The Duke's Indiscretion (14 page)

His head shot up as those intently spoken words struck him hard. Both men stared at him dubiously, as if he might actually admit he desired Charlotte for just that purpose. In a sudden flood of understanding, her words came back to haunt him:
…you made me wear an absurd costume and ridiculous shoes, then called me by my stage name…You don't want me. You want the infamous, sensual Lottie English…

Slowly, clarity washing over him, Colin sat upright, inhaling a long, deep breath as he lowered his gaze to the plush rug at his feet.

Such a notion had never occurred to him until just this moment. Yes, obvious to everyone, he'd absolutely wanted the fantasy that had enticed him for three years, just as they all—including Charlotte—
knew it was the reason he'd married the woman in the first place. That was never in doubt. But he never wanted or expected her to
act
with him, to play a part she didn't feel. An act in bed would be false lovemaking, and false lovemaking required nothing from the heart. In the end, with no heart, there would be no real intimacy, and certainly no joy. It took the full impact of that thought to realize just how much he had wronged his wife.

“No, of course that's not what I want,” he replied at last, leaning back against the unprotected keyboard that clanged ugly notes of disharmony. Seconds later, he glanced up and murmured, “I was stupid.”

“Perhaps not stupid, but definitely unthinking,” Sam corrected. “The corset had to have shocked her.”

Or scared her.

“And she probably didn't understand at all what you wanted from her,” Will piped in.

She didn't have a chance.

“So what do you suggest I do now?” he mumbled, feeling utterly deflated.

Will snorted. “Why don't you seduce her? It's what you should have done in the first place.”

He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. “I'm certain that sounds easy enough to the two of you, but I obviously failed with her the first time, and doing so now seems hopeless.”

He regretted saying that almost at once. He was the one among them who had never had trouble seducing a woman in his life, the one who could charm them all, and he knew absolutely that they were
thinking the same thing.

A long and uncomfortable silence ensued, an awkward measure Colin was certain he would never forget should he live a hundred years. He'd never done anything more difficult—admit to his friends that his new wife, attraction for him aside, didn't want him as a man. The humiliation he felt at that moment was palpable.

Finally, Sam expelled a slow breath and said frankly, “The problem is yours, of course. But my suggestion would be to use her innocence to your advantage. Don't expect her to be experienced, Colin, because she obviously isn't. You've made one mistake, but she's still your wife, and still yours to bed. Start again from the beginning. Expect her to know nothing and
show
her.”

“When she's not the least interested?” he countered caustically.

“You're not thinking this through,” Will added, his voice low and decisive. “There's no doubt that the lady admires you and feels an attraction. Use that to your advantage as well. Give her what she desires, not what she expects. Seduce her when she doesn't see it coming. And for God's sake, move
slowly
.”

Slowly. He was ready to crawl out of his skin with sexual need, his wife in the next room night after night, but these were surely words of wisdom where women were concerned. Will and Sam, both already married, knew this. His true problem, as he saw it, was that he'd never really had to work at seducing a woman before. Women either wanted him or they didn't, and in his experience, his charm rarely failed. That Charlotte would be his first real challenge
proved to be the ultimate irony. He'd have to be more charming than she was clever if a slow seduction were to succeed, but if it did, the rewards would be grand.

Subdued, one problem considered, Colin stood again and moved to the window behind his desk. He crossed his arms over his chest and rested his shoulder against the pane, seeing nothing as the sky had gone black and silence prevailed beyond—no moon, no wind, rain, or even stars. Just stillness. The calm before the storm.

“There's something else,” he said quietly. Turning to face them once more, he disclosed, “She was nearly killed at the theater three weeks ago.”

“What?”

That from Will who sat forward in earnest. Sam just remained motionless in his chair, his expression contemplative.

Colin pulled out the rocker behind his desk and sat heavily, leaning back as far as he could and folding his hands in his lap. “A beam from the rafters fell while she stood alone on the stage, missing her head by inches only because I called out to her in time for her to move. She more or less brushed the incident aside, insisting it was a simple accident. But I made some discreet inquiries of my own and this isn't the first time something like this has happened to her at that theater. She's either lying to herself, or she's lying to me for reasons unknown. Either way, I'm starting to think she's in trouble.”

No one said a word for a minute or two as they absorbed his rather disturbing disclosure. Finally, Sam asked, “Do you think these…mishaps have anything
to do with you?”

He shrugged. “That's a question I can't answer. I can't get close enough to her to find out.”

“Why ever not?” Will asked. “Regardless of her lack of interest in the bedroom, she's still your wife.”

Lack of interest in the bedroom. Hearing that again made him want to hit something. Instead, he smiled wryly and pushed himself up from his rocker. “Need a refill, gentlemen? I do.”

