Owen: Regency Rockstars

by Sasha Cottman

  This could work.

  As Mrs. Smith, Amy would be free to flirt with Owen at parties, making promises that she may or may not have any intention of keeping. Over time, she would gain a better knowledge of her fiancé. When it came to be meeting with him in public places during the day, she had plans for how she’d make that work too.

  “As long as you allow me use of the carriage if I decide to meet him in Hyde Park during the five o’clock social hour,” she said.

  “Yes, you can have use of it,” he replied.

  Colin would no doubt assume that she would arrange to meet with Owen in the crowded parts of the park. Places where her virtue would not be under threat. Hyde Park was, however, a large space, with plenty of secluded places for private trysts. Amy intended to conduct her secret liaisons with Owen well away from the late afternoon crush of London’s social elite.

  She hated lying to Colin; he was an excellent brother who was loyal and had her best interests at heart. But he was not the one facing the prospect of marrying a well-known rake. It was her future which was on the line. Only her happiness was in peril.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lady Eliza Follett was proving herself to be an effective manager. Within days of the Noble Lords’ debut performance, she had more bookings arranged. Word had gotten out about the nobles who could sing and play, and now every hostess worth her social calendar was lining up to book them.

  Kendal had the four of them working hard every day, rehearsing, and polishing their music. He was a hard taskmaster, a true perfectionist, but no one complained. They all knew there was a war to be won.

  Owen had not ventured out into society much over the past few days as he was still nursing his bruises and various abrasions after the fall. A gentleman with cuts all over his hands would likely raise questions. And questions usually created rumors. Rumors which might well reach his father’s ears and have him on the road to London forthwith.

  No doubt, the Marquess of Lowe would have Owen by the scruff of the neck, up the front steps of St Paul’s cathedral, and married without delay. Discretion was the better part of valor in this situation.

  As he readied to leave the house and perform at the Noble Lords’ second show, his mind was concentrated on the beautiful young woman who had been at their first performance. With the promise of a large gathering tonight came the hope that she might be in attendance.

  After having narrowly missed being murdered by a jealous husband and then having suffered the indignity of having to haul himself out of a rose bush, Owen was keen to avoid further messy entanglements. A young matron seeking a quiet, discreet liaison was just what he needed. If she was at the concert tonight, he would make certain to introduce himself.

  A new lover was always an exciting prospect. Being able to snatch her from the grasp of Antonio Calvino was an added extra pinch of spice.

  The number of days since Owen had known the pleasure of a warm naked woman beneath him had now stretched into double figures, and he was getting a little more than desperate for relief. His imagination and a fisted hand were one thing, but nothing compared to the cock-satisfying sensation of a woman’s soft and welcoming body. He had already pleasured himself to the thought of those luscious, full breasts of hers. He licked his lips, certain that he could taste the sweetness of her rosy nipple in his mouth right that very minute.

  Please let her be there tonight.

  After partaking of a light early supper with his fellow Noble Lords, Owen retired to his room and waited while his valet attended to him. Freshly shaven, and with his hair lightly oiled, he considered himself in the mirror. He was a handsome creature—there could be no arguing that point. His parents were both attractive people, and he had been gifted the best of their features. His mother’s dark hair and almost clear blue eyes had blended with his father’s strong jaw and long straight nose to produce a man few women could resist.

  He brushed a small speck of fluff from his regulation black evening jacket before stepping back and allowing his valet to check his cravat one last time.

  “Best of luck for your performance, my lord,” said his valet.

  “Thank you.”

  “I trust we shall see this suit come home in good health at the end of the evening.”

  Owen poked his tongue in the cheek of his mouth, stifling a chuckle. His valet was being impertinent but considering the magic he had worked to repair Owen’s tattered clothes after the encounter with the rose bush, he was prepared to allow the man a certain amount of liberty.

  “I promise I shall take the very best of care with my attire,” replied Owen.

  “Excellent.”

  Owen met the others downstairs. He and Callum collected their instrument cases and they all headed out the front door.

  As the carriage came to a halt out the front of an imposing townhouse in Avery Row, Amy leaned forward and tapped Colin on the knee. “Now, remember our agreement.”

  Colin rolled his eyes. “Yes. How many more times do I have to say it? I will keep my distance.”

  Amy was at pains to make certain that her brother remained in the background this evening. She would only get one chance to make her introductions to Owen, to make a favorable and lasting impression. She did not want Colin’s overprotective self to mess it up. First impressions counted.

  Owen had to hunger to know more of Diana Smith.

  “And I promise I shall stay in the main room all evening,” she replied.

  Tonight, was the night when she planned to meet Owen for the first time. Names would be shared, followed by a careful batting of eyelashes and a clear message to him that she was available for a discreet relationship.

  She could of course attempt to build a connection with him in the polite safety of a ballroom, but there, Owen would have all her moves covered. He would know the lay of the land and be able to steer her in the direction of the nearest quagmire.

  No.

  Amy was convinced that the only way she could truly get to know Owen was to spend time alone with him and get him to drop his guard. To show her the real Owen Morrison.

