The Duke's Indiscretion (8 page)

Her simple admission, hitting home so bluntly, shook him a bit, and he stifled a caustic response. Feeling a rising irritation within, he kneaded the tight muscles of his neck with one hard palm as he turned his back on her and strode toward a lone velveteen chair beside the cold grate, its garish, tangerine seat cushion as threadbare as the settee's. Standing behind it, he interlocked his fingers and rested his forearms on the high back, facing her again with a gnawing in his gut.

She crossed her arms defensively just under her breasts, seemingly unaware how it pushed her cleavage up and out provocatively.

“In my experience, variety can be highly overrated, my Lady Charlotte,” he murmured seconds later, eyeing her up and down with deliberate slowness. “Your
generosity in this matter is no doubt unmatched, but really, why would I want to stray with Lottie English warming my sheets every night?”

His daring question flustered her. Her face flushed with warmth anew as she followed his gaze to her bosom, then spun on her heels at once, walking toward the far window to stare outside at a garden totally hidden by the blur of the cold, persisting rain.

Another long silence ensued, though he took her embarrassment and the uneasy strain between them in stride. He intended to remain formidable in his approach, to let her know without any doubt that although he might be giving in to her desire for a convenient marriage, he would remain the dominant presence in their relationship, that even under the spell of her Lottie English persona he would not be made a fool. Still, even watching her now, catching her off guard by his unexpected arrival and bold, lascivious comment, he couldn't shrug her prettiness aside, nor ignore her cleverness, sophistication, and radiant sexual appeal, all held modestly in check beneath the guise of a gently bred lady.

Oh, yes. She would please him for a long time to come.

Feigning defeat, he swallowed his trepidation and announced, “Very well, my lady. I suppose it appears that I have no choice but to ask you formally to become my wife.”

He knew immediately, by her rigid posture and the fact that she didn't cast him even the slightest glance, that he hadn't offered her the most flattering proposal. Yet what could she expect after coercing him? Flowers and a ring on bended knee? Groaning at his
own ineptitude, he squeezed the back of the chair and added softly, “Would you kindly do me the honor of marrying me, Charlotte?”

It was the best he could do under the circumstances, and they both knew she had no intention of denying him.

After several long, tense seconds, she leaned her head back a little and very faintly sighed. He waited for a reply, knowing what her answer would be and yet keenly aware of how dry his mouth had become as the time ticked by in maddening silence.

Finally, she turned to face him again, clasping her hands behind her, standing tall and unintimidated, her features calm and unreadable.

“I would be most honored to accept your proposal of marriage, your grace,” she said somewhat breathlessly.

An unanticipated mixture of apprehension and unbridled lust washed over him and he straightened, realizing he'd been tightly clutching the back of the chair. Collecting himself, he nodded once, unsure if more were required of him in response to her answer, then deciding it didn't matter. She did nothing but watch him, thoughts hidden, and after another moment or two he elected to just carry on and get the terms of their agreement out in the open, so to speak, to avoid any misunderstanding on her part as to the conditions of their marriage that was now a certainty with her acceptance.

After rubbing the chair's velvety back with his palms, he moved away from it, clasping his hands behind him as he first stared at the grate, then turned to face her fully from across the room.

“Now that our…betrothal is settled,” he announced matter-of-factly, “there are a few minor details we need to discuss.”

“Of course,” she replied. “I shall be happy to plan the wedding, though I would like to marry as soon as possible.”

“So would I,” he agreed, catching himself before he told her his reasons differed markedly from hers. “And I'm certain you'll plan a lovely wedding, though that's not what I meant.”

She frowned just enough for him to realize she never expected him to make demands or that he might come to the marriage with his own stipulations, and such knowledge of her ignorance encouraged him. The thought of regaining an advantage over her made him hold back a grin of total satisfaction.

“Very well, your grace,” she yielded with a slight tip of her head. “I suppose I should expect you to have concerns.”

He did smile at that, strictly for her benefit. “Concerns, no. Requirements, yes.”

She bit her lip hesitantly, standing as regally as possible in front of the window, one hand still behind her, the other now nervously tinkering with a golden chain at her throat. “I already told you I will be a most appropriate wife, in every manner possible. I can't imagine what other requirements there might be.” Suddenly, a look of horror crossed her features. “You don't expect me to quit—”

“I will never stop you from performing, Charlotte. You needn't worry about that.”

