The Duke's Indiscretion (26 page)

“What?”

He smiled again. “Well, actually, I'm not going to take it out, I'm simply going to move it for now.”

Charlotte shook her head, confused. “What would be the point in that?”

“The point, sweetheart,” he explained, lowering his voice to a near whisper, “is that I pretended to
have no idea what kind of music it was, and so she doesn't, right now, suspect me—or rather, she won't know if she can trust what I've said. I'm going to remove the forgery, so if by some chance she comes back to look for it, she'll discover it missing, which will only mean, to her, that I have it.”

“And then what?” she asked, her own excitement at this new development thriving. “Confront her?”

He pulled her closer so that her breasts crushed up against his chest. “Blackmail her, and find out who's behind this.”

She fairly gaped at him. “Blackmail her?”

“Tell her I'll give it to her for a price.” He ran his fingers up her spine. “That should shake the leaves from the tree.”

The sound of orchestral music abruptly interrupted their dialogue.

“They're beginning to warm up the instruments,” she said, withdrawing from his embrace. “I need to be on the stage before I'm missed—”

He grabbed her arm, effectively cutting her off.

“One more thing,” he murmured, his grin fading a little as he gazed into her eyes. “I heard you've been offered the chance to sing in Florence as well.”

She blinked, startled and confused for a second or two—until she realized Sadie must have informed him of her meeting with Walter. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she gently pried her arm from his clutches and he let her go.

Frustrated, she said, “Why does she know of these things before I do?”

His eyes narrowed as his body tensed. “That's what concerns you?” he asked quietly, crossing his arms
over his chest.

She felt his sudden shift in mood and knew at once that he wasn't all too happy with the news. Turning away from him, she walked back to her vanity, gazing down to the disorganized mess of creams and color-filled jars.

“I just learned about it, Colin,” she replied matter-of-factly. “And yes, that concerns me. How does
she
know?”

He inhaled deeply and leaned to his side, resting his shoulder against the wardrobe door. “I don't know, Charlotte. Maybe she's having an intimate affair with Barrington-Graham. Maybe he's the man who's really after your Handel masterwork. Maybe she simply eavesdrops because she's a dishonest person at heart.”

“I just can't believe any of that,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I've worked with her for three years, Colin, and I've never known her to be deceitful.” She tossed her hand in the air. “Except where you are concerned, and her…attraction to you.”

He remained silent for a long moment, though she could positively feel his eyes on her, sense his uncertainty. Then she heard him begin to move toward her, and just as she lifted her lashes again, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, lightly kissed her neck, and captured her gaze in the mirror.

“She also knew about the music, of that I'm sure,” he said with conviction, his tone low. “She studied two or three pages and then put it back where I'd hidden it. Whoever she's working with will soon hear of the discovery and then we'll know.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around him as he
clung to her. “I need to go. We open tomorrow night and this performance is vital. And I don't want Sadie to suspect anything unusual.”

He inhaled deeply once more, yet he didn't drop his arms. “You still haven't told me about Florence.”

She swallowed, staring into his beautiful eyes through the glass. “The director of the
Teatro della Pergola
heard about my engagement in Milan, and he contacted Edward Hibbert. Walter told me of the offer only a little while ago, but I don't know the particulars yet. I'll learn more tomorrow evening when I speak to Edward about the offer in detail.”

“I see,” he replied. They stared silently at each other for a moment, then she turned and briefly kissed him.

“What are you going to do about Sadie?” she asked, pulling away from him.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I'm going to leave her an anonymous note telling her I have the music and want to meet with the person in charge tomorrow night. I have no doubt they'll contact me.”

She frowned. “Anonymous?”

He shrugged and smiled. “Just to keep her guessing.”

Touching his cheek with her palm, her gaze scanned every inch of his face. “Thank you, Colin. For everything.”

His features grew serious as he gazed at her intently. But before he could reply, she lifted her skirts and walked from her dressing room.

