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

by Jo Beverley

  “My mother was born in Paris and came to London to visit her cousins when she was eighteen,” Colette told them. “She met and married my father and never went back to France.”

  “She swept your father off his feet?” Lucien asked.

  Colette remarked, “It seems that way.”

  Simon grinned gleefully. “French women!”

  Lucien and Colette exchanged amused glances.

  “Do you all speak French?” Lucien asked her.

  “Bien sûr, je parle français de temps en temps lorsque je suis en famille,” Colette uttered with flawless ease. “But my father did not speak a word of French. My mother still speaks French to us from time to time.”

  “Father spent a year in France when he was younger, and he has never recovered,” Lucien explained for his father. “He fell in love with their language and culture. And I daresay the women, too.”

  Simon surprised them both with a very hearty growl, leaving no doubt in their minds how he felt about the females in France.

  Colette’s sweet laughter brightened the room. “Why, Lord Stancliff,” she said in mock innocence and gave him a sly wink, “I’m shocked!”

  Simon actually winked back at her as Lucien watched the affectionate interplay between them with undisguised amusement. His father genuinely liked Colette, and Lucien couldn’t help the profound pride he had in her at that moment.

  “Enough about my family,” Colette said. “Please tell me about Devon House.”

  “It’s been in our family for years,” Lucien said. “It was designed and built by my father’s grandfather, Henry Sinclair, back in 1780.”

  Over the years Devon House had become something of a local landmark, and many an aspiring artist, intrigued by the beautiful design, had sketched the magnificent home. Five stories high and almost a block long, the white Georgian-style building had tall Palladian windows on the first floor, leading up to gabled windows on the top floor, and possessed a grand and symmetrical sophistication. A black wrought-iron fence with intricate scrollwork intertwined with delicate vines and leaves outlined the perimeter of the house and a curved marble staircase led up to the front entrance of double doors of polished mahogany with a fan light window above them. The classic and well-designed structure graced the quiet lane with its elegant lines and columns. But to Lucien, it was simply his home.

  “Why is it called Devon House?” she asked.

  “Because it was named after Henry Sinclair’s mother, Margaret Devon.”

  Simon interrupted, his eyes alight with amusement. “G-grandmother’s m-money!”

  “Yes,” Lucien nodded, surprised at his father’s blatant honesty about a fact he usually liked to keep quiet. “It was Margaret Devon’s money that saved the Sinclair family from financial ruin years ago.”

  “It was money well spent,” Colette remarked with un-abashed warmth. “It’s such a grand and lovely house.”

  “Once the library is complete,” Lucien added, with a pointed look at Colette.

  They then began a lively discussion of books and their plans for the library. After a light dessert of glazed pears, Simon made a weak gesture with his hands. Before Lucien could explain what it meant, Colette knew instantly.

  “I see we have tired you, my lord,” she said quietly. “I shall take my leave now.”

  His father struggled to speak, his watery eyes staring intently at Colette. “C-come b-back?”

  “You would like me to come back?” she questioned him.

  He nodded with a lopsided smile.

  “I would be honored to come read to you again, Lord Stancliff.”

  His father looked toward Lucien and again struggled to speak. “M-marry her?”

  Lucien jumped to his feet. Damn. His father thought Colette was the woman he intended to marry. “No, Father,” he said hurriedly, shaking his head and hoping that Colette had misconstrued what he said. But judging from her downcast eyes and flushed cheeks, he feared she had heard quite clearly. “You’re tired and need your rest, Father. Miss Hamilton will visit you again when she is able.”

  “Of course I shall,” Colette said brightly, eager to change the topic of conversation. “We have the rest of the book to go yet! And so much more happens in the story! I’ll return in a few days to help with the library, and I shall come read to you then. I’ve so enjoyed your company, Lord Stancliff.”

  She reached out her hand to him, and his father grasped it weakly in his own gnarled one. “Th-thank y-you.”

  “Thank you,” she returned, giving his hand a squeeze.