Sam shook his head; Will held out his snifter for him to take as he walked by. He strode quickly to the sideboard and poured the amber liquid for both of them, giving himself more than he should, but deciding he didn't give a damn if he woke with a headache.

“I can protect her here at home,” he said at last, turning to face the men with both drinks in his hands. “Doing so at the theater is more difficult. I make her nervous, I think, and frankly my appearance, day by day, would look…out of place, shall we say. Even odd. Everyone will wonder what the devil I'm doing there.” Sarcastically, he added, “Everyone except the great Porano who apparently thinks only of himself.”

Sam adjusted his frame in his chair. “The great who?”

Colin shook his head and moved away from the sideboard. “Never mind.”

“You could always tell them, or better yet, let them assume you're pursuing Lottie English romantically,” Will suggested, taking his snifter. “Not a soul knows the two of you are married. Imagine the possibilities.”

“Imagine the rumors,” he said. He took a full
swallow of his brandy, then lowered his body once again into his rocker. “And although that would be a marvelous excuse to stay close to her, I don't think Charlotte would appreciate my interference with her work.”

“If you really believe she's in danger, perhaps you should alert the authorities,” Sam suggested.

Shaking his head, he replied grimly, “I can't. I've thought of that, but I don't have proof of a plot to harm her, just…a feeling in the gut. And I, apparently, am the only one concerned about it.”

“Here's another thought,” Will maintained, his eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the brandy he swirled very slowly in his snifter. “There must be other women at the theater on whom you could…focus your attention.”

“Now, there's a brilliant idea,” he returned wryly, finishing off his own drink in two large swallows. “Let my wife think my former reputation is intact by charming someone else.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam interjected, his mouth breaking into a crooked smile as he glanced from one to the other. “That's not a bad idea, Colin.
Are
there other young women at the theater on a daily basis?”

He grunted. “Of course there are. I suppose.”

“Then think about it,” Sam continued. “Charlotte can hardly avoid you completely if you're there with the pretense of wooing someone else, and it would save her from having to reveal her relationship with you to anyone who might be overly curious.” He grinned. “And, intentions aside, you might find her to be a bit jealous of you placing your affections else
where.”

Colin was dubious. He really wasn't at all interested in wooing another female at the moment, but he did find himself warming to the idea of making his wife jealous. It might get her into his bed faster than a slow seduction alone. Then again, it might not. It was altogether possible she wouldn't care in the least. He would have to be very cautious in his approach. Still, there was one thing that bothered him about it.

“The country, as a whole, knows I'm married to the Lady Charlotte, the Earl of Brixham's respectable sister,” he said, irritated again for no reason at all. “If I'm too blatant about it, word will certainly spread through society that I'm being unfaithful.”

Sam blinked. “And that bothers
you
?”

The question, asked honestly, made him mad. “Of course it bothers me. I'm not a cad, for Christ's sake.”

“Then don't be blatant about it,” Will remarked with a lift of a shoulder. “If you're careful, whatever you do with whom will only be speculation. Rumor with no factual basis. In the end, only you and Charlotte will know the truth, and that's really all that matters.”

Colin rubbed his eyes. His head hurt, both from the alcohol he'd drunk, and thinking so hard while under its influence. He needed sleep.

At last Sam glanced at the wall clock and stood. “It's nearly midnight and I'm exhausted.”

“You're exhausted?” Colin replied through a weak smile.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “One day, when you get your wife with child, you'll understand. But I do need to get Olivia home.”

Will finished off his brandy and stood as well. “We should be on our way, too. We're leaving for Cornwall next week and I'm sure there's something Vivian needs to pack.”

Colin pushed his body out of the rocker for a final time and stretched. “It's amazing how domesticated you two have become. Quite sad, actually.”

“Domestication has its advantages,” Sam acknowledged as the three of them walked to the study door. “And honestly, it's far better, in every way, than living alone.”

Alone. With my wife in the next room.

The advice given tonight—all of it—would be well taken. He'd truly had enough of the confusion, self-doubt, and tiptoeing around her whims. He was a married man, with a wife to protect and a body that craved her attention. It was time to make some decisions.

It was time for him to act.

C
harlotte sat at her dressing table, wearing her practical cotton nightgown, staring at her face in the mirror, noting that her cheeks still flushed with color from the effects of too much wine. Yvette had just taken her leave for the night, with instructions not to disturb her until eight if she didn't wake up on her own. Utterly exhausted from a four-hour rehearsal at the theater, then dinner and entertaining with Colin's friends, she couldn't wait to crawl between the sheets for a long, restful sleep.