 

Colin stared at his handwritten note.

He left the page unsigned, then folded it and wrote her name on the front, leaving it unsealed. With the entire cast and chorus singing on the stage, he paused for a moment outside Charlotte's dressing room to make sure he wouldn't be seen, then swiftly moved to his right, passing two smaller rooms before coming to Sadie's. After a quick glance around him to make certain nobody could see or place him there, he then knelt down and shoved the paper under the small crack at the floor. That done, he once again stood and promptly made his way past the large black curtain and out into the audience area to watch their final performance before opening night.

Their plan of attack had begun.

T
he entire theater was abuzz with exhilaration, the chatter and laughter loud as the cast and crew of London's revival of Balfe's
The Bohemian Girl
arrived at the theater for opening night.

Charlotte had been in her dressing room for an hour now, fairly oblivious to the excitement around her as notes, vases, and bouquets of flowers began arriving from well-wishers, dignitaries, and members of the aristocracy who'd watched her performances for years and planned to be in the audience tonight.

She'd come early today because she wanted to meet with Walter and Edward Hibbert to learn the details about her extended offer to sing in Italy. And just as she'd anticipated, it was a marvelous proposition in every respect, which was why she now found herself sitting at her vanity, in full costume, staring at her reflection with the deepest sense of sadness and an immense feeling of regret, hardly aware of
her lady's maid, Lucy Beth, standing behind her putting the final pins in her wig.

Never in her life had she imagined so great an opportunity to come her way, and one fully paid by the Italian theaters that requested her. Singing on the stages in Milan and Florence would no doubt bring her growing fame across Europe, an aspiration she'd embraced for as long as she could remember. But even after her marriage to Colin, she never thought leaving him would be so hard.

In all her life, she'd never dreamed that her love of music and the theater might be less than her love for a husband, but perhaps that, in itself, was why—her dreams had never been about Colin specifically. She'd been raised knowing she'd have to marry, simply because of her station, and yet marriage to her had meant the kind her parents had—confinement not freedom, losing opportunities rather than gaining them, duty instead of joy. If her life had actually turned out that way, opera would always remain her greatest love. But it hadn't. She'd wed a most intriguing, unusual, intelligent, honorable, talented man who made her come alive in bed and trusted her with his most delicate secrets. He admired her, enjoyed her company, and frankly, the opportunity to be with such a man had replaced the music as the greatest gift imaginable.

But was he truly in love with her? That question had plagued her for the last few days, so much so that she'd had trouble concentrating on anything else. She suspected that he did, but could a man with such a colorful past ever love one woman wholeheartedly?
And if he did love her, would he admit it to her before she left to embark on a fabulous career?

As Lucy Beth continued to comb and pin her wig, Charlotte closed her eyes, hearing the faintest music begin from the orchestra as they warmed the instruments for the impending opening of the production, due to start in less than an hour. She'd slept restlessly last night, not only from the anticipation of going on stage before the London elite again, but from the knowledge that she would at last know who had gone to so much trouble to steal her precious manuscript. She only hoped the confrontation with those involved would progress as Colin assumed it would, and learning the truth wouldn't distress her so much the final act would suffer.

But she would give her best tonight, as she always did, with the added comfort of knowing her husband, the man she loved, would be there watching and waiting and protecting her, as he had since the day all those months ago when she'd married him.

A knock at the door brought her thoughts back to the moment as she opened her eyes again and sat up properly. Before she could summon a reply, in walked her husband, dashing and regal in his expertly tailored evening suit of black on white, with silk-trimmed collar and revers, his frilled shirt and double-breasted waistcoat fitting snugly across his expansive chest. Charlotte didn't think she'd ever seen him look as powerful and aristocratic as he did now. The marvelously handsome Duke of Newark simply took her breath away.

Lucy Beth's mouth opened a little in surprise as
she turned and curtsied with her comb and pins in hand. Charlotte smiled at his reflection in the mirror.

