Owen

by Sasha Cottman

  While Antonio observed the ritual of bowing low to an earl, Owen gifted the woman in question an enticing look. The soft smile she gave him in return was all the encouragement he needed.

  “Lord Morrison. May I introduce Mrs. William Smith?” said Antonio.

  Mrs. William Smith held out her hand and Owen bent and placed a soft kiss on her glove. He noted her lack of curtesy to him but put it down to her not being used to dealing with nobles. The only time he really insisted that the women of his social and sexual acquaintance had to bend their knees to him was when they were about to take his cock in their mouths. He couldn’t wait for the moment when Mrs. Smith went down on her knees and wrapped those luscious lips of hers around him.

  “Mrs. Smith, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Do you have your own name?” asked Owen.

  “It’s Diana, as in the huntress,” replied Mrs. Smith.

  “Diana.” He stepped in close, still holding on to her hand. He looked deep into her brown eyes and gifted her a wicked smile. “And tell me, Diana, what you do like to hunt?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Amy could have kicked herself. For a start, she had forgotten she was playing the role of a commoner, and not a lady of title. She should have curtsied to Owen. Then she had come up with the foolish comment about Diana being the goddess of the hunt. The man was Lord Morrison; she couldn’t have handed him an easier way to steer the conversation into more scandalous waters.

  “What do I like to hunt? I, um…”

  As all thoughts of witty retorts failed her, she gave Owen a nervous laugh. He responded with a sultry grin. The blackguard was actually enjoying making her all hot and flustered.

  “Never mind, I am sure I could help you with whatever takes your fancy. You only have to ask. I must say, I cannot recall having seen you before. And I know just about everyone in this room. Are you new to town Diana?” he asked.

  “Ah . . . yes. My husband’s family is from up north,” she stammered. She was on the verge of getting her thoughts straight. Amy swallowed deeply as she took in the pale blue of Owen’s eyes. They reminded her of the clear waters of Lake Windemere in the Lake District. She could imagine staring into those eyes for hours and never tiring of them.

  “And your husband—is he here tonight?”

  She stifled a grin. He was testing her. Gentle probing questions to establish who she was and whether she was someone he could pursue for a sexual liaison.

  What a handsome, self-confident rakish devil you are, Owen Morrison. With that smooth voice, you must have women falling at your feet all the time.

  She remembered the story she had already told Antonio about the absent Mr. Smith, and decided it was as good as any.

  “My husband resides in Sweden. I am not sure when or if he will ever return to England,” she replied.

  The merest flicker of a smile was hinted at on his lips. It was there and gone in an instant, but it told her all she needed to know. In Owen’s eyes, she was an abandoned wife. A lonely woman who would relish the attention of a man such as himself.

  She was fair game.

  “How cruel. Your husband does not deserve such a beautiful young wife. He must either be blind or a fool. Perhaps both?” he said.

  She bit down on her bottom lip, knowing that Owen would see her tell. He was searching for any sign of her still holding onto either love or loyalty for her absent husband.

  “I don’t wish to discuss the state of my marriage with you, Lord Morrison. We are but strangers to one another,” she replied.

  When he sucked in a sharp, short breath, Amy knew she had him intrigued. He lusted to become more than her mere acquaintance—she could tell. He wanted to know her in every way possible. The power she sensed she held over Owen at this very moment made her feel giddy.

  She licked her lips and he blinked slowly.

  This was all too easy.

  Owen caught the look of invitation on Diana’s face, and knew the game was on, but still, he hesitated. While she was giving him all the right signals, there was something in the way she held herself which gave him pause. She lacked the bearing which was common to all but a few of the wives who regularly strayed from their marital bed. The hard edge to the soul that came from knowing you were risking it all in order to sate your lust.

  He would have guessed that this was her first attempt at adultery, and she was just a tad skittish. The signs were subtle, but obvious to a man of his checkered history.

  “Your husband must have been clever at some point. He chose you,” said Antonio.

  Owen tore his gaze from Diana to Antonio. He had been so caught up in the moment with her that he had quite forgotten his enemy was still standing next to the woman he was already mentally undressing.

  He could have kissed Diana when she turned and gave Antonio a disapproving look in response to his clumsy attempt to compliment her.

  Don’t be a green boy. The woman is in the market for an illicit affair and you are still talking about her husband. Come on—at least put up some sort of fight for her. Make my victory worth it.

  “Mine was an arranged marriage, Signore Calvino, put together by our two foolish fathers. It was doomed from the start,” she snapped.

  Owen found himself in sudden need of a large glass of decent French wine. If it hadn’t meant revealing his own soon-to-be wed status, he would have offered up his own opinion on the matter of unsolicited betrothals. But he was going to have to play it low and quiet to work his way into Diana’s bed; and she most certainly did not need to know that he had a fiancée lurking somewhere in the wings. Women tended to get a touch uncomfortable about messing around with other women’s fiancés. Husbands, of course, were a different matter.

  Over on the other side of the room, he saw the small gathering between Reid, Kendal and Marco break up. As a sour-faced Marco walked away, he signaled to Antonio. Owen dropped his gaze to the floor for an instant, fighting to keep a smile from his face. Reid and Kendal had obviously gotten the better of him in that exchange.

