Hot Historicals Bundle with An Invitation to Sin, The Naked Baron, When His Kiss Is Wicked, & Mastering the Marquess

by Jo Beverley

  “You have never cared for me,” she sniffed with an injured air.

  Ignoring her pout, he continued determinedly. “That is neither here nor there, my dear. I am offering you a chance to be self-sufficient and to take the burden of that pathetic bookshop off your daughter’s shoulders. Come now, Genevieve, admit it. You hate the bookshop almost as much as I do.” It was a stab in the dark, but he had had his suspicions over the years.

  “Oui,” she confessed, almost relieved by the admission. “C’est la vérité.”

  She looked at him with her wide azure eyes. Genevieve had been beautiful once, just as beautiful as her daughters, and what she ever saw in the insipid Thomas, Randall never understood, but now she was a mere shadow of her former self. Randall felt an overwhelming sense of pity for her.

  “Thomas spent all his time down there. He was never here with me.”

  “So sell the building. There is nothing to keep you here but sad memories. Move to the seashore with the girls.”

  “Do you really think it will bring a good price?” she asked, and he had to contain his elation at her question. She was wavering.

  “I know it will bring a fair price. The real estate in Mayfair has at least doubled over the years,” he lied easily.

  “Truly?” she asked, unable to hide the glimmer of hope in her eyes.

  “Yes. And didn’t my brother use your inheritance to buy the building in the first place?”

  “Oui, without even consulting me when my mother left that money to me! It was my money!” she cried, the years of anger and resentment evident in her furrowed brow and pained expression. “C’était mon argent. I never wanted to live here.” She gestured in disgust toward the shabbily furnished rooms with a wave of her elegant hand.

  “Then sell it. Give the deed to me, Genevieve.”

  “I will,” she said, her eyes ablaze with emotion, murmuring rapidly in French. “Que Dieu me protège mais je dois le faire. Je vendrai donc ma librairie. I will sell the bookshop, Randall.”

  He exhaled in relief at her answer. “I will take care of everything, Genevieve. But don’t tell the girls. It will only upset them. Especially Colette,” he warned.

  “No, I shall not tell her.” She called in the direction of the other room, “Paulette! Paulette!”

  A bedroom door opened and one of his nieces appeared. “Yes, Mother?” she asked, as she entered the parlor where he sat with her mother. “Good afternoon, Uncle Randall.”

  “Good afternoon, Paulette,” he said to her. With her honey-colored hair and blue-green eyes and angelic features, she would be a beauty to match her older sisters when she was grown. It never ceased to astound Randall. He would give his brother credit for that at least, if nothing else. Thomas had somehow managed to produce five stunning daughters, each one lovelier than the next. They were fortunate in that. Randall shuddered at his plight had his nieces been homely…

  “Go into my room, ma petite chérie, and in the top right drawer of my bureau are some papers. Will you bring them to me, please?” Genevieve asked.

  “Oui, Maman.”

  As Paulette ran to do her mother’s bidding, Randall wondered whether his French sister-in-law was truly incapacitated or simply acted that way for effect. He had not seen her outside the house in years, with the exception of Thomas’s funeral last year. She relied heavily on an ornate gilt cane and the assistance of her daughters, but she seemed mobile enough. He believed she rather enjoyed the attention her “infirmity” gave her.

  “You are making a wise decision,” he reminded her encouragingly, as Paulette returned with a sheaf of papers and handed them to her mother.

  “Merci, ma petite,” she kissed her daughter on the cheek. “You can go now. I shall call you when I need you.”

  Paulette nodded obediently and left them. Genevieve shuffled through the papers in front of her. She squinted at them, her face puzzled. Sighing heavily, she finally handed them all over to Randall with a helpless look. “I do not know what it is I am looking for.”

  Thrilled at his success, Randall flipped through the documents until he found the deed of ownership to the building. He gave the rest of the papers back to Genevieve.

