Owen: Regency Rockstars

by Sasha Cottman

  He nodded, not failing to hear her subtle restatement of their agreement. Reid, Kendal and Callum might well be out and about finding new lovers, but Owen was reserved for her.

  “We had better tidy ourselves and get ready to leave. The driver and my maid will be returning shortly,” she added.

  “One more kiss,” he replied. He held her face in his hands while he placed a long, lingering kiss on her lips. He wished the hour could start over.

  “When can I see you again?” he asked.

  “Soon. When are you next booked to perform?”

  He pondered the question for a moment. Eliza already had several more bookings in the group’s diary. “We are giving a performance at a home in Curzon Street toward the end of the week. I could send word to your address confirming the time and details.”

  She shook her head. “That might not be a wise course of action. Me receiving notes at home from a gentleman who is not my husband could cause problems. If I give you the details of my modiste, you can send correspondence to me via her.”

  Owen liked the way her brain worked. No sooner had he presented Diana with a problem than she was providing a solution.

  “A discreet third party is the perfect idea,” he said.

  It would allow them to exchange secret messages both now and possibly in the long run.

  The thought suddenly hit him from out of the blue. Diana was so different from the other women he knew. She was exactly the sort of woman who would keep a man’s interest for a very long time. Possibly forever.

  If only you were not married, and I didn’t have a blasted fiancée hidden in the wings. What a pair we could make.

  Amy stepped inside the front door of Perry House only a matter of minutes ahead of Colin. She quickly dismissed her maid, with the promise of more coins if she remained silent about her mistress’s trip to Hyde Park.

  “Hey ho, how was your day?” Colin asked in his usual jovial manner.

  “Quiet. I did a little shopping in Oxford Street. I just got home,” she replied.

  It wasn’t a complete lie. She had done some shopping in Oxford Street. Hiring a coach was spending money.

  “Are you keen to head out tonight?” he asked.

  Amy didn’t want to go anywhere other than upstairs and to her room. She was still trying to get her head around the events of the afternoon. Around the things that Owen had said, and the things he had done. Her body still thrummed with the aftershocks of the best orgasm of her life.

  “Not particularly. I might have a night at home,” she replied.

  He fixed her with a questioning look. “I thought you were on the Owen Morrison hunt. What has changed?”

  “Nothing. I have heard that the Noble Lords are performing at a function in Curzon Street later this week, so I thought I would run our quarry to ground there. We just need to secure an invitation.”

  Colin put a hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew a folded up piece of paper. With a flourish, he handed it to her. “Your wish is my command. Though, from what I hear of their growing popularity, you might need to find another way to meet with Owen soon. That took quite some wrangling to obtain.”

  “Thank you. I am looking forward to seeing him and his little group perform again,” she replied.

  Colin stared at her. She could see the question in his eyes. Why was she playing it so cool?

  He would be expecting her to rush ahead and try to meet with Owen as soon as possible. Already, she wanted nothing more than to race upstairs and pen Owen a note, arranging their next secret tryst. She couldn’t wait for him to have his hands on her again.

  “And so, you are not going to see him before then?” said Colin.

  Amy patted her brother gently on the cheek. “Trust me. I know what I am doing. One would not wish to appear too keen lest he lose interest. Rome was not built in a day. In my case, I have until mid-July, and I intend to use the time wisely.”

  While Colin thought the horse race hadn’t yet started, Amy and Owen were already partway down the first straight. And while Owen might be under the impression that he was setting the pace, it was Amy who had a firm hold of the reins.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Diana was keeping him on a short leash. She would send messages back and forth via her modiste. Several times she had made arrangements to meet him in Hyde Park, only to cancel at the very last minute. A man with less experience of the female sex could possibly have grown annoyed with her behavior, but Owen thought it was fantastic.

  It was refreshing to be playing a game of cat and mouse with a woman who was so captivating. Even the very thought of her had his cock hardening. He knew that when the time eventually came for him to claim his prize, the wait would have been well worth it.

  But today, Diana was beginning to test even his considered patience. The latest of her notes cancelling a late afternoon rendezvous had been received at Follett House long after Owen had left for Hyde Park. She was ill and would not be attending the performance at Curzon Street this evening either.

  He had spent a frustrating hour waiting for her to arrive before finally giving up and heading back to Windmill Street. By the time he did get there, the other Noble Lords had already left for the performance.

  He washed, shaved, and dressed as fast as he could. His unhappy valet was left to deal with the Beau Brummell mess of discarded shirts and cravats.

  With violin case in hand, he raced downstairs and once out into Windmill Street, he hailed a hack.

  “Number twelve Curzon Street, and don’t spare the horses,” he said.

  He liked to give those sorts of instructions to the drivers of hired carriages—it added a certain amount of drama. Not that they paid his instructions any mind; this was London and the streets were always full of slow-moving traffic.

  As soon as the hack entered Curzon Street, he banged on the roof. “Stop, this will do!”

  The hack slowed, and he leapt out, tossing a coin up to the driver. He ran at full pace down the street and up the front steps of number twelve.