  Antonio bowed. “Excuse me, Mrs. Smith, Lord Morrison. My cousin requires me to attend upon him. Mrs. Smith, may I leave you in the care of Lord Morrison?”

  “Of course,” she replied.

  Owen could have punched the air and shouted “Huzzah!” but even he knew that was beneath him as a gentleman. Instead, he privately gloated.

  He had Diana all to himself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Decent chap, that Antonio fellow. Not a bad musician either,” he said.

  If there was ever a rulebook written for the rake, Owen was reading from it. Rule number thirty-five: When a man is able to move in on a woman having taken her off the hands of another rake, it is customary for him to make a kind statement about the first scoundrel.

  “Yes, though I haven’t had the pleasure of hearing him play,” Diana replied.

  He smiled. “You have heard the Noble Lords twice, if I am not mistaken. I am certain I saw you at our first performance a few nights ago. You were wearing a divine cream silk gown.”

  She blushed and it took all his strength not to reach out and run his hand over her heated cheek. My dear Diana. I will make you hot and bothered in so many secret places that every time you look at me your cheeks will redden.

  “I didn’t realize you had noticed me the other night,” she replied.

  “How could I not? It isn’t every day that a stunning woman such as yourself walks into a party and sets the place ablaze. Or was that just what you did to me?”

  The color of her cheeks darkened to an almost crimson, but she held his gaze. She had spirit. Owen loved women with spirit and fire.

  He signaled to a passing footman, bearing a tray of drinks. The footman stopped and held the tray out in front of him while Owen picked up a glass of champagne and held it toward the woman in front of him.

  “Do you partake of champagne, Diana?” he asked, risking the familiarity of her Christian name.

  “Not if there
is a decent red wine available,” she replied.

  He nodded in the direction of the glass of red which sat on the tray.

  “Could you tell me the provenance of the wine and the year?” he asked the footman, hoping to impress her.

  The footman went to answer, but Diana held up a hand. “Just a minute, Lord Morrison; let me see if I can guess.”

  She picked up the glass and held it to her nose. She breathed in deep, then took a sip of the wine. Owen raised an eyebrow as she washed the wine around her mouth, a look of knowledgeable understanding on her face. After swallowing, she held the glass up to the light from the chandelier overhead and studied it.

  “Sangiovese, and I would say eighteen thirteen from the extra bite at the end,” she said.

  She handed it to Owen, who also took a sip. The fresh, spicy taste of Italian wine informed his palate that she was indeed correct.

  “You are spot on with that,” he said.

  Diana nodded sagely at him, then turned to the footman. “Well?”

  The man smiled. “Yes, madam, it is a Sangiovese from Tuscany. The host has a small vineyard there. Though I am not sure if it is an eighteen thirteen or the year before.”

  Diana chortled. “It’s a thirteen. The wine from the previous year is far sweeter than this; they had a dry season in eighteen twelve, so the wine was denser.”

  As the footman moved away, Owen drew in close. He had never met a woman who knew wine as well as Diana Smith. He was impressed. So far, she was exceeding all his expectations. “You are a connoisseur of wine. Where did you gain your knowledge of the grape?”

  When she hesitated, Owen held his breath. He sensed he had stepped into an area of her life that she did not wish to share. He made a mental note in future to ask her as few personal questions as was necessary. At least until he had gotten her agreement to a private relationship and she had begun to trust him.

  Dolt. And you had a crack about Antonio being a green boy. This woman is just getting her toes wet in the water of wickedness. Who gives a fuck where she learned about wine? Shut the hell up about personal details.

  “My father did the grand tour many years ago and he regularly kept a wine cellar of French and Italian wines. And because of the war against France, we tend . . . tended to have quite a few Italian wines at home,” she replied.

  Owen was partial to a good red and prided himself on his knowledge of European wines. It was not often for him to meet anyone, let alone a woman, who knew much beyond the variety of a wine. The fact that Diana had nailed not only the type of grape, but the vintage was outstanding.

  He went to hand her back the glass, but she waved him away.

  “I would like to keep a clear head this evening. As you have probably already realized, Lord Morrison, I am in unchartered waters. This is a dangerous time for me.”

  Her words edged his ego a touch sideways. Owen wasn’t used to dealing with women with such honest natures. There was a sense of innocence about her that gave him pause. Even rakes had their limits.

  This might not be such a good idea.

  She smiled at him and touched her hand on his arm. “But that doesn’t mean that I do not know what I am doing. I would just ask that you be gentle with me and we take things slowly while you lead me down the path to wherever this is going. I may have limits I am not yet ready to test.”

  He nodded. “Well then, may I suggest we begin with setting our relationship on a more familiar footing. If we are to travel together down that road, it makes sense for us to become comfortable with one another. Therefore, I would ask that you call me Owen.”

  Her brow furrowed. Her gaze dropped to her hands, which she silently considered for a moment before nodding. “Owen.”

  “I trust you are you comfortable with me addressing you as Diana?” he asked. The idea of calling her by her married name when he was in the throes of passion did not sit well with Owen, and naked in one another’s arms was exactly where he intended for them to eventually be. He intended for them to become lovers.