  “Remember, do not mention this to Colette, or any of the girls.”

  “I shall not speak of it until it is over and done with.” Her mouth trembled slightly when she spoke.

  Randall nodded his approval, pocketing the precious deed carefully in his coat. “I will sell only at the highest price, and you will have your little cottage soon enough and be rid of this place.”

  “Je vais finalement m’en débarrasser.” Sadly she wiped a tear from her eye and sniffled. “Yes, I will be rid of this place,” she echoed him woodenly.

  With her heart pounding rapidly and holding her breath so as not to be heard, Paulette Hamilton listened stealthily at the door to the parlor where her mother sat talking with Uncle Randall. She knew how wrong it was to eavesdrop, and she truly tried her best not to listen to her sisters when they were speaking privately, but she could not help herself from listening when Uncle Randall had unexpectedly knocked on their door earlier that afternoon. Colette was working downstairs in the shop and her other sisters were out, so Paulette was home alone taking care of their mother when he arrived. Immediately her mother dismissed Paulette from the parlor when Uncle Randall said he wanted to speak with her privately. She noted that Uncle Randall had entered their home though the private entrance, not through the shop, indicating that Colette was unaware of his visit. Alarmed by the situation, she had lingered on the other side of the closed door, listening.

  Her mother was going to sell the shop! Not only was she selling the shop, she was selling the entire building and moving them to the seashore!

  And her mother wasn’t telling Colette or any of them about it.

  What did that mean? And more importantly, what should she do about it?

  She should tell Colette. Colette would know exactly what to do.

  Paulette felt a sharp pang of remorse. Poor Colette worried about everything. Ever since their mother had become ill, Colette had taken care of the family. And when their father died, she had taken on the entire responsibility of the bookshop, working endlessly to make it support them. When Uncle Randall offered to give Colette and Juliette their debut, she had gamely agreed, knowing that she was being sold in marriage for their benefit. She took so much upon her shoulders.

  Paulette heard Uncle Randall leave and she sighed heavily, her head resting against the back of the door. Now she waited for her mother to call her. Her mother had a fear of being alone, and one of her daughters always had to be by her side. Minutes ticked by on the little clock on her dresser, and still her mother did not call to her.

  She wondered at the significance of that as she waited and thought of what to do.

  Even though she never intended to, Paulette overheard lots of conversations that she shouldn’t be privy to, but sometimes it was the only way to learn what was going on in her family. She had overheard Colette and Juliette talking about money and how dire their situation was and how worried they were. Paulette knew how hard Colette worked and how she never complained when she was tired or scared. Juliette handled things differently. She would laugh or act as if she didn’t care, but Colette made everything safe for her and Lisette and Yvette. Colette never wanted them to worry.

  Paulette felt a pang of sadness at the thought of all her own hard work in the shop and all the lovely little signs she had carefully painted and tied with green ribbon.

  As much as Paulette loved the bookshop with all her heart and would be sad to lose it, maybe selling it and moving to the seashore would be for the best. Of course, Juliette would be thrilled by the news of leaving the shop. And Lisette would support any decision their mother made, while Yvette was too young to care what they did. If they sold the shop and moved, they would no longer have to worry about money, and Colette would not have to work so hard.

  Maybe Uncle Randall w
as right.

  Maybe she wouldn’t tell Colette after all.

  Chapter Ten

  How May I Help You?

  “Do we have a deal, then?” Colette asked, holding her breath in anticipation and fervent hope while staring at the barrel-chested man with wire spectacles standing in front of her. His impassive expression made it difficult for her to read his thoughts.

