood antics, but he
knew they wondered at his absent mind. He was usually the jovial one in any conversation, and yet tonight he'd been rather withdrawn, wallowing in his own internal irritations and musings, considering, for the first time, how lovely Charlotte looked by candlelight.

“So, brandy in the study, gentlemen?” Sam said from across the table, interrupting his thoughts.

Colin glanced up from what was left of his raspberries and cream, offering a smile he didn't feel at all. “Excellent idea.”

“Yes, please go,” Vivian insisted with a wave of her hand. “The three of you are boring us terribly.”

“We're boring
you
?” Will responded in feigned consternation, standing with ease as he placed his napkin on the table. “I've heard all I believe I'll ever need to know about perfume tonight.”

Sam rose as well. “It's hardly exciting, is it?”

Colin twisted his wineglass stem in his fingers. “Perhaps your perfumer of a wife can find a scent of the heart for mine, Samson. My darling Lottie should wear a fragrance both warm and exotic.”

His obvious sarcasm certainly stumped them all into silence. Everybody in the dining room turned to look at him, with various expressions of uncomfortable bewilderment, including Charlotte, who, after only a few short seconds, blushed deeply and glanced at her lap. It was enough to temper his irritation.

After downing the remainder of his wine, he stood abruptly and offered a slight bow. “Excuse us then, ladies?”

“Absolutely,” Olivia remarked almost haughtily.

Sam chuckled under his breath, which made him
all the more annoyed, but without another word, the three of them walked from the dining room and wordlessly made their way to his study. Once inside, Colin headed straight for his oak sideboard, having to shuffle around the pianoforte to reach it.

“This is old,” Will said from behind him, stopping in front of the keys. “Is it hers?”

“Of course it's hers,” he answered gruffly. “Have you heard
me
play?”

“Not lately, thankfully.”

Colin grunted. “In case you're wondering, yes, she plays beautifully, as every good wife should.”

“Ah,” Sam piped in as he took a seat in one of the winged leather chairs. “Is she a good wife?”

“The question of the ages,” Colin said, pouring the amber liquid into three snifters from a crystal decanter. “What exactly
is
a good wife?”

Will chuckled, walked to his side to take his drink, then moved around the pianoforte to stand with his back to the cold grate. “You're asking this already and you've only just married? I'm still trying to figure out what makes a good husband.”

“Before she leaves you?” Sam asked lightheartedly.

“Indeed,” Will replied. “I'm too old to go looking for another female to make me crazy with her whims.”

Colin only half-listened to their banter as he carried the two remaining snifters in his hand, offering one to Sam before he walked around the desk and sat heavily in his rocker. The silence lingered for another moment, and he raised one leg and rested his ankle on the edge of the desktop. He knew they
were curious about his marriage, his absentmindedness this evening, most likely because he'd been adamantly opposed to finding himself in such a restraining state for nearly thirty-five years. Naturally, they didn't disappoint.

“So, is she making you crazy with her whims?” Sam pried with raised brows, swirling his snifter in his hand. “Or is it everything you thought it would be?”

“Both.” Colin took a sip of his brandy, then grinned wryly to murmur, “And more.”

“More?” Sam stretched his feet out and crossed an ankle over the other. “That bad, eh?”

“Did I say that?” he rejoined, irritated again but trying like hell not to show it in front of his friends.

Will placed his arm lengthwise across the mantel. “Judging by tonight, I'd say things…probably haven't gone quite by the plan.”

He grinned sardonically and raised his snifter in a mock toast. “That, my friends, is the secret to marriage. There
is
no plan.”

“Yes, but…uh…”—Sam cleared his throat—“you're the only man I've ever known who has never failed once in charming the ladies. You certainly had no plan to do so tonight.”

Confused, he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “I don't follow.”

“Meaning,” Sam explained, “that although you couldn't seem to take your eyes off of her, your wife hardly acknowledged you, and you've been married for less than a month. So, instead of trying to flirt with her or tease her to get her attention, you were sarcastic and glum, which is completely unlike you.” He
shrugged, then added, “Will and I have never been charming, but you? Something is amiss.”

Colin's first thought was to tell them both everything was perfectly perfect in his married life, and more importantly, it wasn't any of their damn business how he and his wife got on. But their good-natured concern gave him pause. True, he could brush the whole thing aside by lying, or offer a vague explanation in hopes of satisfying their curiosity, and yet they were his closest friends, here now, indirectly asking him if they could help. Discussing one's intimate affairs with friends wasn't exactly done, but it wasn't unheard of either. He wasn't sure he could talk about such things without humiliating himself, though a little humiliation might be worth it in the end if they could offer advice on how to handle a wife—both when she purposely kept things from him, and especially during private moments. In that regard, he could only assume his friends' wives weren't as unresponsive as his own since Vivian had delivered Will a son and Olivia carried Sam's child even now. He supposed it was worth a try.

Growing exceedingly uncomfortable, Colin rubbed his palm across the back of his neck, then lowered his leg and sat forward, placing his forearms on the desktop, turning his snifter in front of him by the stem as he gazed at it contemplatively.

“I admit my marriage to the famous soprano has been a bit more…complicated than I'd first expected,” he revealed at last, his voice tight. To his relief, neither of them laughed.

“Marriage is always complicated in the beginning,” Will replied quietly. “Especially in your case
where you married someone you didn't really know.”

“And of course it takes time before one is truly comfortable in any marriage,” Sam added.