  With a trembling motion, Simon brought Colette’s hand to his lips, placing a light kiss upon her fingers.

  “Now I shall definitely return, for how can I resist such a gallant and handsome gentleman?” Her flirtatious tone brought another half-smile to Simon’s face.

  Lucien silently blessed her for being so good with his father. He hadn’t seen Simon so alert and alive looking in a long time. Her vibrant and lovely presence had truly brightened his father’s spirits.

  Colette gathered up her things, thanked them both for a wonderful evening, and with another affectionate farewell to his father, followed Lucien from the room.

  Together they walked the length of the elegant, Persian-carpeted corridor. It had been a memorable evening. The last time Lucien had enjoyed himself this much was the night he spent with Colette and her sisters. He had not felt such a strong sense of home and belonging since before his mother left.

  Before they reached the top of the staircase, Lucien placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. She paused and faced him. “You were wonderful with my father, Colette. You made him feel good today. I cannot recall seeing him so happy. We owe that to you. Thank you.”

  Her loving smile caused his heart to turn over in his chest. “He’s a sweet and charming gentleman, Lucien. It was my pleasure to read to him.”

  “It was our pleasure to have you with us.”

  “I truly had a lovely time this evening.”

  Their gazes locked as she tilted her head up to look at him, and they stared into each other’s eyes. Neither moved. Neither blinked. Lucien suddenly found it difficult to draw breath into his lungs.

  “I really should be going now,” she whispered so softly he could barely hear her. Fascinated by the way her lips moved, he knew she spoke, but the words had no meaning for him. The silence in the long, empty hallway echoed deafeningly in his ears. They were completely alone.

  “I should go,” she murmured again, her aquamarine eyes still on his.

  “Don’t go yet.”

  He stepped closer to her, causing his heart to pound in his head. Every single nerve in his body tensed at the closeness of her. Maybe it was the wine he had with supper. Maybe it was her light, sweet violet fragrance that surrounded him, enveloped him. Maybe it was inevitable. But he had to kiss her just once, and then he would send her home.

  Just one kiss.

  In one quick movement, his arm reached out and encircled her, pulling her up against his chest, and his mouth came down over hers possessively. As he lost himself in the feel of her seductive lips, the soft silken touch of her mouth responding wildly to his, he held her even tighter, the length of his body pressed intimately against hers.

  He had Colette Hamilton in his arms just feet away from his bedroom.

  He knew then with a dreadful certainty that this would not end with just one kiss.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once a Rogue

  Colette couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She could only hang on and kiss him back. Her knees trembled and she doubted she had the strength to stand if she did not wrap her arms around his neck for support. The scent of him, something clean and spicy and distinctly male, enveloped her and she lost herself in the sensation of his insistent mouth on hers.

  As she had when he kissed her the first time, she instinctively opened her mouth to him in invitation. His low growl of approval excited her almost as much as the
feel of his warm tongue penetrating her mouth. Filled with satisfaction at having pleased him, she pressed closer to him, loving the contact with his broad chest. His lean, muscular arms encircled her easily, pulling her closer still.

  Oh, God, she should not be doing this…

  But how could she not?

  Lucien’s warm hands cupped her face and he continued kissing her. Her world seemed to tilt and spin crazily around her as she clung madly to his broad shoulders for support. Her legs shook. His long fingers threaded into her upswept hair, gently loosening the pins that held her wavy locks in place. As her long hair fell like a dark curtain around her, his kiss deepened. His mouth locked on hers, devouring her, with a hunger that matched her own. His kiss demanded all of her, and she surrendered on a sigh, giving herself to him freely, eagerly.

  Slowly he backed her up until she found herself against the wall, her hips pressed against the wainscoting. And still his lips never left hers. A crazed and ravenous sensation overtook her, until all she could think of was Lucien. Lucien’s seductive lips, hard and insistent on her mouth. Lucien’s rough stubble, rubbing the tender skin on her face, branding her. Lucien’s strong hands—caressing her cheek, entwined in her hair, locked around her waist, now moving around the curve of her hips.

