When His Kiss Is Wicked

by Kaitlin O'Riley

  “Since this book of poetry is all you require today, shall I wrap it for you, Lord Waverly?” The frostiness of her tone of voice matched the cold look on her beautiful face. All traces of the warm and inviting woman who had wanted him to kiss her had vanished.

  She behaved as if that astonishing feeling had not just passed between them. That a highly charged connection had not sparked so wildly in their eyes. That he, a complete stranger, had not almost kissed her there in broad daylight in the middle of her father’s chaotic little bookshop.

  She was not easily ruffled, that was for certain. Whereas he was more unsettled than he cared to admit to himself.

  “That would be lovely, Miss Hamilton.” He handed the book of poetry back to her with a gallant sweep of his arm and followed her to the counter. He leaned leisurely on the polished wood, resting his chin on his hand. “Does Miss Hamilton have a first name?”

  She glared at him. “Of course I do.”

  He grinned at her, his most charming, most winning smile. The one that got him his way with every female he had ever encountered. It truly came in most handy at times.

  “May I have the honor of knowing your name?”

  “No.”

  “No?” He echoed in disbelief, raising an eyebrow, a bit stunned by her refusal.

  “No.” She did not meet his eyes.

  “Then I shall have to guess your name,” he persisted. “Let’s see…Katherine? Mary? Victoria? Margaret?”

  She shook her head at each suggestion as she methodically wrapped the little red leather book in brown paper. Her elegant fingers moved with efficient skill as she folded the paper with sharp, straight creases.

  “Nothing traditional, then? Because your father owned a bookshop, perhaps your name has a more literary inclination. How about Lydia? Tess? No, not quite. Alice? Goldilocks?”

  He noticed the glimmer of a smile playing at the corners of her sensuous lips and felt his stomach tighten in response to her. He continued his guessing game. “Ophelia? Juliette?”

  “Juliette is my sister’s name,” she admitted with slight reluctance.

  “Ah, I’m getting warmer. It seems your father had a passion for Shakespeare.”

  “No. Juliette is just a coincidence.”

  “So it’s simply an affinity for French names, is that it?”

  She nodded her head.

  “This should be interesting now. I didn’t suspect you of having an exotic French name. Is it Desirée? Jacqueline? Angelique?”

  She rolled her blue eyes heavenward in exasperation. “It’s Colette.”

  “Colette? How very intriguing.”

  In an odd way the French/English name suited her perfectly. Colette Hamilton. She was a woman of contrasts. Beauty and business. Youth and maturity. Sensuality and innocence. He could not stop thinking about her.

  She continued to ignore him as she artfully tied a pretty green ribbon around the brown paper package. The bright bow added a distinctive flourish to the wrapping.

  “Nice touch,” he commented on her handiwork.

  “Thank you.” She held out the gift-wrapped book to him.

  “No, it is I who must thank you for your most able assistance, Miss Hamilton.” Once again he grinned devilishly at her. “I gather that no one calls you Coco?”

  She eyed him evenly. “No one.”

  “You are a lady of few words, aren’t you?”

  “When prosaic conversation warrants it.”

  “Point taken.” He laughed. He glanced at her lovely profile. “Colette and Juliette. Pretty names for pretty sisters. And it seems you have no brothers, correct?”

  “Just three more sisters.”

  “There are five of you?” Could such a thing be possible? The thought of five women like her boggled his mind.

  For the first time, she smiled; her entire face lit from within. The effect was stunning and he had to catch his breath.

  “After me, there is Juliette, Lisette, Paulette, and Yvette is the baby.”

  “You are the eldest?”

  She nodded in a way that was becoming familiar to him.

  “And you all work in the bookshop?”

  “Every day.”

  “I have even more sympathy for your father now.” He reached inside his coat pocket and took out some money.

  She accepted the payment and gave him his change. “Thank you and please come again,” she said with unmistakable sarcasm.

  “I wonder if your father would approve of your insolent attitude toward a paying customer,” he could not help but respond, enjoying provoking her.

