The Duke's Indiscretion (6 page)

He frowned, crossing arms over his chest. “Men like me?”

She absentmindedly straightened her skirts at the knees. “Men like you who have…trouble remaining faithful to one lady for any length of time.”

That audacious comment irked him again, but he didn't say a word to counter, only stared at her blatantly with cool, appraising eyes.

She offered him a reassuring smile. “I have no illusions about what married life will be like for us, sir, and I will remain ever practical. That is, of course, should you decide to take me up on my offer.”

He rocked back, his head tilted to one side. “Of course.”

After only the slightest hesitation, she asserted, “I'm an intelligent woman, and I understand that men have certain…instinctive needs. You may rest assured that I will always look the other way when you tire of me and choose another. I've never been, nor shall I become, a lady prone to fits of jealousy.”

He didn't even blink. “That's very good to know,” he returned, his tone contemplative. “And quite generous of you, Lady Charlotte.”

She beamed, relaxing to her bones at his gracious understanding. “Yes, I think so. But then I plan to travel and it's more than likely we won't see much of each other, which I'm sure you'll agree is for the best.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Naturally.”

He studied her for a moment, once again lowering his gaze to her breasts, and she had to thank God then and there that at least she'd been blessed with a full bosom. Her voice was undoubtedly her greatest asset, but she very well knew men didn't much care about how well a lady could sing. They always, however, cared about breasts.

“And what if you take a lover, Charlotte?” he asked thoughtfully, rubbing the side of his jaw with one large palm.

That flustered her. “I beg your pardon?”

He straightened a little in his rocker. “What if I want you all to myself? Am I to let you out of my sight on a European operatic tour that gives you opportunity to take lovers in France, Italy, Spain?” He snickered and folded both hands in his lap. “Is that what you expect?”

Frankly, she'd never once thought of such a thing. The sexual act, what she knew of it, consisted of grunting men and passive wives who dutifully gave whatever pleasure their husbands needed so they could return quickly to more important obligations. Although she'd teased the Duke of Newark about becoming his lover the night they met in her dressing room, she'd never considered doing such a thing with anyone else.

“You don't have an answer?” he asked rather brusquely.

She shook her head, blinking quickly in confusion. “No, of course not. I mean—I've just—I've never
thought about it.”

He laughed out loud with genuine amazement. “You're telling me I'm the only man you've considered taking as a lover?”

That made her mad. “My life is my singing, your grace,” she articulated, eyes flashing. “I couldn't care any less about your needs, your desires, your mistresses, nor do I care to take a…variety of men to my bed. So, no. I can honestly say that I have no desire for any lover but you.” Yielding a bit, she added, “And only if we're properly married.”

Something in her words or manner got to him. His features softened, his lips once again formed a hint of a smile, and he leaned his head against the back of his wooden rocker.

“What a priceless bargain you offer me, Charlotte.”

With grace and a sweeping of her skirts, she slowly stood, her reticule clutched at her waist, facing him with marked determination. “I do hope you'll consider my proposal with care, sir. I'm very, very serious about it. I do not intend to take the marriage vows lightly, and will do my best to honor you with my utmost devotion.”

He grinned wryly. “As a dutiful wife?”

For a moment Charlotte wondered if he were mocking her, then decided she didn't want to know. “Yes, exactly,” she replied modestly.

After drawing a deep breath and exhaling fully, he gradually stood to meet the challenge in her gaze. But instead of simply dismissing her or bidding her good day from behind his desk, he walked swiftly around it, toward her, almost alarming her when
he moved to her side, his expression one of pure satisfaction. She had no idea what to make of that.

“Your grace?” she murmured, concern edging her words.

He grinned devilishly. “I suppose you won't let me kiss you again until we're properly married?”

She stared up to his beautiful, handsome face, his knowing expression and amusement-filled eyes. “So you agree to my proposal?”

She held her breath, hopeful, with dreams of taking the stage in Milan for the first time, the applause, the thrown roses, the cheers and accolades.

“It's…the most enticing offer of marriage I've received from a lady, I'll say that much.”

That's it?
“I've offered you everything I can, your grace. It's a perfect opportunity, for both of us. We
need
each other.”

His smile slowly faded, his eyes narrowed, and for a second or two she feared she'd gone too far in practically begging.

And then, instead of kissing her as she feared he'd do, hoped he'd do, he reached out and placed his palm beneath her chin, lifting her head a little as he gently brushed his thumb across her lips.

She shivered, trying to back away, but her knees bumped up against the chair in which she'd only just been sitting.