Frustrated because they offered nothing but standard comments he could get from a discussion with one of his sisters, Colin harshly raked his fingers through his hair. “Thank you for your simplistic answers gentlemen, but you have no idea what I'm talking about.”

Sam grinned. “You don't think we've suffered like you have?”

Colin suddenly downed his brandy in two swallows, then abruptly stood, walked around his desk, and began to pace the carpet in front of the pianoforte.

“No,” he maintained with false humor, “I don't think either of you have suffered like I have.”

Will took a sip from his snifter. “What really is the problem?”

Colin stopped in his stride, studying the floor. “It's difficult to explain.”

“Oh, my God,” Sam murmured.

His head jerked up. “What?”

“You're in need of a mistress
already
?”

Startled by the question, he actually laughed. “Are you out of your mind? Nothing would be more complicated than that. Especially before Charlotte and I—”

Dead silence reigned supreme for a moment. Then, with genuine concern, Will murmured, “The problem is Charlotte?”

Colin closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his
nose, and swallowed his pride. “The problem is that I might have…made a mistake with her.”

“A mistake?” the two other men repeated in unison.

God, they were getting nowhere. Dropping his voice to avoid rumors by eavesdropping servants, he stood erect, his hands clasped behind him, and said, “She's angry at me because she didn't—she didn't care for the bedding on our wedding night.”

Nothing had ever stunned his two friends more, of that he was certain. They gaped at him, both with furrowed brows, Sam gently shaking his head as if his statement of ineptitude in bed throughly confused the man.

He supposed the whole thing was rather funny coming from him, as he had such a marred, or rather, a deliciously sinful reputation in society regarding his sexual prowess and methods of seduction. If his bedroom troubles were known, he'd be ruined in a manner he didn't want to contemplate. Not that it would matter now.

Suddenly, he started chuckling, which seemed to bring the others out of their stupor. Then they were all laughing, not at his expense, but because they, as the marvelous friends they'd always been, completely understood what an oddity this had to be for him.

“Jesus,” Sam said, “you're not joking, are you?”

Good humor fading, he shook his head in a form of self-disgust. “I'm afraid not. And I don't know what to do about it.”

They all became quiet again after his breath of honesty, the house silent around them, the ladies no doubt continuing to discuss the fashions of the day,
or Olivia's impending birth, or just everyday gossip, whatever that might be. And here he was in the middle of his study, tired and under stress from weeks of pent-up desire, requesting help from his closest friends regarding the seduction of his wife. He'd never experienced a more peculiar moment in his life.

“Well,” Will said after a loud exhale, moving away from the fireplace to take a seat in the second wing chair, making himself comfortable as he stretched his legs out and crossed an ankle over the other.

“Well, indeed,” he repeated. His body now charged, he began to pace in front of the pianoforte.

“Sit down, Colin, you're making me nervous,” Sam directed with a wave of his hand.

Immediately, he dropped his body onto the padded piano bench, leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, his palms clasped together in front of him. He stared at the floor, feeling an uncomfortable flush creeping up his neck. How the hell was he supposed to discuss such a thing?

Will cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning. You are asking us for advice, are you not?”

Colin smirked and glanced up without raising his head. “I certainly wouldn't ask anyone else.”

Sam scratched the back of his neck. “Without…uh…too much detail, what exactly went wrong?”

He briefly closed his eyes, his memory of the night as fresh in his mind as if it had happened only an hour ago. He still recalled the wave of intense desire that raced through him when he saw her nude for the first time, wrapped seductively in a bit of
lace and satin that hid nothing. He supposed he should start there.

“Everything was fine at the wedding, and the dinner following,” he began quietly, his gaze darting from one to the other. “But as she prepared herself for the night, I gave her a specially made gift that I more or less coerced her into wearing for me. When she came to me, she was…amazing. Beautiful. But the following morning she was very angry and told me she never wanted to be bedded again.” At least by me, he thought, though he kept that to himself.

For seconds nobody offered a comment, or even moved. Then Sam rubbed his jaw with his fingers, his expression growing contemplative. “Explain the gift.”

He swallowed. “It was…something like a corset, made of red satin and black lace, with matching shoes.”

Will chuckled again. “What in God's name were you thinking, my friend?”

“He wasn't,” Sam answered for him, stifling his own laugh with a palm down his face.

Colin felt his gut wrench. “I admit it was a forward thing to do, maybe even the wrong thing to do. But I had just been married to Lottie English.”

“No,” Sam countered, “you had just been married to the Lady Charlotte Hughes.”

Irritated, Colin clutched his hands together. “Yes, but Charlotte
is
Lottie.”

“No, she's not. The reserved lady we had dinner with this evening is lovely in her own right, but she's definitely not the same lush woman I saw at the opera,” Sam chided, now sounding just as annoyed.
“Lottie is a fantasy for every man; Charlotte is yours, a noblewoman who went to you, her husband, a virgin on your wedding night.”

He grimaced. “You don't understand. I
know
they're different personas, but you can't assume they're different personalities. I married the most sensual, exciting woman—”

“When she's on the stage,” Will interjected. “
Acting.
”

“Which you no doubt made her feel with such a gift—like an actress, there to perform for you on your wedding night,” Sam said, his voice colored with amusement and a trace of disgust. “No wonder she wants nothing to do with you.” After a lingering pause, he added softly, “Consider this Colin: Do you really want her to
act
for you in bed? Because that's probably what she thinks.”