She slumped minutely, her relief palpable.

He waited, allowing her curiosity to build, anticipating the coming moment immensely. Finally, he shrugged and said, “No, I'm talking about bedroom requirements. We need to discuss those before we become…intimate.”

She actually gasped, jaw dropping, her eyes growing wide in offense.

Colin remained outwardly unmoved by her surprise, inwardly delighted by her embarrassment as he noticed her cheeks color with another magnificent flush.

“We do not need to discuss any such thing,” she countered in quiet defiance. “I believe I already told you I'll provide you an heir. There's nothing more to say in that regard, your grace.”

Colin began a slow saunter toward her, hands still behind him, brows slightly furrowed, his mouth hinting at a frown. “It's not that simple. Of course I expect you to provide me an heir in exchange for the trouble that comes with the binding ties of matrimony, but there's more involved than just bedding you until you carry.”

She blinked, pulling back a little as he neared her, apparently dumbfounded as her fingers and thumb now rubbed the chain between them fiercely.

He held her stunned gaze with candor in his own, lowering his voice to continue. “Though I have every intention of claiming you as mine on our wedding night, I have no intention of getting you with child at that time. I'm not expecting an heir immediately, nor do I want one that quickly.”

She lowered her hand from her neck and hugged herself, looking him up and down in stark bewilder
ment. “That's—that's not even logical, sir. A man of your position needs a son and I need—” Drawing a full breath, she raised her chin a fraction and said with forced confidence, “We have an agreement.”

“Ah, yes. The agreement.” He folded his arms across his chest as he towered over her, holding her beautifully stunned gaze. “Let me explain my position on that, Lady Charlotte. I will fund a tour for you, but only on my terms, and at a time of my choosing.”

She gaped at him.

“For my trouble,” he continued, “I expect a bit of selfish time with you before you carry my child, then hand him to a nanny and a house full of servants to raise while you leave for the Continent on a wave of good riddance, your piano in tow. Until then, you may continue singing here, in London as you do now, and I will continue to support you and your endeavor wholeheartedly, as long as you are home every night to warm my sheets.” Smiling wryly, he leaned very close to her to murmur, “I want what I bargained for, Charlotte, and that's you, in my bed, taking care of
my
personal desires before I allow you to carry on with yours.”

Blushing furiously now, anger replacing her chagrin, she narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “So, I'm to remain your plaything until you grow tired of me? How convenient for you.”

He tried not to show surprise at the question that had, frankly, never crossed his mind. And he had to give her credit for retrieving her nerve and standing her ground in what had to be a most uncomfortable discussion for a lady.

“I don't believe I said that,” he replied, “though I seem to recall it
was
part of your argument when trying to convince me that marriage between us would be a good thing.”

She hesitated, then brushed over that bit of honesty. “And just how, pray tell, do you expect to keep me in your bed and childless at the same time, sir?”

Colin righted himself as he rubbed his jaw with a palm, uncertain whether she intended to rile him with such a ridiculous question, or if she truly lacked imagination concerning the sexual act. “Would you like me to explain it to you here?” he asked, his tone low and challenging.

“Absolutely not,” she seethed, glancing quickly to the door as she took a step away from him.

She dug her fingers into her upper arms, no doubt to keep herself from punching him.

“What I
do
expect, Lady Charlotte, is loyalty, devotion, and compliance from you during our most intimate interludes together,” he reassured her softly. “And for that, I will give you everything you've ever wanted, in time.”

For a long moment she didn't move, didn't back down, and didn't speak. Colin knew perfectly well that he wasn't being at all unreasonable, and she knew it, too, which likely explained her reluctance to argue with him further. He recognized the conflicts that guided her as she struggled to find words to agree with him, or at the very least acknowledge his demands. But he now felt certain she wouldn't refuse him any of them.

“It's getting late and I need to leave,” he said, his tone deep and contemplative.

She visibly relaxed. “Of course, your grace. I will be in touch with you regarding the wedding preparations and members of your family who—”

He cut her off by reaching out and grabbing her around the waist, yanking her forcefully against him as he brought his mouth down hard upon hers.