“You're quite a treasure, aren't you?” he murmured, brows furrowed as he scanned every inch of her face.

She drew in a shaky breath and he removed his thumb. “My brother thinks I'm merely trouble. But I'll try to behave myself when I'm with you, especially when we're watched by society's eye in any
public forum.”

His lips curved up wryly. “That's very good to know.”

She waited, anxious to depart, but unable to move away from the warmth of his body so close to her own. With fortitude, she asked, “Do we have an agreement, your grace?”

“Colin,” he corrected.

She acquiesced. “Do we have an agreement, Colin?”

After a moment of lingering silence, he replied, “I'll consider it, Charlotte.”

She noted immediately that he'd used exactly the same words she had the night he propositioned her in the theater, certainly intentional, and not at all the answer she wanted to hear. But then it wasn't quite a rejection, either. She supposed she needed to allow him time to adjust to the idea. Marriage was, after all, a huge step for anyone.

“I—I should leave. I need to be at the theater soon in preparation for tonight's performance.”

He stepped back without reluctance and formally waved his hand to let her pass. “Then don't let me keep you from your adoring admirers.”

She curtsied quickly and brushed past him. At the door, she paused and glanced back.

He still stood gazing at her with his hands crossed over his chest.

“Will you be there tonight?” she asked softly.

His countenance became somber. Contemplatively, he asked, “Do you want me to be?”

It seemed like a truly genuine question, and sud
denly she wanted him to know how very much she relied on him for support and adoration from afar. “I always want you there, Colin.”

She could have sworn he exhaled a shaky breath, his gaze searing hers. Then he nodded once, and murmured, “We shall see, Lady Charlotte. Good afternoon.”

It was a clear dismissal, and she heeded it with a fraction of a smile upon her mouth. “Good afternoon, your grace.”

With a lift of her skirts, she held her chin high and walked out of his study.

C
olin rapped on the door of Sir Thomas's office at the Yard, then walked in without waiting for a reply.

He wouldn't call himself angry, exactly, but the look he sported on his face and in his eyes must have displayed his agitation, for at once Sir Thomas's secretary, John Blaine, looked up from his paperwork, his expression startled.

“Is he in? I need to see him immediately,” Colin remarked as he began to stride toward the closed door of his employer's inner office.

Blaine stood and pulled down on his jacket, which fit him far too tightly at the waist. “He's in, but I'd prefer to announce you first, your grace. He's been quite busy this—”

“Then do so at once,” he interrupted, his tone cooler than he'd intended.

Blaine gave him a sideways glance through his large spectacles that reminded Colin of those worn by
Charlotte—plain, thick, and completely unbecoming. But where Charlotte remained a beauty underneath, this man couldn't be more unattractive, his face pulled tightly as if he were tense about life in general, his features reminding Colin of a racoon's with his large, dark eyes, rounded cheeks, small thin lips, and a flat, receding chin. But he was apparently very good at what he did, as Sir Thomas trusted him completely. And appearance hardly mattered in the competent.

Blaine knocked on the inner door, then turned the knob and peeked inside. “His grace, the Duke of Newark to see you, sir,” he said mildly.

“Let him in,” came the fast reply.

Before Blaine could acknowledge the response, Colin had already slipped past him, entering the inner office proper, taking only a quick note of the thin fog of tobacco smoke that enveloped the dark and musty room.

Sir Thomas had been sitting, engrossed in paperwork illuminated only by a single oil lamp on the desk, but stood and bowed his head properly as Colin took a seat in an old and creaking wooden chair across from the man.

“You set me up, my friend,” Colin said a bit testily, ignoring the fact that Blaine stood behind him with the door wide open, waiting for instruction.

Sir Thomas sighed and sat heavily again, looking past him briefly. “That'll be all, John,” he said to his secretary.

“And we don't wish to be disturbed,” Colin added without glancing over his shoulder.

Sir Thomas almost smiled. “No, we don't wish to be disturbed.”

“Very well, sir,” Blaine replied matter-of-factly before closing the door behind him.

Colin never moved his eyes from the older man, his mentor, who sat across from him now, watching him in return. Sir Thomas's office—indescribably small and cramped, cluttered with stacks of paperwork and overflowing shelves of dust-covered books and odd trinkets—felt unusually stuffy and cold today, the windows closed because of a lingering drizzle and chill in the air. But Colin paid no attention aside from a passing notice. His mind stayed focused on getting to the truth.

“Well?” he prodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the man.

Sir Thomas relaxed a little and fussed with the tie at his thick neck, then perched his elbows on the wooden armrests, his fingers interlocked in front of his chest. “Actually, I'm surprised you didn't confront me at home yesterday,” he said casually.