“Your grace,” she said pleasantly.

He nodded once to them. “Please, don't let me interrupt.”

“We were just finishing. Thank you, Lucy Beth, that will be all, I think.”

“Yes, Miss English,” the girl replied meekly, curtsying one final time before laying the comb and pins on the vanity, then fairly rushing out of the dressing room.

Colin closed the door behind her, then turned back to meet her gaze.

“You look beautiful, my darling Lottie,” he said, slowly walking toward her.

She gave a short laugh and stood. “Dressed as a servant girl whose face is covered in cosmetics?”

Shrugging, he walked toward her. “Your curves are fabulous in anything you wear, and the color on your eyes and lips dazzles me, especially from afar.”

She grinned dryly. “And the wig?”

“The wig is atrocious,” he replied. “Nobody on earth has hair more beautiful than yours.”

She nodded once. “You flatter me, sir.”

He stood in front of her now, gazing down and into her eyes, his expression growing serious.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

He referred to their plan, so soon to begin if Sadie and her accomplices succumbed to the lure he'd left for her yesterday. Truthfully, she worried about him, but she didn't want him to know that. Instead, she replied, “Not really, though I'm feeling a little anxious for the opera to begin.”

“Have you seen Sadie yet today?”

She shook her head. “I'm rather glad I haven't. I don't know if I can act well enough to pretend I know nothing.”

He didn't have an answer to that apparently, as he just continued to watch her, eyes narrowed in contemplation, which she fully understood. There still remained a tension between them from their discussion of Florence yesterday, and he was no doubt waiting to hear the details.

At last he broached the subject. “You spoke to Barrington-Graham and Hibbert, didn't you?”

“I did,” she answered without prevarication. “The entire trip abroad would be a wonderful opportunity for me, and they know it, but they're not happy about the situation. Walter would have to look for another leading soprano for next season, and Edward is worried about the financial difficulties the theater might suffer—”

He cut her off by wrapping his arms around her and placing a quick and gentle kiss on her mouth. “We don't need to discuss this now,” he whispered against her lips.

She nodded and pulled back a little. “I—I still need you to know…”

“Need me to know what?” he pressed after a moment, his gaze stark, jaw hard.

She drew in a shaky breath and murmured, “I'm not sure I want to go anymore.”

For a timeless moment he just held her, watched her intently. Then he whispered, “Why?”

Charlotte knew it would come to this, her desire for fame and recognition to be replaced by the love
of her husband, if he could admit it. If he asked her to stay because he loved her, she would.

“I don't want to leave you, Colin.”

She could positively feel him relax against her. “You don't have to.”

“You could come with me,” she suggested softly.

His eyes narrowed and very slowly he released his grip and backed away from her. “As what, Charlotte? As who?” he asked. “Our priorities and desires have changed since we married. I no longer want you to leave. I think I've been more than clear in that respect.”

She straightened her shoulders and faced him defiantly. Then with the fullness of the sincerity in her heart, she replied, “Yes, Colin, you have. And yet, has it not occurred to you that you can accompany me as my husband?”

The moment she uttered the words, she wished she could take them back. Although he'd never said as much, she realized fully that exposing Lottie English as the Duchess of Newark could irreparably stain his reputation as a nobleman. If that were the case, she might be forced to quit the stage forever, and she knew in her heart he would never forgive himself if she were made to choose between them.

Charlotte reached out and placed her palm on his chest. “You have my soul, Colin. You asked for it and I've given it to you.” With tears stinging her eyes, she whispered, “Now do as you promised and give me the world.”

He shook his head minutely, his brows furrowing in confusion. Then clarity seemed to wash over him as his expression went flat and he stilled before her.

“What do you want from me, Charlotte, permission to go?” he breathed in a husky timbre. “What is it you want me to say?”