  Mr. Kenworth paused, considering and weighing his options. Then he nodded slowly. “Yes, I believe we do, Miss Hamilton.” Still he did not smile. “As I have said before, I’m not used to doing business with a woman. But I am impressed with your changes to the shop thus far, so we shall begin on a trial basis. I shall have the rest of the stationery delivered to you tomorrow morning. It has been a ple”—he stopped himself before saying “pleasure”—“interesting doing business with you. I look forward to a successful partnership with your shop.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Kenworth.” Colette could not help but grin, thrilled with the deal she had just negotiated to sell Mr. Kenworth’s fine stationery in the bookshop. He had been disinclined to work with her at first, but she finally won him over. She had already displayed some samples of his high-quality paper under the glass on the counter. Now her customers could order pens, ink, envelopes, and writing paper through her, and she would get a percentage of the profits from the Kenworth products.

  They shook hands across the counter, and when he placed his top hat on his head and turned to leave, she saw Lucien Sinclair standing behind him. As the bells jingled above the door signaling Mr. Kenworth’s departure, Colette stared silently at Lucien, her heart in her mouth. She had not even heard him enter the store. How long had he been standing there watching her? Her heart pounded at seeing him for the first time since she had kissed him with such reckless abandon, and her cheeks flushed profusely at the memory.

  “You do drive a hard bargain, Colette,” he stated, his eyes on her. “You’ll make a success of this shop yet.”

  “That is the general plan,” she managed to say, feeling an enormous sense of pride at his compliment.

  They both stared at each other. Lost in the depths of his green eyes, she knew instinctively that he was thinking about their wildly passionate kiss as well.

  “What are you doing here?” she finally blurted out.

  He laughed at her bluntness, his smile nearly knocking the wind out of her. “Isn’t the usual greeting in a shop, ‘How may I help you?’ Or do you greet all your customers this way?”

  Colette flushed, her stomach fluttering with nervousness. “You know what I meant.”

  “Yes, I did,” he admitted, “and in answer to your question, I’ve come to purchase more books from you.”

  “Oh, forgive me. I thought because of the other night…” she stammered weakly in sudden mortification, wishing the wood plank floor would swallow her up whole.

  “Yes. About the other night,” he began, his voice growing serious. “I owe you an apology for my behavior.”

  “You have already apologized for kissing me,” she whispered, feeling even more humiliated by his words.

  “You misunderstand. I’m not sorry I kissed you, Colette. In fact, I enjoyed our little interlude more than I care to admit. The fact is that I should not have taken such liberties with you in the first place.”

  “I think I asked you to kiss me.”

  He reached out a hand and tenderly brushed a stray curl from her cheek. His fingers massaged her skin, sending a thrill through her at his touch. “Perhaps,” he acknowledged with a slight nod of his head and a grin that melted her heart. “But I am a man who should know better.”

  “Your gallantry in helping me with Baron Sheffield was most appreciated. The least I could do was offer a kiss in return.” She managed to smile back at him.

  He was about to reply when the door to their quarters upstairs flew open and Paulette entered the shop.

  “It’s time for supper, Colette—Oh!” She stopped abruptly upon seeing Lucien Sinclair standing beside the counter. A wide smile lit up her young features. “Hello, Lord Waverly.”

  “Hello, Miss Hamilton.” He grinned warmly at her.

  “I’ll be up in a few minutes, Paulette,” Colette said, coming out from around the counter. “I just have to get some books for Lord Waverly.”

  “I have a wonderful idea!” Paulette exclaimed brightly. Giving Lucien an endearing glance, she asked, “Would you please do us the honor of dining with us this evening, Lord Waverly?”

  Horrified at her sister’s invitation, Colette exclaimed, “I’m sure he has other plans for the evening.”

  “Please?” Paulette asked, her eyes silently pleading with Lucien. “It would be lovely to have you dine with us.”

  Lucien eyed Colette briefly, as if assessing her opinion, before he turned his gaze back to Paulette. “I could not refuse such a persuasive invitation. And since I have no plans until later this evening, I would be honored to join your family for supper.”

  Stunned speechless, Colette stood frozen on the spot. Lucien Sinclair wanted to have dinner with her. And her sisters. And her mother. Why?