She hadn't seen her husband since he'd left to have brandy with the gentlemen, and that was perfectly fine with her. The uncomfortable static charge between them whenever they were near each other caused her certain distress and kept her from concentrating on more important matters. Indeed, she'd been fully aware that he spent the entire
dinner staring at her, just as she'd been unnaturally aware of him as a man. Well, perhaps that wasn't the right word. One knew it was only
natural
for her, as a woman, to respond to his masculinity, his powerful physique and incredibly handsome face. What they shared was nothing more than an awkward physical attraction that would no doubt fade over time. Until then, she would need to keep her wits about her and stay as far removed from his presence as possible. Work, it seemed, was the answer to that, though even when she worked, her mind often strayed to him.

His kiss three weeks ago in the coach still lingered—in her mind, on her lips—and she recalled it constantly, much to her chagrin. He had cast a spell on her, and what made her angry at herself was the knowledge that he didn't even have to be in the room for her to want him to kiss her all over again. Everywhere.

She shivered and lifted her hairbrush off the vanity, twisting it in her fingers before she began pulling it through her thick hair.

She knew the “accidents” at the theater were intentional, meant not to harm her, but to scare her. She also knew why, though after thinking about it for some time now, she still couldn't determine who among her friends and colleagues could possibly be in collusion with her brother. And Charles had to be the one behind it. Although not aware of the Handel score she owned, he was the one person who wanted her to quit the theater to save his name from disgrace should her identity ever become
common knowledge among his peers. But he couldn't be acting alone as he would never—aside from opening night—lower himself to show his face in such a place. Someone was helping him, and the only thing she felt certain of was that it probably wasn't Porano; the tenor didn't have time to think of anything but his own fame, and probably wouldn't care anyway.

Colin would come to her aid if she asked for his assistance, but she wasn't ready to do that. She still didn't know him all that well, didn't know if she could trust him to keep her secret, or if he might attempt to sell the only piece of property she alone possessed—the piece that could render her independent for the rest of her life—simply because he now technically owned it through marriage. He clearly didn't need the money its sale would bring, but she remained uncertain of his intentions where she was concerned, in every aspect of their married life, and that was enough to give her pause.

“You have beautiful hair.”

Startled, Charlotte let out a short gasp at the sound of his husky voice from their adjoining doorway. “I'm just on my way to bed, sir,” she said, placing her hairbrush on her vanity.

He offered her a sly smile, and she watched him through the mirror as he began to saunter toward her.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” he asked with a casual air.

Her heart started beating hard. “Of course, your grace. Your friends are lovely people.”

He nodded as if he expected such an answer, standing behind her now, gazing down to her reflection, his features mildly contemplative as he took in all of her through the glass. Reaching out, he lifted a few strands of her hair, lacing them through his fingers. Charlotte's eyes widened negligibly with sudden concern over his intentions, though she remained very still, concentrating on her composure, afraid of raising his ire should she jerk away from his grasp.

At last he released the silky strands and placed his palms on her shoulders, gazing at her face once more through the mirror.

The touch of his skin felt hot, even through her nightdress, but she didn't move.

“You know,” he murmured softly, his head tipped fractionally to the side, “I remember asking you to call me Colin the day after our wedding, and yet I still haven't heard you do so in casual conversation.”

How could she possibly reply to such a statement? Apologize? Honestly, she couldn't now remember if she'd ever called him by his given name or not, but his unusual manner and unexpected presence in her bedroom was beginning to intimidate her. And although she wasn't exactly afraid of his closeness, with his hands firmly on her and the look of thoughtfulness on his face, she'd never felt so vulnerable in her life.

“Actually, Colin, I'm very tired—”

“Stand up, Charlotte,” he interrupted with gentle insistence.

With a blink, she repeated, “Stand up?”

His eyes narrowed on her face and he almost smiled. “You are off to bed, are you not?”

She could feel her pulse racing through her veins. “I am, but—”

“Then stand up.” He removed his hands from her shoulders and took a step back. “Right here.”

She couldn't very well deny him such a simple, seemingly innocent request, and she could think of no reason to stall. Bracing herself with her arms on the vanity, she dared not look away from his intense gaze through the mirror as she did his bidding and slowly rose to meet his level.

In one smooth action, he pulled her vanity chair out from behind her and took its place with his powerful body, essentially pinning her without touching. Her mouth went dry and she couldn't move.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

Without explanation, he stooped down a bit so that he could place himself cheek to cheek, his eyes still locked with hers through the glass. Then, once again, he grasped her shoulders very lightly over her nightdress and began a gentle massage with his fingers.

“Close your eyes,” he insisted huskily, his lips only an inch from her ear.

In a state of near-panic, she swallowed, “Your grace—”

“Close your eyes, Charlotte,” he repeated with a little more force. “Just relax.”

How on earth could she possibly relax? He held her spellbound, practically a captive in his embrace. Yet, she also knew instinctively that if she brushed
him aside, or lashed out at him angrily, he'd let her go. At the very least, she trusted him that much.