  “My father is no longer here to approve or disapprove of anything I do, Lord Waverly.” She challenged him with her eyes, her chin tilted upward.

  “Unfortunately, that is the truth. And that is a shame.” He tipped his hat to her. “Good day, Miss Colette Hamilton.”

  Lucien turned and exited the quaint little shop, the bells above the door jingling a gentle good-bye. As he made his way through the bustling London streets, he wondered why he felt so flummoxed after meeting Miss Hamilton. She was quite irritating. Captivatingly beautiful, but irritating nonetheless. What did it really matter, though, in the end? He need never see the impossible woman again, for the logical decision would be to simply find another shop from which to buy books.

  Which he had every intention of doing.

  Chapter Two

  The Root of All Evil

  “I expect you both to be a credit to me and comport yourselves with the utmost decorum. Your aunt Cecilia and I have spent all the money we could spare on this little venture, and we count on a large return from the two of you,” Uncle Randall warned for at least the hundredth time, as if Colette and Juliette were a pair of idiots and not aware of the urgency of the situation.

  Colette fought the desire to stick her tongue out at him, as Juliette was currently doing behind his back. She knew better than to act that way. Besides, Uncle Randall was looking directly at her. Maintaining a neutral expression required what little self-control she had left, after her unusual encounter in the bookshop that afternoon with the handsome Lord Waverly.

  “I hope you understand that if you both don’t marry money quickly, then we are all out in the cold,” he continued in his pompous manner, his bushy eyebrows furrowing ominously. “I cannot continue to provide for all six of you, as well as my own family. You need husbands to take care of you and help support your mother and sisters. It’s more than past the time for you to have married already, Colette. Twenty years old and not yet a wife! Why your father let you remain unwed so long is something I will never understand, but then I never did understand Thomas.”

  Randall, her father’s older half brother, inherited the title of Lord Hamilton and the Hamilton estate, but he had run out of funds to support his lavish lifestyle, which included his haughty wife and his wastrel of a son, Nigel. Since Nigel was too spoiled to foist upon an unsuspecting, wealthy heiress for a few more years yet, Uncle Randall had appointed himself guardian of his brother’s five daughters.

  Although he appeared the benevolent uncle, Colette was perceptive enough to see through to his true motives. In his role as their guardian, Uncle Randall would benefit from contracting the wealthy marriages of his nieces, which was the only reason he’d decided to launch Colette and Juliette during the coming Season. By selling their beauty to the highest bidder and reaping the financial benefits of two fat marriage settlements, he would also rid himself of the responsibility of his brother’s family once she and Juliette married.

  Uncle Randall continued with his repetitive speech, pacing between them, his coattails flapping. “With the Hamilton name and your stunning faces, most men will overlook your lack of dowries. You should both fetch a fine price. I have a few suitable gentlemen in mind for you already, and you will be charming and gracious to them when I introduce you.”

  As Uncle Randall turned, he almost caught Juliette making a face at him. In an instant, a look of angelic innocence replac
ed Juliette’s scornful scowl as Uncle Randall ranted on, oblivious to what was happening. From across the room their mother shook her head in despair, silently pleading with Juliette not to anger their uncle.

  “Mais bien sûr. They are my daughters. They will behave as expected, Randall,” Genevieve Hamilton whispered in a faint voice, always somewhat fearful of her overbearing brother-in-law.

  “They had better be.” He gave Genevieve a hard look, which conveyed volumes and Colette understood quite clearly.

  “We will be.” Unlike her mother, Colette didn’t fear her uncle, but neither did she respect him. However, she was wise enough to understand his reasoning.