That blasé reply irritated him, and he stretched one leg out, folding his arms across his chest. “I considered it, but decided I wanted to collect my thoughts first.”

“Ah. I see.”

He snorted. “No, you don't.” After wiping one palm harshly down his face, he added, “Do you have any idea what trouble you've caused me?”

The older man's brows rose innocently. “Trouble? You wanted to meet Lottie English. I made that possible.”

Colin shook his head, closing his eyes briefly before gazing back at the man. “You could have told me her identity. As it was, you left me unprepared.”

“Unprepared for what?”

“Unprepared for what? For
her,
for Christ's sake,” he replied harshly.

Sir Thomas continued to watch him closely for a moment, then leaned forward, still clutching his hands together as he placed them on the desktop. “What exactly happened that's got you so riled up, Colin?”

Although Sir Thomas was technically his employer, the man also remained his inferior by title, and almost never used his Christian name. Doing so now surprised him almost as much as it made his irritation worse.

No longer able to sit still, he rose abruptly and shoved his hands in the pockets of his rain-dampened topcoat as he walked to the window, peering out to the grayness of early afternoon.

“She's cornered me,” he said soberly.

Sir Thomas chuckled, and he flipped his head around to stare the man down.

“It isn't funny. The woman wants to
marry
me, for God's sake, and she's using her…Lottie English persona to entice me into it.”

“
Entice
you?”

“Yes, entice me.”

Silence reigned for a moment or two and he looked back outside, seeing nothing as the rain picked up once more, splattering the glass and blurring his vision.

Finally, Sir Thomas said, “You don't have to marry anyone not of your choosing. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that, your grace. So what's the real problem?”

Colin rubbed his eyes. “I'm not ready to encumber myself like that yet.”

“Yes, you've made that perfectly clear,” Sir Thomas replied. “To everybody, I should think.”

He ignored the second part of that comment. “I don't want to marry someone I don't even know. Especially a plain girl who plays the piano better than I do.”

“Everybody plays the piano better than you do—”

“That's not the point.”

“—and she's not all that plain, either.”

He grunted. “She's smart.”

“Yes, she is. But what I really want to know,” the older man continued, “is what happened to make you think you need to marry the girl?”

He'd assumed Sir Thomas was part of the whole blasted plan, but by the sound of the man's perplexed questioning, he was beginning to suspect the idea of a “convenient” marriage had manifested itself in Charlotte's mind alone.

He turned around to face his superior again, noting how Sir Thomas's features had changed into hard lines, his lips had thinned. He didn't look mad, exactly, just…irritated, as if he still had trouble grasping the gravity of the situation Colin was undoubtedly explaining badly.

Suddenly he felt drained. Pulling his arms from his topcoat, he removed it, then returned to the chair he'd sat in momentarily, tossing his coat over the wooden back before lowering his body into the seat, slumping into it this time.

“I did as you asked and paid a visit to the Earl of Brixham Friday last,” he began, “and offered quite a decent sum for his pianoforte. The man agreed and sold it to me. While I was there, I had the good fortune
of meeting the wily Lady Charlotte, who, as I later came to realize, recognized me as the man who met her the previous weekend when she sang upon the stage as Lottie English. Of course
I
had no idea they were one and the same person.”

His voice had risen during his diatribe, and he forced himself to control his annoyance. Sir Thomas just watched him, nodding, and so he continued.

“The following day, she had the temerity to come and visit
me
with a proposition of marriage.
Marriage,
for God's sake.” He shook his head. “The woman certainly has nerve.”

“I think you mean, the
lady
?”

Of course he knew she was a lady. “What's your point?”

Sir Thomas sat up a little, adjusting his stout frame in the chair that looked scarcely able to support his weight. “It sounds like a very good match to me,” he said with a shrug.

“
That
is certainly irrelevant,” he growled.

The older man leaned back again, eyeing him speculatively. “Why did you come here, your grace, if not to get my thoughts on the matter?”

Colin stared the man down. “I want to know if her brother is indeed in debt, and a problem for which you truly need my skills.” He paused, then lowered his voice to add, “Was the job you assigned me a complete fabrication, Thomas?”

It took a long moment for the man to answer, he mused, and Colin hoped he wasn't using the time to contrive a reasonable response. He needed honesty now.

Sir Thomas drew in a long breath at last, then blew
it out slowly through puffed lips. “He
is
in debt; that part is quite true.” He waited, then thoughtfully conceded, “But I admit I sent you there, primarily, to give you an opportunity to meet the Lady Charlotte.”