  In the drawing room, he found Reid and Callum huddled in close conversation. Kendal was seated nearby at the piano. Owen let out a sigh of relief. They were not ready to play yet. He had made it. Now, if his heart could stop thumping so loudly in his chest, he would be most grateful.

  I am out of condition.

  “Where have you been?” asked Reid.

  Owen quickly adopted his usual disinterested air and shrugged. “None of your business. Sorry about being late.”

  That was the most he was going to give his fellow Noble Lords. His private arrangement with Diana was a secret and he intended to keep it that way. She was not like the other women who were less inclined to give a damn about discretion. Diana wasn’t a widow; nor was she a wife who could hide behind her marriage. She was in a particularly delicate and unusual situation, what with her husband working overseas. For the first time in his life, Owen found himself wanting to protect the honor and privacy of a woman.

  But old habits die hard. A quick glance around the room and he was given more than one ‘come-on’ look from women who would class themselves as being intimate friends of his.

  “Looks like the females are beginning to return to the natural leaders of the herd,” said Reid.

  Owen met his gaze. It was on the tip of his tongue to make mention that he had noticed Reid himself had not been taking up any of the less-than-subtle offers of sex since the Noble Lords had started playing in public, but he decided to keep that to himself. Callum and Kendal were both perceptive men; Owen would be not be the least bit surprised if Reid’s monk-like behavior had also been noted by the other members of the group.

  “Yes, I am getting a few fans being waved in my direction. Though, from the looks of it, the Italians are not here tonight. And one would hate to think that we were the back-up plan for these women,” he replied.

  Kendal gave a half-wave to Owen from his place at the piano. Much as he would deny it, Kendal was always
nervous before a performance and he liked to remain behind the safety of the keyboard. Owen waved back. There was something different about Kendal.

  Unlike the other nights when they had performed, Kendal’s long blond hair was tied back. Owen caught a glimpse of a dark blue velvet ribbon.

  Hmm. I wonder where you got your pretty ribbon from, Lord Grant. Or, should I say, from who?

  It was clear that there were a number of secrets currently hidden within the Noble Lords, none of which were being shared.

  “Time to make some music, then drink,” said Callum. From the slur of his voice, it was clear he was already half-foxed.

  As Callum moved away and went to take up his seat at the front of the room, Reid pulled Owen aside.

  “I am sorry I am late,” said Owen.

  Reid shook his head. “I am not concerned about your lifelong habit of being tardy; it’s Callum I am worried about. Something is happening with him and I am worried.”

  Owen understood the difficult situation Reid was in. Lady Eliza Follett had made little effort over the years to hide her obvious infatuation with Sir Callum Sharp. Having him living under the same roof as his sister would no doubt be giving Reid sleepless nights.

  “I will keep an eye out for signs of him getting any worse. We may need to have a word with him or his father if things deteriorate any further,” replied Owen.

  “Thanks. I am hoping it doesn’t come to that,” said Reid.

  Guests continued to file into the room and take their seats. Owen followed Callum over to the chairs nearest to Kendal. He set his violin case down and after opening it, took the violin out and began to check that it was in tune.

  Reid undertook his usual duty and stood in front of the audience to introduce the group. Same routine, different party.

  They played several pieces by Vivaldi, which were received with warm acclaim. At the end of the last refrain, Owen lowered his violin and rolled his tired shoulders. It was a pity Diana had cried off from attending this evening because he could certainly do with the touch of a woman’s fingers on his body. A little voice whispered in his head. If she is not here, what is to stop you from getting some relief for your muscles from another lady? Diana will never know.

  The tempting thought had him wondering which of his usual stable of bed fillies could be relied upon best to keep her mouth shut.

  Reid stepped up and announced the song he was about to sing. Owen paid him little notice for most of the song; he was busy exchanging side looks at a dark-haired beauty in the third row. But when Reid suddenly changed key at the end of the aria and sang as a tenor, Owen’s head whipped round. He sat openmouthed as Reid closed the song out.

  Owen and Callum exchanged a questioning look, but it was the face of thunder which Kendal wore that had him worried. Kendal was not one for making changes to music at any time. He rarely deviated from the original composition of a piece, citing that it was an afront to the composer to make amendments. He would see Reid changing his voice from that of a baritone to a tenor in the middle of a performance to be tantamount to blasphemy.

  Owen settled back in the chair, eyes focused on Reid. Relief only came to Owen’s on-edge nerves once Reid had sung the rest of the songs as a baritone. He was praying that Kendal would show his fellow Noble Lord mercy at the end of the show.

  As soon as the performance was over and they had taken their collective bows, Callum made a beeline for the nearest footman bearing drinks. Reid joined him and downed a glass of whisky in quick time. When Owen saw Kendal making his way over to where they stood, he decided it was time to make a strategic withdrawal. When it came to Kendal and one of his manic rants, Owen was prepared to accept that he was a coward.

  Amy and Colin arrived at the house in Curzon Street just before the end of the Noble Lords’ concert. All seats in the house had been taken, so they were compelled to stand at the back. Her gaze immediately became fixed on Owen—then on the various women he appeared to be throwing flirtatious glances at. She watched the exchange of smiles, the batting of eyelids, and, in the case of several women, the fancy fan work. The only thing that was missing was a big sign being held up by Owen announcing that he was available for all offers of sex. All his sweet words in the coach had been nothing but empty lies.

