The Duke’s Indiscretion

by Adele Ashworth

  His kiss three weeks ago in the coach still lingered—in her mind, on her lips—and she recalled it constantly, much to her chagrin. He had cast a spell on her, and what made her angry at herself was the knowledge that he didn’t even have to be in the room for her to want him to kiss her all over again. Everywhere.

  She shivered and lifted her hairbrush off the vanity, twisting it in her fingers before she began pulling it through her thick hair.

  She knew the “accidents” at the theater were intentional, meant not to harm her, but to scare her. She also knew why, though after thinking about it for some time now, she still couldn’t determine who among her friends and colleagues could possibly be in collusion with her brother. And Charles had to be the one behind it. Although not aware of the Handel score she owned, he was the one person who wanted her to quit the theater to save his name from disgrace should her identity ever become common knowledge among his peers. But he couldn’t be acting alone as he would never—aside from opening night—lower himself to show his face in such a place. Someone was helping him, and the only thing she felt certain of was that it probably wasn’t Porano; the tenor didn’t have time to think of anything but his own fame, and probably wouldn’t care anyway.

  Colin would come to her aid if she asked for his assistance, but she wasn’t ready to do that. She still didn’t know him all that well, didn’t know if she could trust him to keep her secret, or if he might attempt to sell the only piece of property she alone possessed—the piece that could render her independent for the rest of her life—simply because he now technically owned it through marriage. He clearly didn’t need the money its sale would bring, but she remained uncertain of his intentions where she was concerned, in every aspect of their married life, and that was enough to give her pause.

  “You have beautiful hair.”

  Startled, Charlotte let out a short gasp at the sound of his husky voice from their adjoining doorway. “I’m just on my way to bed, sir,” she said, placing her hairbrush on her vanity.

  He offered her a sly smile, and she watched him through the mirror as he began to saunter toward her.

  “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” he asked with a casual air.

  Her heart started beating hard. “Of course, your grace. Your friends are lovely people.”

  He nodded as if he expected such an answer, standing behind her now, gazing down to her reflection, his features mildly contemplative as he took in all of her through the glass. Reaching out, he lifted a few strands of her hair, lacing them through his fingers. Charlotte’s eyes widened negligibly with sudden concern over his intentions, though she remained very still, concentrating on her composure, afraid of raising his ire should she jerk away from his grasp.

  At last he released the silky strands and placed his palms on her shoulders, gazing at her face once more through the mirror.

  The touch of his skin felt hot, even through her nightdress, but she didn’t move.

  “You know,” he murmured softly, his head tipped fractionally to the side, “I remember asking you to call me Colin the day after our wedding, and yet I still haven’t heard you do so in casual conversation.”

  How could she possibly reply to such a statement? Apologize? Honestly, she couldn’t now remember if she’d ever called him by his given name or not, but his unusual manner and unexpected presence in her bedroom was beginning to intimidate her. And although she wasn’t exactly afraid of his closeness, with his hands firmly on her and the look of thoughtfulness on his face, she’d never felt so vulnerable in her life.

  “Actually, Colin, I’m very tired—”

  “Stand up, Charlotte,” he interrupted with gentle insistence.

  With a blink, she repeated, “Stand up?”

  His eyes narrowed on her face and he almost smiled. “You are off to bed, are you not?”

  She could feel her pulse racing through her veins. “I am, but—”

  “Then stand up.” He removed his hands from her shoulders and took a step back. “Right here.”

  She couldn’t very well deny him such a simple, seemingly innocent request, and she could think of no reason to stall. Bracing herself with her arms on the vanity, she dared not look away from his intense gaze through the mirror as she did his bidding and slowly rose to meet his level.

  In one smooth action, he pulled her vanity chair out from behind her and took its place with his powerful body, essentially pinning her without touching. Her mouth went dry and she couldn’t move.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  Without explanation, he stooped down a bit so that he could place himself cheek to cheek, his eyes still locked with hers through the glass. Then, once again, he grasped her shoulders very lightly over her nightdress and began a gentle massage with his fingers.

  “Close your eyes,” he insisted huskily, his lips only an inch from her ear.

  In a state of near-panic, she swallowed, “Your grace—”

  “Close your eyes, Charlotte,” he repeated with a little more force. “Just relax.”

  How on earth could she possibly relax? He held her spellbound, practically a captive in his embrace. Yet, she also knew instinctively that if she brushed him aside, or lashed out at him angrily, he’d let her go. At the very least, she trusted him that much.

  Drawing a deep inhale for confidence, she did as he asked, lowering her lashes, feeling his warm breath on her skin, inhaling the faintest scent of cologne and brandy, noting how the ends of his dark blond hair tickled her jawline and made her shiver inside.

  He began to increase the pressure of his hands on her shoulders, moving them subtly outward to her upper arms and then back again, faintly massaging the length of her neck, then gradually pushing his fingers forward to leave feather soft caresses on her collarbone just under the edges of her nightgown. She couldn’t help herself. It felt divine, and without clear thought, she leaned back a little closer to his chest.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Shh…No questions,” he replied in a husky timbre. “I’m going to leave you in a moment, but I want to show you something first.”