  Still linked tightly around his neck, her hands found their way into the soft mane of his hair. Marveling at the feel of the softness of his dark curls, she splayed her fingers around the curve of his head while his hand slid up higher and cupped her breast. She sucked in her breath at the intimate contact. He gently squeezed her, kissing her lips even harder.

  Suddenly he pulled his mouth away from hers, and her arms fell reluctantly to her sides. Without his support, her head fell gently back against the wall. An overwhelming sense of loss encompassed her at being deprived of his touch.

  “Open your eyes and look at me,” Lucien whispered, his voice ragged and out of breath.

  Pressing her bruised lips together and soothing them with her tongue, she could still taste him. Her lips felt full and heavy. Again it felt as if she were waking from a deliciously warm dream on a cold winter morning, and slowly she opened her eyes. His face was so close to hers, his green eyes intent, urgent. She blinked at him, her own breath coming in short gasps, and glanced away.

  He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head to face him. His fevered eyes pleaded with her. “Leave now, Colette. Leave now while I can still let you go.”

  Lucien was right, of course. She was inexperienced, to be sure, but she was not dim-witted either. She knew this was treacherous territory for a female and instinctively felt that her heart, her reputation, her future were all at risk. Logic and good sense demanded that she leave that instant and run all the way home as fast as her feet could carry her, locking the door behind her.

  Yet here she stood. Still. With this powerful man who made her heart race. With this man she could not resist. With this man who elicited feelings in her she’d never felt before. She was tingling with life, every sense in her body heightened when she was with him, her nerves stretched taut with anticipation and desire. Oh, yes, she should definitely run.

  Yet Colette could not move a muscle. She stood perfectly still, rooted to the floor, holding her breath.

  “Please…Colette…please…go…” He leaned in nearer once more, his mouth brushing ever so lightly against her cheek, hovering near her lips, so close she could see the fine dark stubble along his jawline. The stubble that she had felt scratching against her own skin just seconds ago. The sight of it excited her. He nudged her lightly with the tip of his aquiline nose. “Colette.” Her name became a plea and a caress against her cheek. Her heart pounded wildly.

  “I don’t want to leave,” she breathed, her voice a mere whisper. Unable to resist being with him, she reached up and put her arms around him again, and she kissed him. She brazenly kissed him, disregarding every ounce of good sense she possessed.

  “Oh, God, Colette,” he growled into her mouth, kissing her hotly. He suddenly lifted her from the floor, sweeping her into his strong arms.

  Surrounded by Lucien, she gasped. The sensation of being held by him left her breathless. Resting her head against his massive wall of a chest, she clung to him as he walked, knowing exactly what his intended destination would be.

  Colette surrendered herself willingly then. And God help her, completely.

  He carried her on long strides to his bedroom, the sound of their heartbeats echoing wildly in her ears. Once inside, he kicked the door closed behind them. Fleeting images caught her eye as they crossed the expanse of his chamber. High windows covered in long drapes. A thick woolen carpet, dark paneled walls. One very large four-poster mahogany bed. He laid her on the heavenly soft bed, her head cradled by downy pillows. It smelled deliciously of Lucien, warm and masculine. Lying beside her, he sought her mouth hungrily, as if they hadn’t just been kissing madly moments before. She relished the taste of him on her tongue once again and sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. With a swift and sure movement, he eased on top of her, his long male body covering the length of hers.

  The magnificent weight of him above her left her feeling light-headed. She was in Lucien Sinclair’s arms. She was in his enormous bed. His bed! This was how wayward girls got into trouble, she thought, suddenly sympathetic to their plight. Lucien had her in his bed. And he was about to do things to her that no man had ever done before. The enormity of what she had just consented to washed over her in a tidal wave of emotion.

  He must have feelings for her. He must. He could not do this with her if he did not. Could he? Oh, she wanted him to have feelings for her! Her own heart felt close to bursting with the roiling emotions contained within. But God help her, even if he did not love her, she wanted this moment with him. Wanted to be with him any way she could.