Squeezing her fist over the ruffles of his shirt, and with great intensity, she replied, “You know what I'm asking. Give me the world, and I'll
stay
.”

He clenched his jaw; his gaze pierced hers.

She waited, granting him time, but he didn't utter a sound. Either he didn't understand what she wanted, what she
needed
to hear from him, or he refused to express it for reasons unknown. But she would never coerce him, or embarrass him, into admitting he loved her. That would be for him to discover on his own. If he did it in time.

Very slowly, she dropped her hand from his chest, lowered her lashes, and without another word, walked to the door and out of her dressing room.

 

Opening night at the Royal Italian Opera House in Covent Garden was an extravaganza to behold, a night of magic, lights and glamour, of laughter and romance. Yet Colin was oblivious to it all, restless with worry, and thinking of nothing but her last great passionate plea.

Give me the world and I'll stay…

He knew what she wanted him to say to her; he wasn't an ignorant man. But he also knew that if he confessed to being in love with her, she would not only stay, she could forever regret leaving behind what he dreadfully feared she loved more.

He refused to entertain the possibility that she would ever leave him, and he would gladly travel with her to the ends of the earth if she asked. But he
would have to know in his heart that she loved him more than any great passion in her life. Not just hear her admit it, but know it,
feel
it.

Tonight would be the climax of months of preparation, for her at the theater, and for them as they confronted those who wanted her priceless manuscript, and his anticipation of the two events only continued to build as he entered the central foyer of the opera house.

He hardly noticed the ladies dressed in silks and satins and jewels, only briefly acknowledged members of the gentry as he made his way toward his box. He'd asked Sir Thomas to be here tonight as well, giving him the details of the impending confrontation, though he doubted anyone would be arrested. His goal remained in simply getting to the truth, and if Sir Thomas could help, all the better.

As the audience filled, Colin took his seat in his box. He peered down at the glamour of the aristocracy filling the seats below and across from him, watching, though he knew the unfolding of events would take place behind the stage later. Of course that would only happen if everything worked as it should. He had no idea if Sadie had even received the note, though he could only assume she had, and was now more nervous for the encounter to come than for the opening act.

At last the orchestra leader entered to great fanfare and applause. He quickly took his place before his players, then lifted his hands with his baton as the audience grew silent and the production began.

From attending the day-after-day rehearsals, Colin
knew the music and the action well, and realized his wife would not appear until act two. But the first act was rather short, allowing for Porano to garner the attention he wanted, as the stately tenor took his place on the stage.

Sadie appeared, as Buda, and he watched her closely from his box, though he couldn't tell from his seat if she were nervous or distracted. She sang like a professional in the chorus, but her only solo role in this production called for speaking. In his opinion, however, she would never, even with maturity and under different circumstances, sing with the ability and talent of his wife.

Colin remained in his box through the whole of the first interval, keeping an eye on the audience, though seeing nothing out of the ordinary. When the second act began, he sat forward in his seat, his opera glasses at the ready as Charlotte took the stage.

The amazing Lottie English received a round of enthusiastic applause at her appearance, perhaps even more enthusiastic than Porano received at his entrance. Then she began to sing brilliantly, the opera unfolding, and he sat back, totally enthralled by the performance.

Colin had never been so proud of anyone his entire life. She shined on stage, beautiful in form and voice, and his reaction equaled that of her audience. He had married an incredible woman, and listening to her now, watching her perform, left him with the most amazing sense of awe, even peace.

Colin didn't think he'd ever been in love until now.
He had pursued women near and far, made love to them on occasion, but he'd never been given the gift of someone so precious. Someone who belonged to him alone. If he'd felt love for anyone before tonight, it paled by comparison, never amounting to the soul-searing breath of joy he felt at this moment.

But even as he smiled at her with a profound sense of contentment, it was her first solo that captured his attention as it hadn't during the many times he'd heard her sing it before. He sat forward, listening raptly to the words as she performed one of Balfe's great arias.