Drawing a deep inhale for confidence, she did as he asked, lowering her lashes, feeling his warm breath on her skin, inhaling the faintest scent of cologne and brandy, noting how the ends of his dark blond hair tickled her jawline and made her shiver inside.

He began to increase the pressure of his hands on her shoulders, moving them subtly outward to her upper arms and then back again, faintly massaging the length of her neck, then gradually pushing his fingers forward to leave feather soft caresses on her collarbone just under the edges of her nightgown. She couldn't help herself. It felt divine, and without clear thought, she leaned back a little closer to his chest.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked in a whisper.

“Shh…No questions,” he replied in a husky timbre. “I'm going to leave you in a moment, but I want to show you something first.”

Charlotte eased ever closer to him so that she fairly leaned against his large, firm chest. She had no idea on earth what he could possibly show her, even less of a sense of his intentions, but at this point, she didn't think it mattered. His evasiveness, coupled with the expert kneading of her tight muscles, made her maddeningly hot all over.

Moments later, he said softly, “I'm going to give you my first direct order as your husband, Charlotte.”

Her legs suddenly felt weak beneath her and she teetered on the brink of giving in to him, allowing
her entire body to relax into his. It took every bit of strength she possessed to keep her composure.

“My order,” he continued without waiting for reply, “is that while I show you this one small thing, you will stand here without moving or speaking, and keep your eyes closed. Nod your head if you understand.”

Understand? The tiniest part of her still wished to push him away, run to her bed and hide under the covers. But she couldn't seem to give herself over to doing the logical thing while he caressed her shoulders and arms, drew his thumbs across her shoulder blades, left feathery trails on her throat with his fingertips. In the end, she acquiesced and nodded minutely.

Immediately, his breathing quickened and he ran the tip of his nose along the length of her ear, pausing to faintly run his lips across her lobe. She trembled, succumbing to a liquid fire in her belly, inhaling a shaky breath, knowing he probably felt her response to his touch but deciding at once that she didn't care. At last he pulled her closer so that she rested lightly against his hard, broad chest, the heat from his body radiating through their clothes to warm her back. Gradually, he traced his fingertips up and down her arms until she felt gooseflesh appear, never touching her indecently, but making her long for…something not quite within reach. Whatever his intentions, she could no longer fight such an utterly delicious effort on his part, though with every breath she fought the urge to moan and turn to him in surrender. Instead, unable to stop
herself, she simply rested her head against his shoulder, relishing the way his warmth and strength enveloped her.

“One more minute,” he breathed against her neck, “and then I'll leave you.”

Leave her? She didn't want him to leave, she wanted him to caress her like this for hours.

For another moment or two he continued to caress her arms, then finally paused all movement and whispered, “Now open your eyes…”

It took her a second or two to respond to his command, and then, very slowly, she lifted her lashes to meet his gaze through the mirror in front of them.

She looked at herself, noting the flush in her cheeks, her parted, moist lips, her pulse beating rapidly in her throat. But as she shifted her attention to him, her breathing faltered and she swallowed with an incredible sense of awe. Never before had she witnessed such intensity from a man, such dark determination in his hardened jaw, such desire in his eyes. And she had done this to him—without doing anything.

“You really are a beautiful woman, Charlotte,” he said, his voice low and tight, his cheek to her temple.

She couldn't reply. Her throat ached and her body felt hot and shaky.

He sensed her weakness. With a twitch of his lips, he wrapped his arms around her to hug her close, brushing his lips against her hairline at her forehead. Then with one arm just under her breasts, he lowered
the other to her hips and pulled her bottom against him.

She inhaled sharply when she felt his rigid desire for her. But as much as she wanted to escape him, she couldn't. He mesmerized her.

“Touching you, being so close to you,
thinking
of you does this to me, Charlotte,” he whispered in her ear once more, never moving his gaze from hers. “And I think about you every minute of every day.”

Her eyes widened to round pools of incredulity; his narrowed as he then boldly raised his hand and covered one breast with his palm, over her nightgown, and left it still, tempting, waiting.

“Colin…” she breathed.

He inhaled shakily, and then as she watched him lower his head to skim her cheek with his lips, he reached inside of her nightdress and placed his palm over her bare nipple.

Unable to resist him, she whimpered softly from the exquisite touch and clutched his arms with her hands, suddenly afraid her knees would give way beneath her.

“Do you like this?” he asked, his eyes capturing hers again through the mirror.

Nodding negligibly, she whispered, “Yes…”

He ran his fingertips across her nipple, once, twice, and she licked her lips and pushed herself into his hand as a surge of need swept through her. He noticed it as he watched her, caressed her, his eyes lit with fire. And then, very slowly, he released her.

Brushing his lips to her ear a final time, he whispered, “Good night, sweet wife.”

With that he backed away, leaving her to the chill in her room as he turned and walked through their adjoining door, closing it softly behind him.