  They alighted from the carriage, with Amy ready to go into battle. It had taken some fancy footwork on the part of the Perry family butler to secure them seats for tonight’s performance of the Noble Lords. Everyone who was anyone had joined the rapidly growing fan base of Owen and his friends.

  “Come on. We need to get good seats,” she said.

  Colin hurried up the front steps after her, only managing to catch Amy as she reached the door. “Steady on. You don’t want to appear too eager. Remember, you are supposed to be an experienced, married woman; not a girlish chit.”

  Amy stopped and nodded. She was grateful for Colin’s timely reminder that she was meant to be playing it cool, even slightly disinterested when it came to Owen. She could not afford to fawn over him.

  As with the previous occasion when she had seen her fiancé, Amy was dressed in a revealing gown. Fortunately, she had learned from her first experience in wearing such an outfit, and a warm woolen pashmina was draped over her arm. Her attire was both stylish and functional.

  At the head of the receiving line, she slipped her hand from Colin’s arm and waited to be announced. With a huff, Colin retreated.

  “Mrs. William Smith.”

  She was grateful for Colin’s dab hand at having thrown in a fake husband’s first name. Her lie had to be simple, but with no obvious holes.

  She continued on into the main reception hall. Behind her, Colin was announced by his correct name and title.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him make his way over to a nearby footman and help himself to a brandy. He took a seat amongst the other guests who were waiting for the Noble Lords to arrive.

  I forgot I won’t be sitting with you. Sorry, Colin.

  Amy stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. She had not been to a social function such as this on her own before; it was a tad unsettling. She suddenly felt very alone.

 
“Mrs. Smith. What a pleasure.” The warm, seductive voice of Antonio went straight to her loins. The way her name rolled off his tongue was a pure delight. He was a consummate womanizer. She could only imagine how superb he would be in bed.

  She turned and batted her eyelids at him, silently promising herself that if matters with Owen did not go as planned, she would permit herself a week of nightly self-pleasure in the arms of an imaginary Antonio Calvino. She let the air slowly out of her mouth as she tried to calm her racing heart. The very thought of an Antonio-induced orgasm made her quiver.

  “Signore Calvino,” she finally replied. Be still, my beating heart.

  He gave a tsk of disapproval. “Antonio, please. We are friends, are we not?”

  Heat burned on her cheeks at the wicked and outrageous thoughts that were running through her mind. Never in a million years would she make good on her fantasy, but still, it was delicious fun to pretend.

  “Of course. Antonio. I did not expect to see you here tonight; are you playing as well?” she said.

  He nodded toward the front of the room where a piano and other musical instruments had been set up. “No, we are not playing. The hostess is a friend of ours, so we were obliged to come. But I can share with you the fact that I am also keen to hear the Noble Lords play. We missed some of their debut performance. For want of a better word, they are our competition, so we are here to size them up.”

  It took all of Amy’s self-restraint not to laugh at Antonio’s words. It was fun to see that the smooth Italians were more than a little rattled by the formation of the Noble Lords. A musical war had all but been declared by the local nobility. The buzz in the room was nothing like that in a normal private party; there was a heady air of expectation.

  “Should we take our seats?” she asked.

  With a smile, Antonio led Amy over to a couple of chairs at the very front of the room. His brash statement of confidence was exactly what she needed. Once seated, there was only a matter of feet between her and where the performers were to sit.

  A flutter of excitement rippled through the room as Reid led the Noble Lords past the guests and to the front. Lord Reid Follett had the stride of a natural leader, but Amy did catch the edge of nervousness in his stiff posture. Behind him came another man with light brown hair. His piercing dark blue eyes had her taking a second look at him. The roll of his hips and slight swagger gave him away. While Owen was a rake, Sir Callum Sharp had his own hard-won reputation as a wild party man. Colin had told her enough stories of his scandalous hijinks for Amy to know it would take a brave woman to even attempt to tame him.

  Next, she caught sight of the long blond hair of Lord Kendal Grant as he took his place in front of the piano. The audience gave him his own personal welcoming applause. Kendal stood and bowed. A murmur of approval from several women fluttered through the gathering. The master musician had his private fan club.

  And finally, bringing up the rear, came Owen.

  Her heart gave a strong pitter-patter as he passed her by. Antonio shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat. Amy rummaged around in her reticule while enjoying the thrilling sensation of excitement as it pulsed through her body. She swore she could smell the smoke of battle in the room.

  Owen took his seat and picked up his violin. He and the others then spent the next few minutes tuning their instruments and making their preparations. It was only when Reid stepped to address the audience that Owen finally lifted his head and turned to face the gathering. His gaze met hers.

  Amy’s fingers stopped moving. Her breath caught in her throat.

  She was certain that time itself had stopped.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The bow slipped from Owen’s fingers, but it took a moment for his brain to register the loss. His mind was completely focused on the young woman seated next to Antonio Calvino. When she offered him a soft smile, he simply blinked at her. His mystery woman was here.

