Sins of a Duke (10 page)

“I have to say,” Lady Sarala added, “Shay has been fascinated by the prospectus you gave Melbourne. I can scarcely get him to put it aside each evening.”

“I’m gratified that he finds it interesting. Costa Habichuela is a remarkable place.”

“From what I heard a few minutes ago, a great many
Britons are anxious to experience it firsthand.” Lady Deverill gazed at her with eyes the same color as her brother’s, though the marchioness’s were much warmer and more friendly than those of Melbourne. “Have you considered opening Costa Habichuela to immigration?”

“I believe the rey wants to assess the economic impact of additional citizens and farmed land before he makes a decision.”

“A very sound approach,” Lady Sarala agreed. “Economics is a bit of a hobby of mine.”

Wonderful
. All she needed today were more questions she didn’t feel prepared to answer.

“I have to ask,” Lady Deverill put in with the timing of a clock, “why in the world did you slap Melbourne? I don’t think anyone’s ever had the courage to do that before.”

“He sent a coach for me when he’d promised to appear and escort me himself. It might have tarnished everyone’s first impression of me, and thereby of my country.”

“So it was only because of the possible harm to your country?”

Josefina grimaced. The truth didn’t seem as though it could cause any damage. “Well, I think any woman would be hurt upon realizing that a very handsome man who’d offered an escort hadn’t bothered to appear. And I have to say, he continues to be quite arrogant and speak very rudely to me. I don’t understand why, when he seems to be unfailingly polite to everyone else who crosses his path.”

Eleanor gazed at their new companion for a moment. She’d been about to say that the three of them had also experienced Sebastian’s foul temper, but stopped herself. “Melbourne is rather famous for being inscrutable,” she said instead.

In fact, her oldest brother was only less than polite to a very small and select group of people—the ones who
engaged his emotions. If he was rude to Princess Josefina, and continued to be so, then it meant something.

“‘Inscrutable’?” The princess smiled, though the expression seemed a bit forced. “Since you’re his family, I won’t embellish the description.”

“You are a true diplomat, Your Highness,” Caro observed, and they all laughed.

Something large moved up beside the barouche. Eleanor glanced sideways. A large, gleaming black coach loomed there, a scarlet griffin on the door.
Blast it all
.

She raised her eyes to the massive coach’s window. With the curtains pulled aside, Sebastian was easy to make out. He looked straight back at her, his usually inscrutable expression highly annoyed. Inwardly she cringed.

Yes, she’d decided to become acquainted with Princess Josefina Embry. And yes, that did most likely qualify as meddling. After the way he’d attempted to manipulate the lives of herself and her brothers, Sebastian deserved to be meddled with. What she absolutely hadn’t counted on, however, was being found out so soon.

“Oh, dear,” Caroline whispered. “He does not look happy.”

Though she held her breath herself, Eleanor offered a reassuring smile. “He can be annoyed as he pleases. The Duke of Melbourne is not going to force us off the street.” Not with witnesses about, anyway. She waved her fingers at her eldest brother.

“Nell, don’t make him any angrier,” Sarala cautioned in a hushed voice.

After another moment driving parallel with them, Sebastian rapped on the roof of the coach. Immediately the vehicle turned away down the next cross street. Eleanor let out her breath.
Thank goodness.

“I apologize if my being here has caused you some
difficulty,” Her Highness contributed abruptly. “I know Melbourne is not fond of me.”

“Nonsense. He’s not fond of anyone. Don’t take it to heart.”

The princess smiled. “Thank you, Lady Deverill.”

“Call me Eleanor.”

For a moment Princess Josefina looked as though she wanted to say something more, but instead turned the conversation to the weather. Eleanor studied her face, her expression. Her brother was infamously difficult to decipher, and this woman didn’t look to be much easier. Unless she was greatly mistaken, though, Princess Josefina found Sebastian at least as interesting as he found her.

Sebastian looked up from the newspaper after his fourth attempt to read the same sentence. “What are you doing?”

At his elbow Peep sat in front of her own large plate of breakfast. She wasn’t eating, however. Rather, she adjusted a spoon across a knife and aimed it toward her cup of tea. A large sugar lump sat in the bowl of the spoon.

“Watch. I think I have it this time.” With her curled fist she smacked down the raised end of the spoon. The lump of sugar catapulted into the air past her cup and thudded into the back of his newspaper. Again. “Drat.”

“Don’t hit it so hard,” he advised, and went back to reading.

According to the
London Times
, yesterday Princess Josefina Embry of Costa Habichuela had graced Carlton House with her presence, sharing luncheon with Prinny and the Duke of Harek. The day before she’d journeyed to Greenwich for a tour of a Royal Navy ship. Londoners of all stations were mad for her, with girls throwing rose petals at her feet, and men handing her letters proposing marriage. Every citizen with a spare shilling seemed to be
rushing to invest in “Englandshire,” as the public had begun referring to Costa Habichuela.