  You are a dirty, rotten, filthy bastard of a scoundrel.

  Owen may only have been sharing teasing looks with other women, but it still hurt. Amy clutched at her evening reticule. She and Owen had shared but one private encounter, yet her foolish heart had already recklessly decided that he belonged to her.

  Come now, Amy, you can’t honestly say you are surprised. He is Owen Morrison. The man’s whoring ways are legendary throughout the land.

  Continually delaying their next private assignation in Hyde Park had been a test. A chance to see if Diana Smith had truly captivated Owen, or if she was just something bright and shiny which had caught his eye for a moment before he moved onto the next thing.

  Colin leaned across to her. “So much for the blackguard offering to be exclusive to you.”

  She pulled her shoulders back and held herself with pose. She was Lady Amelia Perry, daughter of a noble house. Anyone who thought she was going to take this insult from Owen lying down was sadly mistaken.

  “Yes, well two can play at that game,” she replied.

  When the concert ended a short time later, Colin made his way out into Curzon Street to summon the black carriage he had hired at Amy’s request. They could not risk Owen seeing them arrive in the insignia blazoned Perry family one.

  Amy began to weave her way through the crowded room, her gaze never leaving Owen. At one point she started forward, hoping to catch his attention, but quickly retreated when another woman sidled up to him and took him by the arm. Amy’s tightly held hands threatened to throttle her already long-suffering reticule when the woman leaned in and gave Owen a kiss on the cheek—the very same cheek she had kissed only a matter of days ago. Instead of Owen sticking to their agreement, he smiled at the woman. When she ran her hand over his well-formed buttocks, Owen made no effort to move away.

  The sexual byplay only ended when another gentleman, who Amy guessed was the woman’s husband, came and dragged her away. Owen beat a hasty retreat.

  Bloody coward.

  Seeing that her duplicitous fiancé was momentarily alone, Amy made her move. She walked slowly past him, gave him a haughty glare, then continued on her way. From behind her came a shout of surprise, but she didn’t look back.

  Owen reached for her arm, but Amy brushed his hand away, saying, “You couldn’t last more than five minutes. Shame on you, Lord Morrison.”

  Without the hint of a fault in her stride, Amy made for the front door. Once outside, she slowed her steps. She summoned a footman over and announced loudly, “If any of my friends are looking for me, tell them I have gone to the party in Duke Street.”

  The bemused footman bowed. The poor man likely had no idea as to who she was, but Amy trusted that he wasn’t going to embarrass either himself or her by asking for her name.

  As she turned to descend the front steps, she caught sight of Owen. He darted behind a Portland column in an obvious attempt to hide. Amy ignored him and kept walking further down the street to where the plain black carriage and Colin awaited.

  The carriage door closed behind her.

  “That should do it. He would have overhead me telling that footman where I am headed. Lord Morrison knows his name is now underlined in my little black book and I expect he is not the least bit happy about it,” she said. She pulled her silver evening gloves from her fingers and put them on the seat.

  “It would be a foolish man who placed money on Owen not following you,” replied Colin.

  Amy and Colin separated as soon as they stepped into the ballroom at the grand mansion in Duke Street. Colin’s parting words of “Take care and don’t be reckless” were acknowledged with a nod.

  She had chosen the function at Duke Street with purpose. S
he knew the Italians were booked to perform there tonight.

  By the time they arrived, Marco Calvino and his cousins had just finished their performance in front of a large group of people. While Amy had attended a few Noble Lords’ concerts, none of them compared to the size of the crowd the Italians had drawn.

  Adjusting the bustline of her burnt orange and silver gown, ensuring that her generous breasts were displayed prominently, Amy made her way over to where Antonio Calvino was standing. He was talking to several older gentlemen. Or, more like they were talking to him, and from the look on his face, he was catching one in every third word.

  Seeing her approach, his face lit up. “Mrs. Smith! How wonderful it is to see you.”

  She held out a hand and he took it, placing a kiss on her fingertips. He quickly made his apologies and farewells to the other guests, slipping an arm around Amy’s waist as he led her away.

  Owen arrived a short time later. Upon entering the spacious ballroom, he began to immediately look for Diana. To his consternation, the first person he spotted was Marco Calvino.

  Fuck. The Italians are here. That’s all I need.

  A cold dread descended on him. If Marco was here, then so was Antonio. And, if his memory served him well, Antonio had taken a particular interest in Diana the first time Owen had seen her. It wouldn’t surprise him if the Italian was trying to steal her away right that very second.

  Not bloody likely.

  He moved quickly to the other side of the room and out of Marco’s line of sight. He had to track Diana down before Antonio got wind of her being in the building.

  “Owen, darling.”

  He waved a hand in the direction of one of his regular bed partners, hastening his steps to get away. There was no time to dally with other women. It was his stupidity with them which had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

  As he cleared one cluster of guests, he stopped dead in his tracks. Not ten feet away stood Antonio Calvino. His arm was draped leisurely around Diana’s waist. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, she was looking up at him and beaming with happiness.