by Emma Wildes
Prologue
If you have not captured his attention in the first place, how can you possibly hold it?
The entire preface to Lady Rothburg’s Advice , published 1802
The vestibule was full of well-dressed people milling like jeweled birds in their finery, just as
she’d hoped. Brianna Northfield let her husband slip her velvet cloak from her shoulders and
deliberately kept her back toward him, smiling and nodding at several acquaintances in the
throng. He handed the garment to a nearby attendant, greeted his old friend Lord Bassford while
Brianna waited, still strategically turned away.
This was the first step in her plan and she certainly hoped it worked, for she felt exposed.
Very much so.
Colton finished his conversation and took her arm, his gaze thankfully intent on scanning the
crowd for a way to proceed toward their private box. “This way, my dear. I think we can squeeze
through over by where the Earl of Farrington is standing.”
“That young woman with him is not someone I know,” she murmured, noting the beautiful young
lady’s fiery hair and lush figure. “Good heavens, he must be old enough to be her father.”
“His latest mistress, I believe,” her husband said coolly as they edged through the crowd. “I’m
sure they are here at the opera together simply to annoy his wife. Discretion has never been
Farrington’s strong suit.”
The note of disapproval in her husband’s voice did not escape her, but at least it wasn’t directed
at her. That is, not yet. Colton Northfield, the fifth Duke of Rolthven, did not believe in public
displays of one’s private life. She had learned that much in three months of marriage.
If he had a mistress, he would certainly not bring her out and flaunt the affair in front of all of
fashionable London society. Neither would he purposely hurt or humiliate his wife. Brianna
simply prayed he didn’t have a mistress, nor did she ever want him to feel he required one.
His touch on her arm was light as he guided her toward the carpeted stairs that led up to the
elegant box overlooking center stage. Heads turned as they passed, other friends giving greetings,
and Brianna noticed more than one gentleman let his gaze linger on her and several raised brows
among the ladies.
Fine. After all, she wished to make an impression. If the length of the masculine stares was a
good measure, she was certainly succeeding.
She felt the moment when Colton first noticed her gown. They were halfway up the stairs and he
faltered, his fingers tightening. One foot on the next step, he stopped cold, his gaze riveted
suddenly on her décolletage. “Good God, what are you wearing?”
“Should you really halt on the stairs and stare so pointedly at my bosom?” she asked with a calm
she didn’t particularly feel, taking another determined step past him. “This is Madame Ellen’s
latest creation and the neckline is a little daring, yes, but I am assured I have the proper figure to
carry it off.”
Her husband didn’t move for a moment, his glittering gaze still intent on the ivory flesh that
swelled above the material of her bodice, the entire upper curves exposed. He bit out in a low
tone, “You certainly can carry it off, but perhaps you should have asked yourself if you should
carry it off. Or better yet, asked me.”
Ask him about fashion? As if he normally cared. He dressed impeccably, but he never
commented on her clothing at all.
Perhaps that would change. It would be a nice beginning to know he actually looked at her.
Brianna murmured, “People are staring, Colton, wondering if we are actually arguing in public.”
“We might be,” he muttered. “Have you lost your mind?”
The Duke of Rolthven in an altercation with his wife on the stairs at the opera? Never. She had
chosen this venue because she was confident of his ingrained sense of politesse. He would be
horrified by the idea of making a scene. Brianna summoned a serene smile—utterly false, for she
could feel the warmth in her cheeks and the beat of her pulse in her throat. “Not at all. Shall we
take our seats?”
Uttering a low curse, he responded by almost dragging her up the rest of the way, his long fingers
locked around her wrist as he ushered her down the gallery and into the balcony with their private
box. His expression was hard to read, but his mouth formed a tight line as he seated her and took
the next chair.
The theater was packed as always, the huge chandeliers glittering, the gilt boxes holding the buzz
of hundreds of conversations. People attended not so much to see the performance as to be seen
themselves and to observe others, something her husband knew full well.
“I suppose since we are already here, wrapping you up in your cloak and carrying you outside
might be remarked upon,” he said sardonically, extending his long legs. “I know our arrival is
usually noted, but I wondered why we garnered so much attention as we went through the lobby.
Now I understand perfectly. I imagine more opera glasses will be directed toward your breasts on
such lavish display this evening than at the stage. Whatever possessed you, madam, to choose
such an outrageous gown?”