  “Yes,” she finally replied.

  It took all of Owen’s strength not to look for Antonio at that moment. He would dearly have loved to see the look of disappointment on the face of his nemesis as he slipped a hand around Diana’s waist.

  Time to look elsewhere, Calvino. I am claiming this woman.

  Amy would have killed for the glass of wine in Owen’s hand. Her nerves needed some stiff fortifying, but she was determined to keep her head clear.

  He was so handsome and smooth. It was tempting to drop the whole pretense and tell him who she was, calling her deception a trifling thing, and praying he would see the humor in it.

  In her wild imaginings, he would instantly declare himself spellbound by her and, swearing his fidelity forever, beg her to marry him as soon as possible.

  When a matron passed them by and she caught sight of Owen and the woman exchanging a sultry smile, Amy was glad she had kept up with the lie.

  Don’t be a rude, obnoxious shit, Owen. If you are trying to seduce a woman, then please make the effort to give her your undivided attention.

  Her wild imaginings could go and sit in the back of her mind and keep to themselves.

  “Would you care to take a stroll around the night garden?” offered Owen.

  She shook her head. Not going anywhere outside of the main rooms during evening events was one rule she knew Colin would strictly enforce. The moment she made a step toward the terrace doors, her brother would intercept them. After that, it wouldn’t take long for Kendal to recognize Colin and her ruse would be unveiled. They had put too much into the plan to risk throwing it all away on a walk in the garden.

  “No. I find it a touch chilly outside, especially in these gowns,” she replied.

  He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “Yes. I recall you were obviously feeling the cold when you wore your cream silk gown. Your hard nipples were showing under the bodice.”

  Don’t be a foolish chit, Amy. You are in the lion’s den and any moment now he will pounce.

  He was trying to get the upper hand. Letting her know that since she was prone to wearing such provocative outfits, he considered her to be somewhat pliable. That she would succumb with ease to his charms and let him have his way with her in the dim light of the night garden. It was time to reset Owen’s thinking.

  “I am sure you could find another lady willing to go for a stroll in the dark with you. You seem to have quite a number of female friends here tonight, if the smiles you are exchanging with other women are anything to go by,” she said.

  The grin of supreme confidence slipped from Owen’s face. Amy expected he was unaccustomed to having his potential lovers make mention of his eyeing off other women while he was trying to seduce them. She, for one, wasn’t having any of it. “I am sure that there are other gentlemen I can talk to while I wait for you to return.”

  He at least had the good grace to look a little shamefaced. She doubted Owen had it within him to actually manage feeling embarrassed. Men like him, in her limited experience, were too superficial for that sort of self-insight.

  “I was simply acknowledging friends, but I apologize if I offended you,” he said.

  Friends don’t give each other those sorts of looks. Lovers do.

  Amy crooked her finger and beckoned for Owen to come close. It was time to set the ground rules for their relationship. “I may be a little green when it comes to the game, Owen, but I am not going to play exactly how you wish. If you are interested in us becoming more than mere friends, then I expect you to reassess your other friendships. I hope I am making myself clear.”

  He took a step back, confusion written on his face. When their gazes met again, she nodded. She was being as sharp as she needed to be. If Owen wanted her, then he would have to be exclusively hers.

  “You understand what you are asking?” he replied.

  She nodded again. “Yes. If you want this relationship to be more than a discussion about wine,
then you need to be, for want of a better word, faithful. We will first spend some time getting to know one another both mentally and physically, with the end result being that if I believe you have been true to me during our liaison, I will let you into my bed on the fifteenth of July.”

  July fifteenth being her birthday and the day that her father had told her was the deadline for Amy to make a final decision regarding Owen. That day would see one of two things happening. Either she would jilt Owen Morrison, or she would be his in every way.

  Amy gritted her teeth. This was the biggest throw of the dice. The first real test of whether she was reading Owen right. If he said no, she was back to square one. But if he said yes, it meant she would gain valuable time alone with him.

  The whole notion of being faithful to one woman cannot be that foreign to you, Owen. Or can it?

  Her chest grew tight at the thought that Owen would never consider restricting himself solely to one lover at a time—not even for a mistress whose supposed husband was over a thousand miles away.

  Amy was in the middle of mentally packing her things in preparation to return home to Hertfordshire when Owen began to slowly nod his head. For a moment, she wasn’t sure whether he was agreeing or still trying to talk himself into it.

  “So, you are suggesting that we explore all manner of sexual delights available to us, right up to but not including the act of congress? And if I remain exclusive to you during the next few weeks, then on the fifteenth of July you will let me have full access to your body?” he replied.

  “Yes.”

  A soft, dirty laugh came from somewhere deep inside him. Mirth danced and glittered in his eyes.

  Owen thought she was a joke. Tears threatened. It was all suddenly going wrong.

  And then he stopped laughing.

  He tightened his grip on her waist and pulled her close. Lifting the wine glass to her lips, Owen offered her a drink. When she was finished, he downed the last of the wine. With one elegant and well-timed move, he handed the glass to yet another passing footman.