  As much as she hated to admit it, marrying well would ease the burden on her entire family. Unfortunately, she had absolutely no interest in marrying at the present. If only she had more time, she knew she could make the bookshop a great success. The changes she had in mind would transform the place. Changes her father had never allowed her to make. But now she had the freedom to do as she wished with Hamilton’s. If only they weren’t so pressed for money. If only her younger sisters weren’t depending on her. If only her mother would stand up to Uncle Randall…

  She glanced at her mother, who reclined wearily on a chaise. Visits from Uncle Randall or Aunt Cecilia drained her more than usual. Her long gray hair, which had once been a rich brown like her own, now hung loosely from a ribbon at the back of her neck, while her pale eyes lacked any life or spirit.

  Years ago Genevieve La Brecque Hamilton had once been a raving beauty and the toast of London, or so Colette had been told a thousand times. How Genevieve ever managed to marry Thomas Hamilton, a quiet man with a love of books and the second son of an insignificant lord, always mystified Colette. Now Genevieve could never be thought of as anything but a shadow of her former self. After bearing five daughters and being constantly disappointed in her married life, Genevieve had retreated to her bed, acting as an invalid. By the time of little Yvette’s third birthday, Genevieve had become a complete recluse who never left the house or entertained guests. Colette, not sure if her mother’s constant illnesses and injuries were real or imaginary, had been the one to take care of her younger siblings in her mother’s place, as well as the one to help her father with the shop.

  “And when you marry well, it will no longer be necessary for you to have to work in that deplorable bookshop any longer,” Uncle Randall stated with undisguised contempt, his dark eyes narrowing.

  “I don’t mind working in Father’s shop,” Colette said, holding her anger in check by biting her tongue. The bookshop had always been a contentious issue between them.

  Oh, if he would only leave already! Uncle Randall had no idea how much effort Colette had put into the shop, nor did she want him to know just yet. He thought her incapable of making the store a success, simply because she was a woman. His beliefs infuriated her, as most men’s did. Just as that odious Lord Waverly’s had done earlier that afternoon. One day she would show all those superior, smug males just how wrong they were about her.

  “You know how I feel about the Hamilton family being in trade,” Uncle Randall persisted. “It’s quite beneath us. It was embarrassing enough when my brother opened the shop, and now it’s even more humiliating that my nieces are running it. But I shall not delve into a discussion about it with you at this moment, Colette. I haven’t the patience for it tonight, and I’m late for a supper party with the Davenports as it is. Have all your gowns and fripperies been delivered?”

  Colette nodded. “Yes, Uncle Randall. They arrived yesterday.” She had to admit that she loved all the gorgeous new clothes that had been made for her and Juliette to wear during the Season.

  “Good. Your aunt Cecilia and I will be here at seven o’clock on Friday to escort you both to the Hayvenhursts’ ball.” Uncle Randall stared at her with a pointed glare, his balding head tipped menacingly in her direction. “And I’m counting on you, Colette, to keep your sister here in line during the Season.”

  His reference to Juliette annoyed her, for she had no more control over Juliette’s behavior than anyone else did, but Colette nodded in deference to him. She had learned long ago that if he thought she agreed with him, he left her alone. She pretended to agree with him now.

  “Yes, Uncle Randall.”

  “Good, then. I shall be on my way for the evening, ladies. Genevieve.” He nodded to her mother and took his leave after a disapproving look at Juliette.

  “Dieu merci, il est parti. He has always treated me shabbily, just because I am French.” Genevieve gave a petulant frown when the door to their living quarters above the bookshop closed and they were alone once more. “Now I have a dreadful headache.” She touched her hand to her forehead dramatically and closed her eyes with a heavy sigh.

  “He makes me so angry!” Juliette exclaimed, rising from her chair.

  At nineteen, Juliette was stunning and would no doubt have many offers of marriage during this Season. All the Hamilton sisters were beautiful, or so everyone said. Their beauty was the only reason Uncle Randall was bothering to launch them at all. Colette loved her sister and they were very close, but Juliette could be unexplainably obstinate. If only Juliette would be more accommodating once in a while…She fought against everything so much, often to her own detriment, that at times Colette had given up trying to reason with her.

  “Keep me in line, indeed!” Juliette declared adamantly, stamping her foot, her dark blue eyes flashing. “I don’t even wish to have a Season!”