Too stunned to react, for seconds she just languished in his arms, her body pressed into his, her lips unresponsive to his tender urging. Then a tiny whimper escaped her as she faltered and slowly succumbed to his embrace, her arms encircling his neck and pulling him closer. He cupped her head with one palm, the small of her back with the other, and deepened the kiss, the heat and feel of her voluptuous form igniting a flame of desire deep within that he hadn't at all expected. He reveled in her response, thoroughly savoring the taste of her delicious lips for countless long, glorious moments, his tongue invading her moist depth at last, only briefly, before his senses returned and he began to pull back, gradually releasing her with the greatest reluctance.

A charged moment of mutual shock followed, her breathing as irregular as his, her palms clinging to his shoulders. Then trembling, she drew her hands away and stepped toward the window, turning her side to him, her eyes tightly closed as she covered her mouth with her fingertips.

Colin straightened and gritted his teeth, willing his heartbeat to slow, confused and even frustrated at his own behavior. He never presumed to kiss her with any trace of passion. His intent, though only transiently considered, was to leave a small, required peck of affection on her cheek as he took his leave.
Now she'd aroused him, through no fault of her own, and the only thing he could think of was pulling her on to the settee and kissing her again—on her breasts, her thighs, between her legs. He had to get out of there.

“Plan the wedding quickly,” he ordered in a fast breath, his throat raw.

She didn't acknowledge him.

With a harsh brush of his fingers through his hair, he stepped past her and quickly strode out of the parlor.

C
harlotte sat on her white, satin-covered vanity chair in her beautiful new withdrawing room, staring into the gilt-framed mirror at her reflection while her longtime lady's maid, Yvette, silently brushed her thick, curly hair.

She still looked remarkably composed, she decided, her skin flushing with dewy color from the excitement of the last week, her eyes sparkling, their color deepened by the shiny white satin of her night robe, made especially for tonight. It had been a harrowing day, the wedding of the season, and though exhaustion permeated her to the core, sleepiness eluded her. That was probably a good thing since her new husband of only a few hours waited in the bedroom adjoining hers, and he'd made it perfectly clear he had no intention of retiring for a while.

She'd seen him just three times since his proposal six weeks ago, and all three occasions were formal and dull. Oh, he had been unbelievably handsome
and attentive enough, but the events themselves occurred only because society at large required they must, especially to the gossips.

But as she finally walked down the aisle toward the altar to become his wife, her stomach coiled in tight knots at first sight of him. In all of her life, she'd never known a man as handsome as the Duke of Newark, and today he looked marvelous, his dark blond hair combed off his face to reveal the hard planes in masculine detail, his eyes sharply intense as they scrutinized her from the top of her tiara to the hem of her beautiful gown. He'd worn black on white silk, his clothes tailor-made for the event, and she supposed everyone in attendance noticed how she stared at him with pure admiration in her gaze from the start of the service until the final moments when he brushed a brief, warm kiss on her lips to seal their destiny. Truly, it had been a grand wedding, and the only snag in the event was all the while knowing she'd coerced him into being there.

Still, he'd been an excellent and attentive companion throughout the day, remaining at her side during the reception and delicious dinner following, even spending a good deal of time talking to Charles, who seemed pleased beyond words that his sister had married so well, as if the match were his own choosing. She simply took that in stride, knowing she was finally out of her brother's clutches and could do as she liked without listening to him constantly criticize her for her thoughts and decisions.

In those few hours, she'd gleaned a bit more of her husband's personality as well, meeting his closest
friends and enjoying them at once. She especially enjoyed their wives, Vivian, Duchess of Trent, and Olivia, Duchess of Durham, both lovely women in their own right, and both immediately kind to her, giving her new insight into the workings of her husband's mind, and especially his apparently well-known sense of humor. She had yet to experience it for herself, but then she'd gotten to know him under somewhat trying circumstances. In due time she expected to grow to appreciate him, his disposition, and whatever he did to occupy his time. At least that was her hope.

For now, she had to give him high marks for allowing her full reign of his home and servants, even redecorating her bedroom suite for her arrival. She wouldn't have known that, of course, if it weren't for his housekeeper, Trudy, a middle-aged, buxom widow with four grown children and a mightily stern temperament. She'd only been in his employ for the better part of three months now, but the woman took it upon herself to make sure she understood that he'd fairly gutted her room of all furniture and adornments, then had it repapered in lilacs and lace to match new white lace curtains, purchased a large wardrobe, a canopied bed, and a small, white velvet sofa for the bedroom proper, all matching the vanity, at which she now sat, in her connected withdrawing room, its wood painted white and splashed with inlaid gold. To complete the look and add warmth, thick lavender rugs were placed generously across most of the polished wooden floor. She admired it at first sight, and couldn't wait to lower herself onto her new bed and pull the floral quilt up
over her shoulders for a good week of sleep. But that would have to wait.