  Charlotte eased ever closer to him so that she fairly leaned against his large, firm chest. She had no idea on earth what he could possibly show her, even less of a sense of his intentions, but at this point, she didn’t think it mattered. His evasiveness, coupled with the expert kneading of her tight muscles, made her maddeningly hot all over.

  Moments later, he said softly, “I’m going to give you my first direct order as your husband, Charlotte.”

  Her legs suddenly felt weak beneath her and she teetered on the brink of giving in to him, allowing her entire body to relax into his. It took every bit of strength she possessed to keep her composure.

  “My order,” he continued without waiting for reply, “is that while I show you this one small thing, you will stand here without moving or speaking, and keep your eyes closed. Nod your head if you understand.”

  Understand? The tiniest part of her still wished to push him away, run to her bed and hide under the covers. But she couldn’t seem to give herself over to doing the logical thing while he caressed her shoulders and arms, drew his thumbs across her shoulder blades, left feathery trails on her throat with his fingertips. In the end, she acquiesced and nodded minutely.

  Immediately, his breathing quickened and he ran the tip of his nose along the length of her ear, pausing to faintly run his lips across her lobe. She trembled, succumbing to a liquid fire in her belly, inhaling a shaky breath, knowing he probably felt her response to his touch but deciding at once that she didn’t care. At last he pulled her closer so that she rested lightly against his hard, broad chest, the heat from his body radiating through their clothes to warm her back. Gradually, he traced his fingertips up and down her arms until she felt gooseflesh appear, never touching her indecently, but making her long for…something not quite within reach. Whatever his intentions, she could no longer fight such
an utterly delicious effort on his part, though with every breath she fought the urge to moan and turn to him in surrender. Instead, unable to stop herself, she simply rested her head against his shoulder, relishing the way his warmth and strength enveloped her.

  “One more minute,” he breathed against her neck, “and then I’ll leave you.”

  Leave her? She didn’t want him to leave, she wanted him to caress her like this for hours.

  For another moment or two he continued to caress her arms, then finally paused all movement and whispered, “Now open your eyes…”

  It took her a second or two to respond to his command, and then, very slowly, she lifted her lashes to meet his gaze through the mirror in front of them.

  She looked at herself, noting the flush in her cheeks, her parted, moist lips, her pulse beating rapidly in her throat. But as she shifted her attention to him, her breathing faltered and she swallowed with an incredible sense of awe. Never before had she witnessed such intensity from a man, such dark determination in his hardened jaw, such desire in his eyes. And she had done this to him—without doing anything.

  “You really are a beautiful woman, Charlotte,” he said, his voice low and tight, his cheek to her temple.

  She couldn’t reply. Her throat ached and her body felt hot and shaky.

  He sensed her weakness. With a twitch of his lips, he wrapped his arms around her to hug her close, brushing his lips against her hairline at her forehead. Then with one arm just under her breasts, he lowered the other to her hips and pulled her bottom against him.

  She inhaled sharply when she felt his rigid desire for her. But as much as she wanted to escape him, she couldn’t. He mesmerized her.

  “Touching you, being so close to you, thinking of you does this to me, Charlotte,” he whispered in her ear once more, never moving his gaze from hers. “And I think about you every minute of every day.”

  Her eyes widened to round pools of incredulity; his narrowed as he then boldly raised his hand and covered one breast with his palm, over her nightgown, and left it still, tempting, waiting.

  “Colin…” she breathed.

  He inhaled shakily, and then as she watched him lower his head to skim her cheek with his lips, he reached inside of her nightdress and placed his palm over her bare nipple.

  Unable to resist him, she whimpered softly from the exquisite touch and clutched his arms with her hands, suddenly afraid her knees would give way beneath her.

  “Do you like this?” he asked, his eyes capturing hers again through the mirror.

  Nodding negligibly, she whispered, “Yes…”

  He ran his fingertips across her nipple, once, twice, and she licked her lips and pushed herself into his hand as a surge of need swept through her. He noticed it as he watched her, caressed her, his eyes lit with fire. And then, very slowly, he released her.

  Brushing his lips to her ear a final time, he whispered, “Good night, sweet wife.”

  With that he backed away, leaving her to the chill in her room as he turned and walked through their adjoining door, closing it softly behind him.

  Chapter 12

  Charlotte sat rigidly across from her husband in the hackney coach he’d hired for her morning ride to rehearsal, sifting through sheets of music for something to do to keep from looking at him, or engaging him in conversation.

  He’d been watching her silently for the better part of an hour now, pretending drowsiness, his hands folded in his lap, body relaxed as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She, however, couldn’t seem to calm her racing heartbeat, her nervousness, the tingle she felt deep inside whenever she recalled what he’d done to her last night. Admittedly, it wasn’t much as far as touching goes, but whatever his goal, his endeavor had been effective. The result had been wholly unpleasant, both in how he made her feel before leaving her alone in frustration at her weakness, and in not knowing if he’d attempt such boldness again. If he did, she was afraid she might not be able to resist.