  “Juliette, you should be grateful to your uncle,” Genevieve admonished in a weary voice from her position on the chaise, not even bothering to open her eyes. “Your father left us little enough to survive on. Now you have an opportunity you wouldn’t have had to make a grand marriage and live comfortably. Make the most of it. Don’t make the same mistakes I made in life. Ne sois pas insensée.”

  “I don’t want to marry some stuffy lord who will order me about and tell me what to do all the time,” Juliette complained, folding her arms across her chest and falling back into the armchair she had been sitting in for their uncle’s lecture on proper deportment during the Season. “I’m not ready to get married.”

  “Is it safe to come out now?” Lisette asked from the doorway of the bedroom and glancing around the parlor. Their comfortable home life had been interrupted by their uncle’s visit, and Lisette and the other girls had escaped to the bedroom to avoid him. “I no longer heard Uncle Randall’s voice.”

  Colette nodded in relief. “Yes, he just left.”

  Lisette entered the room with their younger sisters in tow. She immediately went to their mother’s side, helping her get comfortable and placing a small lavender-scented pillow behind her head to help ease her headache. Paulette and Yvette sat themselves beside Colette on the sofa. Yvette snuggled against her while Colette smoothed her pretty blond curls. She was almost fourteen already, but being small for her age she appeared younger than she was and they still referred to her as the baby of the family. And perhaps treated her as one far more often than they should.

  “Well…What did Uncle Randall have to say this time?” Lisette asked as she began to rub their mother’s shoulders, soothing her as only she could. Lisette had a calming quality about her, and Genevieve relied heavily on her middle daughter because of that very fact.

  “Oh, the usual marching orders. How Colette and I have to marry well or the entire family will starve on the streets and it will be all our fault,” Juliette snapped, her eyes flashing.

  Yvette stared at them with wide eyes. “Are we all going to starve?”

  “No one is going to starve,” Colette said firmly, hoping they believed her. “Least of all us. We’re not destitute.”

  Not yet, anyway. The thought nagged at her. They were not destitute yet, and with any luck they would not end up that way.

  When he died six months ago, their father had left the shop in financial chaos and Colette was barely sorting through it all. Her mother
and sisters, and even Uncle Randall, had no idea how close they were to actually losing the shop, and consequently their little home above it. But they would not be forced to move in with Uncle Randall and Aunt Cecilia or thrown out on the streets, because Colette would die before she let that happen. She was not unaware of the dislike Aunt Cecilia had for her nieces, and living with her aunt would be only a drastic last resort. She had to make the shop a success and knew without a doubt she would get no help from her uncle in that regard. She had to do it all on her own.

  As much as it pained her to admit it, marrying well at this point seemed the only option open to them. She should be grateful to her uncle for providing the opportunity of a Season, not only to her but to Juliette as well, in order to double their chances. Marrying wealthy husbands would alleviate all their troubles.

  If only she had a little more time to make the shop over…

  “Everything will be fine. You’ll see,” she reiterated to her sisters, as well as to herself.

  “At least you get to wear all those pretty gowns and dance with handsome gentleman at fine parties!” Yvette exclaimed with a dreamy look on her face. “I wish I could go with you!”

  “I have no doubt that you will someday.” Lightly Colette kissed the top of Yvette’s head. Yvette had been enchanted with the arrival of Colette and Juliette’s new wardrobe and had been playing with their lace fans and walking around in their high-heeled slippers all day. “But for now, it is time for you to help set the table, sweetie. Paulette, you come help Julie and me downstairs for a little while before supper.”

  “Can I paint the signs now?” fifteen-year-old Paulette asked, her sweet, earnest face brimming with excitement.

  “Yes, you can start, though I doubt you’ll finish them all tonight.” Colette stood, eager to get back to work in the bookshop. There was so much that still needed to be done. Once she began the Season, her time in the shop would be limited to business hours. She wanted to get as much accomplished as she could before then. She left Lisette and Yvette to prepare supper and look after their mother.