Suddenly the door behind her creaked open, and her thoughts returned once more to the present when she realized her new husband had entered her bed chamber unannounced. She inspected him for a moment through the mirror, noting how handsome he still looked even after such a tiring day, his face bathed in lamplight, his expression unreadable as he glanced first to her, then to Yvette, who had stopped brushing her hair in mid-stroke at his entrance.

“You may leave us now,” he said brusquely.

“Yes, sir,” Yvette returned with a curtsy. Then she laid the hairbrush on the vanity and quickly made her departure through the hallway exit, closing the door behind her.

Charlotte sat perfectly still, her eyes on him, caught a little off guard by his intrusion and even slightly embarrassed that he'd allow her maid to see him enter her room through their private, connecting door as if he couldn't wait to take her in marital consummation. He still wore his wedding clothes, though he'd removed everything but his trousers and shirt, unbuttoned to a “V” at the neck, hinting at soft curls that grew upon the broadness of his chest just beneath the fine, silk fabric. The sight made her toes tingle even as she swallowed hard in an attempt to quash her nervousness.

“I still need a bit of time, your grace,” she said, hoping to sound haughty, securing her satin robe at her chest with a lightly closed fist.

He didn't respond to her comment, and he didn't give the room a second glance. For a moment he just
studied her face, her long, softly brushed hair as it draped over her shoulders, and the base of her throat where she clutched her robe, his eyes narrowing in some sort of thoughtful contemplation. Then a slow smile crept across his handsome mouth as he brought his hands out from behind his back.

“For you, my darling wife,” he replied at length, his voice low and husky as he began to saunter in her direction.

Charlotte remained rooted to her chair, her uncertainty growing with each passing second as she lowered her gaze to the shimmery gold box tied with a red satin ribbon he held out in one large palm.

“A gift?” she asked, confused and attempting to crack the tension that threatened to envelop the room.

“Indeed.” Dropping his tone to a dark murmur, he added, “Something I had made specially for you, Charlotte.”

Her mouth went dry and she hesitated, unsure what she could possibly say when understanding his motives totally eluded her. He stood over her now, still smiling, though seemingly more thoughtful than amused, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body and experience the lingering scent of his unique cologne.

Grasping the edge of her vanity with both palms to steady her trembling hands, she slowly raised herself to better face him at his level, then tightly laced her fingers in front of her.

“Are you going to take it?” he asked, holding the box between them.

Her lashes fluttered as she glanced down, her first
thought being that it looked too small to carry fur or linens, and too large for jewelry.

He chuckled. “Open it, Charlotte.”

For untold reasons, she felt her stomach tightening into knots, her pulse begin to race, but she could no longer deny his insistence. Without comment, she took the box from his outstretched hand and slowly loosened the ribbon. He watched her; she could feel his gaze on her face, and he no doubt noticed her slightly trembling hands.

The satin tie came off easily and he took it from her. Lifting the top of the box to reveal silk wrapping in deep red, she wasted no time in spreading it aside to expose the item of his enthusiasm.

At first glance, it appalled her, not only by what it appeared to be, but by the fact that he actually gave it to her as a gift. Then she reached into the box, lifted it by a thin string of lace with one finger, and couldn't decide whether to laugh hysterically or slap his face for his utter indecency.

Made of brilliant scarlet and pitch-black satin, this…thing he wanted her to wear on her wedding night wouldn't cover her torso, much less her legs, arms, and chest. Something resembling a corset, it had no sleeves or straps to hold it in place on the shoulders, but sheer, black lace over red satin stays that undoubtedly stuck to the ribs and presumably lifted the breasts to unimaginable heights.

The bodice, if one could call it that, opened and closed with four tiny, satin-covered buttons hooked into small black lace loops just under the bustline and down to about an inch below the navel, where
the satin fabric parted to expose a female's most private area. There appeared to be nothing else to the obscene bit of clothing, and as she turned it around, she noticed how the satin back skimmed the top of the buttocks, there replaced by sheer, black lace that flowed to the knees in a wispy frill. To top off such an outrageous outfit, beneath the corset in the box, he'd placed slip-on shoes with enormously high heels—four inches at least—their toes covered with red feathers.

