The Duke’s Indiscretion

by Adele Ashworth

  That simple answer caused his irritation to resurface. His slack features hardened again, his gaze narrowed.

  Her smile vanished as well as she returned to the point of her visit. “Your grace, I’ve obviously come here for a purpose today, and it wasn’t to embarrass you, or to beg for my pianoforte, which never should have been sold to you in the first place.” She drew a long breath, watching him. “I was altogether serious about a mutual agreement between us, a marriage, legal and binding, but with…benefits, shall we say, for both of us.”

  “Both of us,” he repeated, his expression flat.

  She completely understood the jumble of information that had to be going through his mind at the moment, and so she just continued, undaunted.

  “Indeed.” She leaned forward, her eyes darkening with purpose. “I’ll not play games with you, sir. I need a husband, a wealthy husband, who can afford my desire to travel abroad and build my singing career. I have no desire for marriage at all, as you very well know, just as I know you have no desire for marriage, either. And yet a simple marriage between us would satisfy exactly what we both need.”

  He sucked in his cheeks, perhaps to keep from laughing. “Did you say a—a simple marriage?”

  She ignored his rhetorical question, smiling negligibly as she remained steadfast. “Just consider for a moment, your grace, that I am a titled lady with an impeccable reputation, proper in every regard, tutored by the best. I can embroider, entertain, organize a household, and play the piano for any occasion. I’ll satisfy every need you have, including those of the bedroom, as you’ll certainly want an heir. I will have no reservations in giving you what you deserve as the married Duke of Newark.”

  Amusement lit his eyes, and he relaxed against the back of his chair, studying her with his head tipped to one side.

  “You seem to have thought of everything,” he drawled.

  Coyly, she replied, “I’m also very practical.”

  “Yes, that’s quite apparent.”

  “There is one stipulation, however,” she added almost too casually.

  “There usually is,” he interjected, placing his elbow on the armrest of his chair, his chin in his palm.

  She felt warm inside suddenly, as if he were intentionally teasing to fluster her. And it was working, too, though she refused to allow him to know it.

  Rigidly, with great care, she expounded, “I would like you to finance a tour for me. I want to sing, your grace, all over Europe. I can do it, and will be adored for my gift, but as the Earl of Brixham’s sister, I don’t now have the funds or the opportunity.” She huffed. “Not to mention the fact that he’d never allow me to do what is in his mind an utterly disgraceful thing.”

  He thought about that for a moment, then asked lightly, “And if I…finance your tour, you’ll give me what in return?”

  She creased her brows. “I already told you. I’ll provide you with a good home, a proper wife, and an heir if you so desire.”

  “Oh, Lady Charlotte,” he whispered in a husky tremor, “if I actually go through the immense trouble of engaging myself in a simple marriage, I would certainly so desire.”

  His quick response, at once both tactless and intimate, took her aback. Her eyelashes fluttered and her mouth opened a little.

  Giving her a sly grin, he stated, “But really, I can sponsor a tour for you without the legalities a marital union would require.”

  That hurt her a little, though she tried to ignore the feeling of being brushed aside as a lady to be courted. “You don’t approve of marriage, your grace?” she prodded, her tone conveying only the hint of disbelief.

  “Oh, I approve of it wholeheartedly,” he replied at once, “for everybody but myself.”

  That stumped her. She hadn’t expected him to be so against what was required of him and his duty to reproduce. “But you’ll need an heir.”

  “Yes, so I’ve been told by everyone I know. Repeatedly.” His smile went flat. “Still, I’d rather be the one to choose the lady, and the time to marry her.”

  It suddenly occurred to Charlotte that he might turn her and her generous offer down. Leaning forward, she reemerged as the Lottie he knew, the fantasy that had him wanting her so desperately. “Of course you would, Colin,” she agreed in a sultry murmur. “I’m merely suggesting that we work through our options together, that the time couldn’t be better for either of us. And I know how much you adore my singing, my…persona on the stage.”