Because I want to seduce you, she thought, gazing at him. He looked as devastatingly attractive
as ever this evening, even with a frown on his handsome face and the sensual line of his mouth
compressed in reproof. He was tall, with thick chestnut hair, and a lean, athletic build, and on
those rare occasions when Colton smiled, every woman in the room felt a little flushed. High
cheekbones gave his face an arrogant cast, his nose was straight, the line of jaw and chin nicely
chiseled. The first time Brianna had seen him she’d been dazzled by his flagrant good looks, and
when he actually began to show some interest in her, she had tumbled head over heels in love like
some maiden in a romantic fable.
But there were some aspects to her marriage she hadn’t anticipated. As a mythical prince, Colton
had a few flaws. He was one of the wealthiest men in England, he had tremendous political
power, and his illustrious background was dazzling to a naïve debutant, but Brianna hadn’t
anticipated how little of his time he would deign to give her once she became his wife.
However, he hadn’t married the meek little ingénue she suspected he imagined he’d chosen.
With as much composure as possible, Brianna answered, “There are many ladies in attendance
this evening attired in gowns every bit as fashionably low cut as mine. I thought you would like
it.”
“Like having every man in London ogle my wife’s bare bosom?” His brows lifted, but his gaze
strayed downward again. “Think again, my dear.”
“Actually,” she answered, a flicker of hope stirring, because though he sounded annoyed, he
couldn’t seem to stop staring, “I thought you might like the way I look in this gown.”
For a moment he seemed surprised, his eyes, a vivid azure shade, narrowing a fraction. “You are
stunningly beautiful, Brianna, and I always admire the way you look. Why do you
think I married
you?”
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. It was exactly what she didn’t want to hear. Shaking out her
fan, Brianna said furiously, “I hope you didn’t wed me, Your Grace, simply to have as an
ornament on your arm at functions like this. I am a person, and a woman, and your wife.”
Her retort caused an uncharacteristically disconcerted look to cross his face. “Perhaps that wasn’t
well put. I meant you are always attractive to me. You do not have to be half-naked for me to
think so.”
“Then prove it.”
“I beg your pardon?” His arched brows shot up and he stared at her, obviously mystified.
Good. She truly had his attention. All too often he seemed only absently aware of her presence.
He was a busy man, and she understood and accepted that the responsibilities of title and fortune
consumed a great deal of his time. But when they were together, she wanted to know her husband
at least enjoyed her company. They were both still adjusting to marriage—or at least she was, for
she didn’t notice him changing much about his routine now that he had a wife. He still worked
most of the day, still went to his club, still spent more time in the gaming rooms at balls and
soirees than with her. Many society couples lived very separate lives. But it wasn’t what she
wanted for herself, and to change his attitude about it, she was determined to make him truly
notice her.
The orchestra began to stir. Raising her voice so he could hear the words, not caring about the
inhabitants of the boxes all around them, Brianna said clearly, “Tonight I want you to prove to
me that you find me attractive.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
Brianna gazed at her husband and gave a small sigh. “I worried you might say something exactly
like that.”
Women were such unpredictable, irrational, and emotional creatures, Colton Northfield pondered
darkly, only half listening to Herr Mozart’s creation, his gaze idly resting on the stage where a
brightly clad troupe danced to the same lively melodies he had heard so many times before. Next
to him, his lovely wife sat in rapt audience, her fan waving in languid sweeps against the
closeness of the huge room. Tendrils of silky, pale gold hair brushed her slender neck, and her
delicate face was slightly flushed from the heat.
He hadn’t lied. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and from the first
moment of their introduction nearly a year ago, he had wanted her intensely. Courtship, the
necessary engagement, and wedded life had not changed that one bit. Even now, the quiver of her
opulent flesh as it swelled above the bodice of an ivory gown that—no matter what she said—
bordered on scandalous, made his erection swell uncomfortably against the confinement of his
fitted breeches.
What exactly was percolating through her pretty head? If asked before this evening, Colton
would have said that Brianna was the last young woman of his acquaintance to wear something
so outrageous. Usually she was a proper young lady. Sometimes too proper—but then again, she
was innocent and inexperienced still. He had curbed his lust as much as possible and kept
lovemaking between them a subdued experience, trying to familiarize her with the intimacy of
the act and loosen her understandable inhibitions.
There was certainly nothing inhibited about her tonight, and it affected him in a way that
surprised him. He should be irritated by her choice of clothing for such a public appearance. He
was irritated, actually. But he was also something else.
Intrigued.
She leaned forward and lifted the gold opera glasses in her hand to get a better look at the stage.
The mounded flesh barely contained by the bodice of her dress severely tested the material, and
he could swear he saw a hint of the edge of one pink, perfect nipple.
Maybe he’d been going about things in the wrong way, he mused, unable to refrain from thinking
about her unexpected challenge. Not that he approved in any way of her appearing in public
partially naked, but he did admire the view. She certainly had lovely breasts, full and pliant, and
the virginal color of the gown offset by the sinfully low neckline did some interesting things to
the area below his waist.