No, she wasn't appalled, she was speechless. The mere thought of a
lady
owning such a thing…She looked back into his eyes and snickered.

He didn't enjoy her amusement. If anything, he stared at her even more intently, lust revealed in his gaze, and slowly her laughter faded as her heartbeat quickened from a growing revelation.

“You—” She glanced once more to the little piece of nothing in her hand, then back into his eyes. “You
really
can't expect me to
wear
this, your grace.” It wasn't a question, but a statement, and she hoped she sounded forceful.

He took a step closer and placed the box on the vanity. “I wouldn't have given it to you if I didn't expect to see you in it.”

She dropped it back into the box as if it scalded her fingers, deciding to argue with reason. “Forgive my reluctance, sir, but I can't possibly sleep in such a thing. I'll freeze.”

He chuckled, reaching for her chin which he raised a bit so she couldn't help but look into his eyes. “You won't freeze, and you won't be sleeping in it, darling
wife,” he whispered in a husky timbre. “I expect you to tempt me in it, make love to me in it. That's what it was made for.”

Her eyes flashed with shock—and a growing fear. “No.”

Instead of arguing with her further, he reached down and lightly grasped the sash at her waist, pulling it open before she even sensed his action.

“What are you doing?” she asked, taking a step back, clutching the top of her robe again as she held it tightly closed at the neck.

He smirked. “Undressing you.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Absolutely not.”

Straightening a little, he crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at her candidly. “Then you have five minutes, Charlotte. Five minutes to put the corset on and come to me, or…”

She looked him up and down furiously. “Or what?”

He shrugged. “That will be at my discretion as your husband.” Then he turned and walked to the adjoining door. Without looking back at her, he added, “I'll be waiting for you.”

She wanted to scream as he clicked the latch shut, leaving her alone for five whole minutes before he…what? She couldn't think about that. Just as she knew deep inside she had no right to deny him anything, not if she wanted him to support her in her dream.

Deflated, she glanced down to the corset and slippers in the box.

Dear God, help me get through this night.

“I married a brute,” she whispered, fingering the
lace. Then with a deep breath for confidence, she slowly began to remove her robe.

 

Colin stared at the flicker in the grate, sipping a brandy, barely able to control his intensifying desire as he waited for her. It had been at least ten minutes since he'd left her bedroom and he knew she took more time than he'd allotted her simply to antagonize him. Or defy him.

She hesitated in embracing the inevitable as her finest wifely duty. He acknowledged that. But even as he understood her apprehension, he also reminded himself that making love to Lottie English would be the most memorable experience of his life, and the
only
reason he found himself here now, anticipating the night to follow, craving the sensual pleasure he would soon share with the woman he'd been aching to bed for years, who now belonged to him by law.

It had been hard to suppress his need for her today, knowing what the night would bring for both of them. The week had been long and tediously eventful, and she'd played her part perfectly as the soon-to-be Duchess of Newark, always regal yet demure, gracious yet unassuming, and ever the lady.

Theirs was the wedding of the season, naturally, and she looked remarkably glamorous, radiant even, surprising him because for the first time since he'd met the Earl of Brixham's sister, she appeared as close as he'd ever seen her to the stunning image of Charlotte and Lottie combined. Still, he didn't think anyone recognized her as the famous opera singer; nobody in attendance would ever expect the new Duchess of Newark to be the seductive coloratura
who made her living on the stage. Only Sam and Will, his two closest friends, had learned the truth from him after the formal wedding announcement had been made, and they'd never tell anyone save their wives. And he
had
to tell them, because his sudden agreement to a marriage of convenience would strike them as completely out of character when he'd gone for so long postponing, even ignoring, his marital duty.

Colin glanced at his clock on the mantel again. Half past midnight. It had been almost twenty minutes since he'd left her and his patience was beginning to thin. He bunched his shoulders, then loosened them and stretched his neck to ease the raw tension within, deciding he would give her two more minutes, then march into her room and seduce her there, details be damned—

The click of the latch jarred him and he flipped his head around to stare at their adjoining door, his blood suddenly heating his veins.