  He lifted his brows a fraction, though his eyes narrowed with calculation as she altered her demeanor. “Indeed I do. But I’m not certain how that’s relevant.”

  “You’re not? What was it you said to me? That being with Lottie English was something you’d desired for years?”

  His expression grew sober, his gaze piercing hers in a measure of defiance. “I think I recall saying as much.”

  “Then I’m here to tell you, sir, I am a properly bred lady, the sister of an earl. I would never take a lover, regardless of his appeal—or how very, very much I desired him. But I will fully and happily consent to being bedded by my husband.”

  She said that in a dark and husky whisper, her fingertips caressing the slope of her cleavage nearly imperceptibly, noting with satisfaction how his gaze lowered and lingered.

  He adjusted his large, masculine body in his chair and began rocking, his palms flat on the armrests, his eyes assessing. “I suppose that is the proper thing for a lady to do,” he dryly remarked.

  She’d trapped him, and he knew it. There wasn’t any chance on earth that Lottie English would become his mistress without the Lady Charlotte Hughes first becoming his legally married wife. And she was a perfect choice for that. His decision, then, rested on how badly he needed her physically; how much he truly wanted her as a woman.

  “Do you find me appealing, Charlotte?” he asked moments later. “Do you desire me that much? Or is your act as Lottie only that—an act?”

  She felt color rising up her neck and into her cheeks, but she could hardly back down after tempting him as she had. With a light shrug of one shoulder, she countered, “Does it matter?”

  He laughed, though the sound carried absolutely no humor. “Yes, I believe it does. Will I be bedding a cold lady who is only performing her wifely duty, or will I have an intense love affair with the woman of my dreams?”

  The woman of my dreams…

  Charlotte squirmed in her seat, now feeling the steady heating of her blood to the roots of her hair, her heartbeat quickening. She had no idea how to answer his question in a manner that would satisfy. Instead, she asked, “I assume you want the love affair, your grace?”

  He watched her for a second or two, giving nothing away, then fairly whispered, “Only if it’s mutual, Lady Charlotte.”

  She swallowed, then allowed herself to admit what she felt deep inside. “I think, sir, that you are the most handsome man I’ve ever personally known, or even seen from afar.”

  His eyes lit with a trace of amusement, even pride, and he almost grinned.

  “But then all the ladies think so,” she added matter-of-factly before he could comment. “You already know that, I’m sure.”

  His features tightened; his shadow of a smile gradually hardened. She carried on before she lost her nerve. “I have every intention of being your lover, your grace, giving you what I can intimately, but I won’t do it without marrying you first. It’s your choice.”

  He looked irritated again, and certainly he had to be, for she was more or less baiting him, forcing him to choose between his rational needs and those desires of a baser nature.

  “And one more point, sir,” she said carefully, eyeing him closely.

  He fairly snorted, then drawled, “I can only imagine what that might be.”

  She brushed over the sarcasm. “I’m a very understanding lady where men like you are concerned.”

  He frowned, crossing arms over his chest. “Men like me?”

  She absentmindedly straightened her s
kirts at the knees. “Men like you who have…trouble remaining faithful to one lady for any length of time.”

  That audacious comment irked him again, but he didn’t say a word to counter, only stared at her blatantly with cool, appraising eyes.

  She offered him a reassuring smile. “I have no illusions about what married life will be like for us, sir, and I will remain ever practical. That is, of course, should you decide to take me up on my offer.”

  He rocked back, his head tilted to one side. “Of course.”

  After only the slightest hesitation, she asserted, “I’m an intelligent woman, and I understand that men have certain…instinctive needs. You may rest assured that I will always look the other way when you tire of me and choose another. I’ve never been, nor shall I become, a lady prone to fits of jealousy.”

  He didn’t even blink. “That’s very good to know,” he returned, his tone contemplative. “And quite generous of you, Lady Charlotte.”

  She beamed, relaxing to her bones at his gracious understanding. “Yes, I think so. But then I plan to travel and it’s more than likely we won’t see much of each other, which I’m sure you’ll agree is for the best.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Naturally.”