“Because you knew she was Lottie English,” he stated blandly, though feeling his muscles tensing uncomfortably beneath his clothes.

Sir Thomas nodded. “Yes.”

He supposed he expected more than a simple acknowledgment, and yet despite this, he'd gotten the honesty he wanted. Exasperated, he asked, “Why didn't you just tell me who she was? At least I could have been prepared for her impudent intrusion into my home.”

Sir Thomas scoffed. “Nonsense. Besides, it wasn't my place, Colin. She didn't—doesn't—want anyone to know.”

“And how did
you
find out?” he asked a bit sarcastically.

The man shrugged. “I'm employed by the Crown to know these things.”

“That's absurd.”

Sir Thomas patted his oiled hair down atop his head. “Let's just say I guessed.”

Colin stood abruptly. “You know the family.”

“Yes, and I knew her father quite well. I don't, however, trust her brother. He's the one who's kept her secluded and tightly under his thumb for the last three years, and he's very upset at her choice of…career, shall we say.”

“So you thought perhaps I'd like to get her out of her unfortunate situation at home by marrying her?” he asked, aghast.

The older man's eyes narrowed. “Not in the least. But you
did
want to meet Lottie English. I arranged that for you.”

“And now I look the fool,” he remarked in muted embarrassment.

“I'm sure the Lady Charlotte thinks no such thing or she wouldn't have come to your home to offer herself in marriage.”

Colin rubbed his eyes, his nerves on edge. “As ridiculous as that sounds, you have no idea what transpired between us the night of the opera.”

After a very long pause, Sir Thomas sighed. “On the contrary, Colin. I'm quite certain I do.”

The wind picked up as the rain grew heavier, now splattering the window in sheets that matched the tumultuous rush of blood through his veins.

Of course he knew. Everybody knew of his reputation with the ladies, and it irked him a little that he could be so transparent to the nobility at large, especially when he didn't exactly
try
to be blatant about his sexual escapades. Truthfully, he'd only wanted to have a little fun, to thoroughly enjoy a full bachelor life for as long as he could before duty tied him down to a sniveling wife and a house of brats. Was that so wrong?

Groaning aloud, he started pacing the little room, his hands on his hips, head down.

“I don't know what to do,” he said rather weakly, words he'd likely never repeat to anyone else in the world.

Sir Thomas chuckled again. “That's the easy part. It's a perfect match socially, and you can have Miss English. My advice is to marry the girl.”

“I don't want to get married,” he fairly blurted. Then deciding he sounded like a child, he added formally, “I should say, I don't want to marry now. I'm not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

Colin couldn't think of a response to that, and Sir Thomas evidently understood the confusion playing out in his mind.

“Your grace, if I may be so bold?”

Colin stopped pacing and stood erect, facing the man again.

“Please,” he said with a casual wave of his hand.

Sir Thomas eyed him directly, his lids narrowed in assessment. “Marriage is something nobody is prepared for. Not entirely. But it's a step that must be taken eventually, especially by someone of your class. You need an heir, and it's beyond time you produced one now that your father is gone. It's your duty as a man of your station, which I'm sure has at the very least crossed your mind. Lady Charlotte can provide that—”

“Now you sound like her, ever practical.”

The older man smiled in understanding. “As you said, she's smart. Frankly, I think she's considered this more clearly than you seem to be doing at the moment, and that's unusual considering how women can sometimes be so irrational.”

“I'm not being irrational,” he said defensively. “I'm trying to be logical. I don't even know her.”

Candidly, his hands folded in front of him, Sir Thomas replied, “I don't care how long the courting process takes, one never knows his spouse until one is actually married. You could court the Lady Char
lotte for months, even bed her as Lottie English, and it
still
wouldn't prepare you for marriage.” Dropping his voice to just above a whisper, he concluded, “You're obviously attracted to each other. That's the first step. Now do your duty and accept her…proposal. Get yourself a wife and heir. The rest will come as it does.”

“The rest? The trouble, you mean,” he said sullenly.

Sir Thomas lifted one shoulder in shrug. “Perhaps. But there are many beneficial things that come with marriage as well. You simply have to plunge in, head first.”

Colin almost smiled. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you planned this whole mess.”

The man's brows rose in innocence. “Me? It's not my place to plan your future, your grace.”

He snorted, reaching for his coat. “Well said, my friend.”

“But Lottie English is every man's fantasy,” Sir Thomas added through an exaggerated sigh, relaxing again in his chair. “I envy you.”