Very interesting things.
“The soprano is spectacular, isn’t she?” The glasses lowered and his wife smiled, her dark blue
eyes, framed by long lashes, still focused on the performance.
Since he wasn’t really paying attention, it was hard for him to comment.
You are spectacular.
In a noncommittal tone, he mumbled a less than brilliant response, “Yes. Very talented.”
“That last aria was breathtaking.”
What was breathtaking was the graceful curve of Brianna’s bared shoulders and the flawless
perfection of her skin. Not to mention the alluring soft rose of her mouth, the darker color of her
brows a contrast to the golden luster of her hair. . . .
Good God, Colton thought with amused self-disgust. What was he doing? Poetic comparisons
and lascivious thoughts while sitting in his private box at the opera were not at all in character.
He forced his attention back to the stage. Or at least he tried.
It seemed like forever before the music ended, the applause ceased, and the chaotic exodus from
the theater began. Taking advantage of his superior height to spot the appropriate opening, Colton
escorted his wife outside as fast as possible to avoid both gossip over her attire and—if he were
honest with himself—any other males having the chance to feel similar appreciation for her
undeniable charms. The usual after-performance pleasantries to friends they did encounter were
administered as expediently as possible, and he waited impatiently to retrieve her cloak. He
swirled it around her shoulders with a deep sense of relief.
“My carriage, please,” he said in clipped tones to a footman who bowed and apparently caught
the urgency in his voice, for the young man practically ran to order it.
“Are you in a hurry?” Brianna asked.
Her question sounded innocent enough, he thought warily as he stood waiting for the vehicle to
be brought around, but he wasn’t sure it was. There wasn’t much question she’d surprised him
this evening. “I don’t care to wait in an endless queue,” he lied.
“It does get tedious,” she agreed, slipping the wrap from her shoulders just enough to expose the
view he wanted covered. “My, it is a warm evening, isn’t it?”
He was certainly sweating, and he wasn’t completely sure the temperature was responsible for his
discomfort.
Once their carriage arrived, Colton helped Brianna in and followed to settle on the opposite seat,
rapping sharply on the roof to signal the driver.
In the shadowed interior of the coach, with her cloak open so the sumptuous flesh that nearly
spilled from the front of her gown glimmered pale, Brianna looked more tempting than ever.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Did you enjoy the production, my dear?”
“Yes.” Her voice was hushed, and she gazed at him from under her long lashes in a provocative
way he’d never seen before. With every breath she took, her breasts threatened to burst free from
the inadequate confines of her gown. “Did you like it?”
He was riveted. Or still riveted. Oh hell, hadn’t she just asked him a question?
It was only polite to answer it.
“The view was glorious,” he said dryly, giving up any attempt to hide his salacious interest.
“And, yes, I thought the opera itself diverting.”
She smiled, looking nothing like the young ingénue he had married, but instead every inch an
alluring, sensual woman. “If I can divert you in any way, please, feel free to indulge yourself.
Now would be fine.”
“Now?” he repeated, wondering if he understood her meaning correctly.
“Now.” Her smile deepened.
Oh yes, she meant it.
In some deep part of his mind it was irksome that she knew how badly she had unsettled him, but
that part was not in control at the moment. Another part of his body was now in charge.
He didn’t intend to move. After all, engaging in an indiscretion in a carriage was most
undignified—but suddenly Colton did not care in the least. He reached over and scooped Brianna
into his arms, settling back into his seat with her draped across his lap. Lowering his head, he
kissed her hungrily, his tongue exploring her mouth, tasting every sweet corner. She responded
with equal abandon, her arms wrapping around his neck, her slender, voluptuous body pressing
against him. Not releasing her mouth, he eased the cloth from one shapely shoulder and her bared
breast filled his hand with a soft, supple weight.
Perfect.
Everything faded. The clattering of the wheels of the vehicle as it rolled along the cobbled street,
the warm evening . . . everything except the hard throbbing of his cock. He could hear her erratic
breathing when he finally broke the kiss and slid his mouth down the graceful length of her neck,
his lips lingering for a moment at the point where her pulse beat fast and light. Brianna made a
small sound as his thumb circled the luscious crest of her pink nipple, her head falling back
against his shoulder. “Colton . . . oh, yes.”
Her skin was soft, smooth, and infinitely female. His fingers deftly found the fastenings at the
back of her gown, and it was around her waist in moments. Licking the enticing valley between
her breasts, kissing her mounded flesh, sucking on her nipples until they were erect and tight, he
could feel his lovely wife’s arousal in the way she clung to him and whispered his name.