  He studied her for a moment, once again lowering his gaze to her breasts, and she had to thank God then and there that at least she’d been blessed with a full bosom. Her voice was undoubtedly her greatest asset, but she very well knew men didn’t much care about how well a lady could sing. They always, however, cared about breasts.

  “And what if you take a lover, Charlotte?” he asked thoughtfully, rubbing the side of his jaw with one large palm.

  That flustered her. “I beg your pardon?”

  He straightened a little in his rocker. “What if I want you all to myself? Am I to let you out of my sight on a European operatic tour that gives you opportunity to take lovers in France, Italy, Spain?” He snickered and folded both hands in his lap. “Is that what you expect?”

  Frankly, she’d never once thought of such a thing. The sexual act, what she knew of it, consisted of grunting men and passive wives who dutifully gave whatever pleasure their husbands needed so they could return quickly to more important obligations. Although she’d teased the Duke of Newark about becoming his lover the night they met in her dressing room, she’d never considered doing such a thing with anyone else.

  “You don’t have an answer?” he asked rather brusquely.

  She shook her head, blinking quickly in confusion. “No, of course not. I mean—I’ve just—I’ve never thought about it.”

  He laughed out loud with genuine amazement. “You’re telling me I’m the only man you’ve considered taking as a lover?”

  That made her mad. “My life is my singing, your grace,” she articulated, eyes flashing. “I couldn’t care any less about your needs, your desires, your mistresses, nor do I care to take a…variety of men to my bed. So, no. I can honestly say that I have no desire for any lover but you.” Yielding a bit, she added, “And only if we’re properly married.”

  Something in her words or manner got to him. His features softened, his lips once again formed a hint of a smile, and he leaned his head against the back of his wooden rocker.

  “What a priceless bargain you offer me, Charlotte.”

  With grace and a sweeping of her skirts, she slowly stood, her reticule clutched at her waist, facing him with marked determination. “I do hope you’ll consider my proposal with care, sir. I’m very, very serious about it. I do not intend to take the marriage vows lightly, and will do my best to honor you with my utmost devotion.”

  He grinned wryly. “As a dutiful wife?”

  For a moment Charlotte wondered if he were mocking her, then decided she didn’t want to know. “Yes, exactly,” she replied modestly.

  After drawing a deep breath and exhaling fully, he gradually stood to meet the challenge in her gaze. But instead of simply dismissing her or bidding her good day from behind his desk, he walked swiftly around it, toward her, almost alarming her when he moved to her side, his expression one of pure satisfaction. She had no idea what to make of that.

  “Your grace?” she murmured, concern edging her words.

  He grinned devilishly. “I suppose you won’t let me kiss you again until we’re properly married?”

  She stared up to his beautiful, handsome face, his knowing expression and amusement-filled eyes. “So you agree to my proposal?”

  She held her breath, hopeful, with dreams of taking the stage in Milan for the first time, the applause, the thrown roses, the cheers and accolades.

  “It’s…the most enticing offer of marriage I’ve received from a lady, I’ll say that much.”

  That’s it? “I’ve offered you everything I can, your grace. It’s a perfect opportunity, for both of us. We need each other.”

  His smile slowly faded, his eyes narrowed, and for a second or two she feared she’d gone too far in practically begging.

  And then, instead of kissing her as she feared he’d do, hoped he’d do, he reached out and placed his palm beneath her chin, lifting her head a little as he gently brushed his thumb across her lips.

  She shivered, trying to back away, but her knees bumped up against the chair in which she’d only just been sitting.

  “You’re quite a treasure, aren’t you?” he murmured, brows furrowed as he scanned every inch of her face.

  She drew in a shaky breath and he removed his thumb. “My brother thinks I’m merely trouble. But I’ll try to behave myself when I’m with you, especially when we’re watched by society’s eye in any public forum.”

  His lips curved up wryly. “That’s very good to know.”

  She waited, anxious to depart, but unable to move away from the warmth of his body so close to her own. With fortitude, she asked, “Do we have an agreement, your grace?”

  “Colin,” he corrected.