  Frankly, the event still lingered in her mind as if he had only just touched her. But he’d done more than that. He’d numbed her, confused her, and yes, even alarmed her when she later stopped to consider how he’d managed to arouse feelings in her she didn’t understand simply by rubbing her shoulders, breathing softly in her ear. She should be angry that he’d awakened that kind of desire in her, but she wasn’t, probably because he really hadn’t done anything improper. Aside from the fact that they were legally married and he had the right by law to approach her in any way he chose, he didn’t exactly have to force her into submission. But the memory that had kept her awake most of the night, the memory that, oddly enough, both embarrassed and thrilled her, was the feel of his desire, pushed so intimately against her, that she alone had roused in him by doing absolutely nothing. For some inexplicable reason she just couldn’t drive that from her mind, and the thrilling part, she supposed, was knowing she possessed some sort of sexual…power over him. She only wished she knew how to use it to her advantage.

  “What are you thinking?”

  She jumped at the interruption, startled, and for a second, concerned that he could actually read her mind. Mentally shaking herself of that ridiculous notion, she replied, “Of act three.”

  He grinned at her through slitted eyes. “That’s surprising. You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes.”

  She ignored that and began shuffling the pages of music in her lap.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked moments later.

  Her heart started beating fast in her chest. What did he expect her to say? Without looking at him, she said blandly, “I had a very good night’s rest, thank you.”

  “That’s quite a lot of music you brought,” he remarked very casually.

  She shrugged her tight shoulders. “It’s a long coach ride to the theater.”

  “Ah.” He waited, then asked, “And you need all of that today?”

  She glanced up briefly, deciding that since he seemed determined to have a conversation, there was likely no way to avoid it. At least the topic of music would keep it neutral.

  Sighing, she said, “No, most of this isn’t necessary for today, but I store a great many pieces in my dressing room and go through them frequently, exchanging them from time to time with those I keep at home.” She held up a few pages with both hands. “They’re mostly works for practice.”

  “Works for practice?” he repeated with a slight lift of his brows.

  He didn’t sound all that interested, though she had to admit he wasn’t exactly brushing the topic aside, either.

  “This,” she explained, lifting one small, bound book, “is a vocalise, or series of pieces made up of various scales and arpeggios, some intricate tunes, usually sung a capella with a pianist for guidance. All singers must warm the vocal cords daily.”

  “I see,” he replied. “I never knew singing could be so complicated.”

  She smirked, caught up in his amusement. “Singing is easy. Music can be complicated. Putting the two of them together is almost always either frustrating, or immensely rewarding. Sometimes both.”

  “As with Mr. Porano’s tempo problem?”

  She knew he was teasing her, but surprisingly, she actually enjoyed it. Smiling, she nodded once. “Exactly, though to be fair, all singers have problems, minor or major, with which they must deal.”

  “And what is your problem?”

  “I’m not only the exception,” she said through an exaggerated sigh, “I’m the leading soprano. Thus, I have no problem.”

  He grinned. “You’re also very humble.”

  She shrugged and turned her attention back to her music. “One should always strive to do one’s best. I strive to be the most humble person I know.”

  That made him laugh. Seconds later, he asked, “So where are your spectacles?”

  She glanced up. “I beg your pardon?”

  He motioned toward her with the back of his hand. “Your spectacles. You’re not wearing them and
yet you told me you need them for reading music.”

  The truth was, she felt rather unattractive with the large frames attached to her face, and with an acknowledgment to her vanity, she didn’t like wearing them anywhere near her husband. But she would never tell him that.

  “I suppose I forgot them,” she replied without elaboration, looking down to the sheets on her lap again.

  “Your mind has probably just been elsewhere this morning,” he said through a false sigh. “Distraction happens to the best of us, especially after such a late night.”

  Her body went still as her cheeks flooded with heat, but she didn’t dare raise her gaze to meet his. He’d said that on purpose, to fluster her, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing his tactic had worked. She just didn’t bother to answer, and thankfully, he didn’t push her for response.

  They sat quietly together for a few minutes longer, until their coach, meandering through traffic, made the final turn on the road to the theater.

  Charlotte began to gather her sheets of music into a pile. “So, what are your plans today, sir?” she asked brightly, glad to be leaving the close confines of his presence.

  He inhaled deeply and sat up straighter in his seat. “I’m not sure.”

  She frowned minutely, feeling a bit anxious from his evasiveness. “You can’t possibly stay with me all the time, sir. Don’t you have estate matters with which you need concern yourself?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  Charlotte couldn’t decide if he was teasing her again or trying to make her mad.

  Annoyed, she made a great fuss of putting her music sheets into a tidy stack, then folding her hands on top of it in her lap.

  “Then perhaps you should find a cause to occupy your time, your grace,” she maintained. “I simply can’t be bothered by your presence at rehearsal day after day.”

  Seconds of awkward silence passed before he murmured, “My presence bothers you, Charlotte?”