“Balderdash,” he muttered under his breath.

“What, Papa?”

“Nothing, sweetling. I was just reading about Princess Josefina.”

“The Aunties took her to luncheon a few days ago,” his daughter commented, as another object hit the back of his newspaper. “They didn’t invite me.”

He wished they hadn’t invited Josefina. All he had against Costa Habichuela, though, were some unverified suspicions, a nagging sense of wrongness, and a feeling of frustration so great it was very likely the cause of the other difficulties. “Perhaps next time,” he said.

“I certainly hope so.”

Sebastian lowered the paper again. “You know that your Aunt Caroline’s family is arriving in London tomorrow. You’ll want to spend time with them.”

“Yes, but they aren’t princesses.”

“I’m sorry, Penelope, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“You didn’t have to resign your post.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why, because you’re too busy? You haven’t even gone out for the past two nights. You stayed here and played pickup-sticks with me, and you’ve been in a very bad mood.”

“I have not. And you’re the one who said you wanted me about more.”

“Mary Haley says you asked the princess to marry you, and she said no because you’re only a duke, and that’s why you had to resign.”

He folded the paper and set it aside. “Does she now? I’m beginning to think that Mary Haley is a gossiping busybody, and that you spend entirely too much time in her com—”

The breakfast room door swung open. “I hoped you’d still be here,” Shay said, a stack of books gathered in his arms.

Peep stood. “Mary Haley is not a gossip. She’s my friend, and that’s why she tells me things I should know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go feed the ducks in the park.” She stomped out the door.

He could hear her clomping all the way upstairs and then the slam of her bed chamber door. “Blast it.”

“Did I interrupt something?” Shay dumped his load of books on the breakfast table.

“Just a difference of opinion.” He gestured at one of the footmen who stood in the room. “Tom, go make certain Mrs. Beacham is accompanying Lady Penelope when she leaves the house.”

“Right away, Your Grace.” The servant hurried out of the room.

“All right, what is it, Shay?”

Without asking whether he’d finished eating or not, Charlemagne pushed all of the dishes away from the head of the table and seated himself opposite where Peep had been. That done, his younger brother dragged the half dozen books within reach.

“Take a look at this,” he said.

“It’s the Costa Habichuela prospectus.”

“Yes, and no.”

Sebastian sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

Shay flipped the book open and turned pages until he found the one he wanted. “Read that aloud,” he said, opening one of the other books for himself.

“‘While one would think its proximity to the equator would render the climate disagreeably hot and stifling all the year round, Costa Habichuela is blessed with a large expanse of—’”

“‘—of coastline which each afternoon delivers a soft,
cooling breeze straight off the Atlantic Ocean,’” Shay took over. “‘This breeze has the effect of both renewing and rejuvenating the populace, and also of bringing trade from distant shores, a topic which will be discussed in depth later herein.’”

“And?” Sebastian prompted.

Shay lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘and’?”

“You got hold of another prospectus. I don’t need a lesson in oral recitation.”

“Yes, I did get hold of another prospectus. Or rather, I already had one.”

“Shay, I know you’re brilliant, but I do have Parliam—”

“Take a look.” Closing the book from which he’d been reading, Shay slid it over.

For a moment Sebastian looked at the title impressed into the leather on the book’s front cover. “This…” He cleared his throat, the ramifications of what he was seeing beginning to dawn on him. “This is a survey of Jamaica.”

“Dating from seventy-five years ago, and commissioned by King George the Second.” He took the Costa Habichuela prospectus back and turned another few pages. “I kept thinking that some of this sounded familiar.”

“In all fairness,” Sebastian heard himself saying, “perhaps the rey doesn’t have the gift for putting pen to paper. Borrowing a few—”

“It’s whole chapters, Seb. All of the wests are changed to easts, the river and town names are altered, but everything else is identical. It even has the trade winds blowing in the wrong direction to accommodate the country’s location on the coast.” He grabbed another book. “And do you want to read about the populace? It’s all in this one—
A Cultural Study of the West Indies.
And the—”

“That’s enough, Shay.”

“But—”

“I understand what you’re telling me. There’s not an original word in here.”

“It does make one wonder what Costa Habichuela is really like,” his brother commented.

Sebastian stood. “I think I’ll go ask. Excuse me.”

“The rey’s not back from Scotland yet.” Shay pushed to his feet as well, gathering books up in his arms as he went.

“Prince Josefina’s here.” He glanced at Charlemagne as his brother fell into step behind him. “I’m going alone.”

Shay gave him an exasperated look, but nodded. “I suppose then that I’m to keep this to myself.”