  Hello, sweetheart. You look ripe enough to be eaten.

  “Owen, you have dropped your bow,” whispered Callum.

  Owen nodded but his hands remained still. It was only after a frustrated Callum had picked up the bow and shoved it under Owen’s nose that he finally stirred from his stupor.

  “Thank you.” His fingers instinctively wrapped around the bow, but his gaze stayed locked on the young woman in the front row. She was even more alluring than she’d been in his memories. So much more than his heated sexual imagination had recreated in the darkness of his bed.

  “Bloody hell,” he murmured.

  Few women had ever had such an immediate effect on him as the brown-eyed stranger seated only a few feet away. There was the familiar sensation of lust hitting his loins, something his imagination over the past few days had built up nicely, but there was also something else.

  He was busy racking his brain, trying to put a name to it, when a spear of pain shot through his leg. Owen looked down, growling when he saw the dirty mark which Callum’s heavy boot had left on his trousers.

  “What the fuck?” he whispered through gritted teeth.

  He lifted his head only to be greeted with the sight of the collective furrowed brows of his fellow Noble Lords.

  “Can we get on with the concert or is that too much to ask of you?” said Reid.

  An embarrassed Owen gave a brief nod. He lifted his violin and tucked it under his chin. He resisted the temptation to take one last look at the object of his primal attraction and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

  He set his bow to the violin’s strings and began to play. As the opening strains of Vivaldi filled the room, Owen closed his eyes and gave himself up to the music.

  She had caught his eye.

  If things had gone according to her initial plan, Amy and Owen would have locked gazes for only a brief moment, but as he continued to stare at her, she was certain it was for an eternity. She put a hand to her chest. Was she still breathing?

  “Clumsy,” muttered Antonio, seated beside her.

  The bow, which had sat on Owen’s lap, lay on the floor. He did not move to pick it up—rather, he continued to stare at her. Amy didn’t respond to Antonio’s remark; she was too busy wondering what it would be like to kiss Owen Morrison. To have his lips on her naked body.

  She winced as Callum gave Owen a swift kick to the leg. Owen turned from her and took the violin bow which Callum held out to him. She heard him swear before he offered up a curt “thank you.” He tucked the violin under his chin and made ready to play.

  The audience fell silent and Reid Follett cleared his throat. “My lords, ladies and gentlemen. We are the Noble Lords,” he announced.

  When Antonio gave a derisive snort, he received a hard glare from Amy for his trouble. She shifted her chair slightly away from him, sending a further clear message of her displeasure at his behavior.

  “Lord Kendal Grant is at the piano, with Sir Callum Sharp and Lord Morrison accompanying him on the flute and violin respectively,” continued Reid.

  As the seductive notes of music filled the room, Amy sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. She heard the piano and flute, but above them rose the sweet sound of Owen’s violin. The clear notes went straight to her heart, and a shiver ran down her spine.

  “He plays with such heart and precision that I expect he could make a standard violin sound almost as good as the Stradivarius he is holding,” observed Antonio.

  She opened her eyes and looked at the Italian. “Is that a special instrument?”

  Antonio nodded. “I own a Stradivarius violin, but it is nothing like his. From what I understand, his is one of a handful of violins Stradivari never let out of his sight after he had made it. The violin which Lord Morrison plays is worth a king’s ransom.”

  Amy frowned. If the violin was worth so much, then why hadn’t Owen sold it to help with his father’s finances? It was, after all, only a musical instrument. What emotional attachment could he possibly have to something comprised of w
ood and catgut? It made no sense to her.

  Before this was over, she would find out why Owen Morrison owned a priceless violin, yet his father had been forced to beg his best friend to hand over his daughter and her dowry in marriage.

  When the concert was finally over, and Reid had acquitted himself yet again as a half-decent baritone, Owen packed up his violin and handed it to a footman with the strict instructions that he was to personally ensure its safe return to Follett House. Reid had even approved the use of his town carriage to transport both the footman and the violin to Windmill Street.

  Free of his musical obligations, Owen now began to mingle. He stopped and spoke to a number of guests, all the while keeping a close eye on where Antonio and the young lady were. He made a point of staying close enough so that if Antonio made a move to spirit the young woman away, he could suddenly and fortuitously step forward and make himself known to her.

  Across the other side of the room, Reid and the leader of the Italians were deep in conversation. From the satisfied look on Marco Calvino’s face, and the less-than-enthusiastic one on Reid’s, Owen sensed that Marco felt he had the measure of Reid. He wouldn’t be the first, nor the last man, to make that mistake.

  He was considering coming to his friend’s aid, but the sight of Kendal stepping into the fray gave him enough comfort to continue with his own quest. He also knew that if he joined the small group, it would look like Reid could not handle one single Italian without the support of his friends.

  “Lord Morrison, you played well tonight.”

  He fixed his best social smile to his lips and turned. The heavy accent in Antonio’s voice had given him away.

  “Signore Calvino, what a pleasure to see you. I am so glad you were able to attend tonight. And who is this lovely creature?” replied Owen.