  She acquiesced. “Do we have an agreement, Colin?”

  After a moment of lingering silence, he replied, “I’ll consider it, Charlotte.”

  She noted immediately that he’d used exactly the same words she had the night he propositioned her in the theater, certainly intentional, and not at all the answer she wanted to hear. But then it wasn’t quite a rejection, either. She supposed she needed to allow him time to adjust to the idea. Marriage was, after all, a huge step for anyone.

  “I—I should leave. I need to be at the theater soon in preparation for tonight’s performance.”

  He stepped back without reluctance and formally waved his hand to let her pass. “Then don’t let me keep you from your adoring admirers.”

  She curtsied quickly and brushed past him. At the door, she paused and glanced back.

  He still stood gazing at her with his hands crossed over his chest.

  “Will you be there tonight?” she asked softly.

  His countenance became somber. Contemplatively, he asked, “Do you want me to be?”

  It seemed like a truly genuine question, and suddenly she wanted him to know how very much she relied on him for support and adoration from afar. “I always want you there, Colin.”

  She could have sworn he exhaled a shaky breath, his gaze searing hers. Then he nodded once, and murmured, “We shall see, Lady Charlotte. Good afternoon.”

  It was a clear dismissal, and she heeded it with a fraction of a smile upon her mouth. “Good afternoon, your grace.”

  With a lift of her skirts, she held her chin high and walked out of his study.

  Chapter 5

  Colin rapped on the door of Sir Thomas’s office at the Yard, then walked in without waiting for a reply.

  He wouldn’t call himself angry, exactly, but the look he sported on his face and in his eyes must have displayed his agitation, for at once Sir Thomas’s secretary, John Blaine, looked up from his paperwork, his expression startled.

  “Is he in? I need to see him immediately,” Colin remarked as he began to
stride toward the closed door of his employer’s inner office.

  Blaine stood and pulled down on his jacket, which fit him far too tightly at the waist. “He’s in, but I’d prefer to announce you first, your grace. He’s been quite busy this—”

  “Then do so at once,” he interrupted, his tone cooler than he’d intended.

  Blaine gave him a sideways glance through his large spectacles that reminded Colin of those worn by Charlotte—plain, thick, and completely unbecoming. But where Charlotte remained a beauty underneath, this man couldn’t be more unattractive, his face pulled tightly as if he were tense about life in general, his features reminding Colin of a racoon’s with his large, dark eyes, rounded cheeks, small thin lips, and a flat, receding chin. But he was apparently very good at what he did, as Sir Thomas trusted him completely. And appearance hardly mattered in the competent.

  Blaine knocked on the inner door, then turned the knob and peeked inside. “His grace, the Duke of Newark to see you, sir,” he said mildly.

  “Let him in,” came the fast reply.

  Before Blaine could acknowledge the response, Colin had already slipped past him, entering the inner office proper, taking only a quick note of the thin fog of tobacco smoke that enveloped the dark and musty room.

  Sir Thomas had been sitting, engrossed in paperwork illuminated only by a single oil lamp on the desk, but stood and bowed his head properly as Colin took a seat in an old and creaking wooden chair across from the man.

  “You set me up, my friend,” Colin said a bit testily, ignoring the fact that Blaine stood behind him with the door wide open, waiting for instruction.

  Sir Thomas sighed and sat heavily again, looking past him briefly. “That’ll be all, John,” he said to his secretary.

  “And we don’t wish to be disturbed,” Colin added without glancing over his shoulder.

  Sir Thomas almost smiled. “No, we don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “Very well, sir,” Blaine replied matter-of-factly before closing the door behind him.

  Colin never moved his eyes from the older man, his mentor, who sat across from him now, watching him in return. Sir Thomas’s office—indescribably small and cramped, cluttered with stacks of paperwork and overflowing shelves of dust-covered books and odd trinkets—felt unusually stuffy and cold today, the windows closed because of a lingering drizzle and chill in the air. But Colin paid no attention aside from a passing notice. His mind stayed focused on getting to the truth.