  “Oh, that’s simply wonderful!” Paulette declared with a jubilant toss of her blond head. “We hardly ever have visitors. Let me run up and tell the girls.” With that Paulette disappeared upstairs, leaving them alone once again.

  Colette looked at Lucien. “You are being very kind, but you really don’t have to stay to please my little sister.”

  “I’m not simply being kind to Paulette. I’m curious. Will I meet all of your family if I venture up those stairs with you?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Colette admitted with a rueful grin. “I can only imagine the furor going on up there when Paulette tells them the news. There’s still a chance for you to make a hasty exit while you can.”

  “And miss my first occasion to meet all five of the Hamilton sisters at once? Not on your life!”

  Colette felt an odd little thrill race though her at his use of the word “first,”’ which to her implied there would be more occasions to be with her family. Unable to ponder the meaning of that thought now, she said, “Just remember that you were fairly warned and you squandered your only opportunity to escape.” Colette stepped past him, intending to turn Paulette’s hand-painted ‘Open” sign on the front door of the shop to read “Closed.”

  “Please wait,” Lucien called out to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  She spun around in surprise, feeling breathless at the closeness of him and reeling from the contact of his hand upon her body. His eyes rested on hers, and her stomach flipped wildly. The flecks of black in the green of his irises made his eyes appear dark and mysterious. His face inched closer to hers and the crazy sensation that he wanted to kiss her again raced through her. God help her, but she wanted him to kiss her!

  “May I do that?” he asked, pointing to the sign. “I’ve always wanted to.”

  Relief and disappointment rushed through her, but she laughed at his unexpectedly playful attitude. “You may.” She stepped aside and watched as he flipped the sign with an extravagant flourish.

  “Now what do we do?” he asked excitedly. With a look of delight on his face, Lucien appeared even more attractive, if such a thing were possible.

  “You have to pull down the shade and lock the door. There, with that key.” She pointed to a large skeleton key hanging from a long green ribbon on the wall.

  After locking up, he declared, “I’ve never closed a shop before.”

  “Well, congratulations,” she said and closed the large leather-bound ledgers on the counter top, wondering at Lucien’s behavior. She had thought him a proper, stuffy lord, as Juliette called him. But he had handled Baron Sheffield like a prizefighter and kissed her as a thorough rogue would. Then he appeared in her shop, acting as excited as a little boy playing a game. And now he would join her family for supper. Nothing he did made any sense.

  He followed her as she dimmed the lamps around the shop, helping her
reach the higher lamps. As the light faded, her heart raced. Why is he staying? Why does he want to meet my family?

  “Is that it?” he whispered close behind her, his voice as smooth as velvet.

  Slowly, she turned around to face him. “Yes, that’s it. The shop is officially closed.”

  In spite of the dimness she could see the angles of his face, the strong lines of his jaw, the planes of his cheekbones. He was so tall she had to tilt her head back to look at him. He made her feel incredibly small. He smelled good, of something clean but spicy. She suddenly found it hard to breathe as she stood with him in the growing darkness.

  “Colette?”

  She could feel his breath on her cheek as he whispered her name. With her heart pounding wildly, she carefully licked her lips, fighting a yearning desire to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him close to her. Tilting her head toward him in case he did intend to kiss her, she whispered in response to his saying her name, “Yes?”

  “Shouldn’t we go upstairs now?”

  Lucien followed Colette up the narrow staircase that led to the family’s living quarters above the shop. Not for the first time he wondered what the hell he was doing there. He had simply stopped by to purchase new books to read to his father. Now he had willingly consented to have supper with all the Hamilton women. What was he thinking?

  That was just it. He wasn’t thinking. At all.

  He’d been so tempted to kiss her just a few moments ago that he had to steel himself from doing what every nerve in his body cried out for. The feeling was even more overpowering now that he knew the delight of kissing her. He knew the feel of her sensuous lips, the seductive curve of her mouth, the taste of her sweet tongue. God, he wanted to taste her again.

  And he sensed without a doubt that she wanted it, too.