  If she ended up marrying some dreadful old nobleman to save her family, then at least she would have had this one night with Lucien Sinclair.

  Unconsciously she arched her body against his, wanting something, yearning for something only he could give her. His swift intake of breath encouraged her untutored movements and she writhed restlessly beneath him. Wanting more, she pulled him tighter to her, while his mouth still kissed hers relentlessly. Lost in their melting lips, he rubbed himself against her, his legs intertwined with hers. At the intimate pressure, she gasped into his mouth and he caught her breath with his. Heaven help me! Her body turned to liquid as the intense sensation poured from her waist to the tips of her toes. He pressed himself between her thighs again and she felt faint at the pleasure he caused and eagerly lifted her hips to meet his. Their frantic movements increased their pace, and still they kissed.

  His hands ran over her body, feeling her curves through the cover of her daffodil yellow gown. Then he eased his body from hers, and very gently, he turned her over onto her stomach, Colette’s body pliant to his demands. Undoing the buttons down the back of her bodice, his fingers worked effortlessly and rapidly, until the dress was loosened and tugged from her overheated body. Her petticoats followed rapidly until she lay back on the bed with nothing but her sheer undergarments covering her, grateful for the dimness in the room. Practically naked, she looked up at him, feeling shy, but at the same time surprisingly at ease with him.

  “No corset?” he whispered, leaning back over her, his eyes pinning her in place.

  She despised corsets. “Only when I’m wearing a ball gown.”

  “Thank God.” He placed a light kiss on her cheek, another on her lips.

  She reached her hands around his neck and pulled him to her, yearning to continue where they left off.

  He bent his head and took her mouth savagely, kissing her lips in with all the power in him, and she matched him. If she kissed him ceaselessly for years, she doubted she could get enough of him. Their tongues twisted together in the wet heat of their mouths, exploring and plundering each other in a frantic dance. They devoured each other, each taking as much as they
could.

  Coming up for air, he suddenly pulled away from her mouth, panting heavily. Her eyes flew open in protest at the loss of his kiss but fluttered closed in relief after she saw the impassioned look in his face. Cradling her face in his hands, he gentled his assault on her senses and touched his lips to hers, softly, ever so tenderly. He then rained feather-light kisses all over her face, as if he needed to taste every inch of her. Lucien’s delicate kisses fell on her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the curve of her ears, and the point of her chin, along her jawline. He kissed and nuzzled the soft length of her neck down to the hollow of her throat, moving lower to her chest, licking a burning trail of languid pleasure. The exquisite caress of his skilled tongue on her hypersensitive skin left her shaking.

  Her breathing became more frantic as he slowly inched the thin material of her chemise even lower, exposing her bare breasts to his gaze. The heavy rise and fall of her chest only emphasized their rounded weight. She watched as he cupped one breast firmly with his warm hand, pressing his lips to the soft flesh. Oh God. Stroking her heated skin with his amazing tongue, he traced a swirling path around her nipple, teasing the sensitive peak until it hardened in his mouth.

  Colette closed her eyes in quivering pleasure and lost herself in the mind-numbing sensation of Lucien’s lips and tongue on her breasts. Drowning in a deliciously intimate sea of warmth and kisses, her very flesh tingled and her body ached with a growing need. She yearned for more of him, to be closer to him. Her fingers wrapped in his thick hair again, breathing in the scent of him as his dark head bent over her chest.

  “Lucien,” she whispered, feverish for something she couldn’t define, opening her eyes again to look at him.

  Sensing her need, he lifted his head and gazed at her wordlessly, his eyes heavy lidded and dark with desire. She had to feel him against her, to feel his bare skin pressed to hers. He rose above her and she tugged at the buttons of his white shirt until the wide expanse of his chest was open to her. His body, perfectly muscled and toned, reminded her of a statue at a museum. She raised herself to press impassioned kisses against his warm flesh. The pounding of his heartbeat echoed through his chest and she held herself tight to him to listen. Never had she felt this close to someone, and the power of the contact had her reeling.