“Until you hear otherwise from me, yes.”

“You’re going to miss Parliament if you go now.”

He grabbed his hat and gloves from Stanton and headed down the front steps toward the stable. No coach today; he wanted to ride. “To the devil with Parliament,” he snapped.

J
osefina signaled Colonel Branbury’s butler. “Grimm, please turn any additional callers away,” she said as he reached her side. “Have them come back tomorrow.”

He bowed. “Very good, Your Highness. And shall I send to the kitchen for more tea and pastries?”

“Yes, thank you.” At least if the hordes of visitors were eating, they couldn’t be talking. That might leave just enough air in the modest-sized drawing room for her to keep breathing. If she fainted in there, she would probably be trampled to death before anyone noticed her on the floor.

“Your Highness,” Lord Ausbey said, bowing so reverently that the top of his curly blond head nearly brushed the pale blue carpet, “thank you so much for agreeing to receive me this morning. I am one of your most ardent admirers. In fact, I’ve written you a poem stating the depth of my feelings.” He pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket
of his dark green jacket—apparently worn in honor of the green cross of the Costa Habichuela flag.

“I would love to hear it, Lord Ausbey,” she said with a smile, putting a hand on his arm to keep him from unfolding the thing, “but I have—”

“Please, Your Highness, you must call me Adam. I long to hear my name on your lips.”

Yes, men did seem to enjoy that sort of thing, she recalled, telling herself that the sudden tightness in her chest was cynical anger and not heated memory. She chuckled, pushing his arm down as she released him. Unfortunately he kept hold of the poem. “You flatter me, Lord Ausbey. Now excuse me while I see to my other guests.”

Without waiting for a reply she turned away, wading further into the sea of admirers and would-be hangers-on. Conchita intercepted her, surreptitiously fluffing the cream-colored sleeves that had drooped amid the press of people.

“Your father would be ecstatic to see all this interest,” the maid whispered.

“At the moment, I wish he were here to deal with it,” Josefina returned in the same low tone. “Welcoming them and being charming is one thing, but how does one get rid of them?”

“Perhaps you should ask the duke,” Conchita suggested, slipping into the background again as Lady Holliwell approached, a prospectus clasped in her arms.

They’d been printing the things as swiftly as they could. It had become a noticeable expense, but she supposed that spending a few shillings was a fair exchange for encouraging an investment of thousands of pounds. And the more interest they stirred, the better.

“Ah, there you are, Your Highness,” the Duke of Harek said, stepping in front of the countess to offer his arm.

“You seem to have some admirers,” she noted, indicating the group of women with whom he’d been chatting.

“They are here to see you.” He covered her hand with his as she took his arm. “As am I.”

“So much flattery today. My head is spinning.” She forced her aching cheek muscles into another smile. “In fact, I’m feeling a bit fatigued at the moment.”

“I believe I can manage our guests if you want to go freshen up.”

“‘
Our
guests’?”

“I speak in the sense of my being your host here in England,” he said smoothly, his charming smile bright enough to leave shadows.

She glanced about at the crowded drawing room again. Her father would be kissing knuckles and shaking hands, each gesture and word bringing more wealth and support to Costa Habichuela. The rey, however, wouldn’t be back in London until tomorrow. And her ears were ringing from all the noise.

“Then do please host for a few minutes,” she said, pulling her hand free. “I’ll just go upstairs to fix my hair.”

“Have no worries.” His smile deepened. “A princess is supposed to be delicate.”

She nearly asked if he would prefer that she titter and faint, but that would have required staying in the middle of the madhouse and talking. As quickly as she could Josefina made her way into the hallway, where even more guests overflowed, and up the stairs to her private rooms.

“Your Highness,” Conchita puffed from behind her, topping the stairs. “Is everything well?”

“I just need to catch my breath. Keep an eye on Harek, will you? I don’t want him to declare himself rey while I’m pinning my hair.”

The maid gave a quick curtsy, flashing an even briefer
smile. “If I sense trouble I will kick him. In this crowd he won’t know who to blame.”

Josefina pushed open the door. “An excellent idea.”

Stepping inside, she closed it again, resting her forehead against the cool oak. She hadn’t realized that being gracious and charming could be so taxing.

“Don’t tell me you’ve run out of pretty stories to tell.”

At the deep, familiar drawl she froze.
Melbourne.
She whipped around. “What the devil are you doing here?”

He leaned a haunch against her writing desk. From the chaos of the papers there, he’d been rifling through them. “I had a question,” he said easily, not moving.

“Get out of my bedchamber. If you’re here to call on me, then go downstairs with my other guests.”

Melbourne straightened, seeming abruptly to fill the room. “One of the sycophantic horde?” he asked, moving past her as she edged around toward her bed and the pistol she kept in the bed stand there.

“I suppose so, since you can’t seem to stay away from me.”

He stopped at the door. “I can’t, can I?” he mused, almost to himself. Slowly he reached out and secured the lock.

She heard the click from halfway across the room. Alarm ran down her spine. As mightily attracted to him as she felt, she was not a fool. Whatever he was up to would serve his purposes rather than hers. Josefina drew a breath.

“Since you won’t leave, what is your question?”

“Who authored your prospectus?”

The question surprised her. “
That
is what you wish to know? I thought perhaps you wanted your old liaison position back.”

“Who wrote it?” he repeated.

“Are you looking for someone to assist you with your
memoirs? I can give you a title—
A Very Unpleasant Man, or the Memoirs of Someone You Don’t Wish to Know.
”

For a second he looked at her. “Are you afraid of anything?”

Only of how she felt in his presence.
“I’m certainly not afraid of you, Sebastian,” she said, deliberately using his Christian name. “You did give me leave to call you Sebastian, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. And you gave me leave to remove that gown and strip you naked.”

Her skin heated. “No,” she returned, holding onto her scattering wits with all her strength, “that was a different gown. This one stays where it is, because you called me a liar.”

Melbourne walked toward her. “You
are
a liar. Who wrote the damned prospectus?”

He knew.
Somehow, he’d figured it out. Panic twisted through her. Her father should never have given Sebastian Griffin more information than strictly required. He was far too clever, and far too dangerous.

“Don’t waste your time trying to think up something plausible,” he snapped, stopping close enough to touch. “Tell me the truth.”

Josefina took a deep breath, looking up to meet his gaze. “The truth,” she said, her mind racing. “Very well.
I
wrote it.”

“Ah.” His eyes glinted. “You’re very knowledgeable about a country you saw for a total of two days.”

“I wrote it before I ever saw it.” She frowned. “Father wrote me letter after letter describing Costa Habichuela. He needed money to carry out his dream, and in order to get money, he needed investors. To get them, he needed something official and in writing. We didn’t have time to commission a complete, formal survey—that would have
taken too much time with Spain pushing back against the rebels. So I studied other volumes to which I had access, and I…adapted them to fit what my father had described.”

“So the natives of Costa Habichuela resemble those of the West Indies?”

“You
have
done some checking,” she said, with grudging admiration. “No one cares about the history of the natives. They’re there, and most of them speak at least some English. The rest is just…theatrical decoration.”

“And San Saturus?”

“A little smaller than described, but it is pretty, and it does overlook an easily defended harbor.”

“You have the trade winds blowing the wrong way.”

She flushed. Lies were one thing, but she hated making stupid mistakes. “I didn’t realize that until after copies had already been printed.”

His gaze lowered to her mouth, then swiftly lifted again, as though he couldn’t quite control his reaction to her. “What you’ve done,” he said, “aside from the theft of someone else’s research, is exceedingly…bold. Did you think no one would notice?”

“There’s no harm in it.” She lifted her hand toward him, running her fingers along the line of his jaw. Warm skin, and a barely discernable stubble of beard. Against all of her better thoughts and wishes, he fascinated her.

His muscles shuddered. “A seduction might distract me, Josefina,” he said quietly, “but it won’t make me forget what I know.”

A seduction, though, might give her enough time to tell her father that Melbourne knew about the prospectus, and enough time to figure out if he meant to tell Sir Henry Sparks or anyone else and endanger the loan money that was already being issued to them.

“Weighing your options?” he murmured.

Damn it, he couldn’t read minds. No one could do that. “And if you thought I was standing here to gain a favor or influence, what would
you
do?”

“Try me.”

They stood halfway between the door and the bed, a breath from touching, for several hard beats of her heart. Lofty as he was in England, Melbourne probably had no idea the things she had to contemplate, the benefits of his favor against what either rejection or exposure could do to her. “I’m remembering a few nights ago,” she said, managing somehow to keep her voice steady, “when you put your hands on me and then pushed me away.”

He moved a feather’s width closer. “And?”

“And so I think you should leave.” She backed up, then deliberately turned away. “Whatever insult or accusation you level against me, what you did that night at the theater was worse.”

“Get back here.”

“No.” Facing him again, Josefina stopped beside the bed stand, her hand on its dark, polished surface. “Go away.”

She swore that he growled then, a low, primitive rumble that raised goose bumps on her arms. “I am not someone to be trifled with,” he uttered.

“Neither am I.” But before she had time to do anything more than pull the drawer open, his hands clamped down on her shoulders. Melbourne yanked her around, the ease of the motion leaving her no doubt that he was far stronger than she.

“I will stop your mouth,” he muttered tightly, and kissed her.

Oh, God.
He’d been teasing her at the theater, and the other times he’d kissed her. Pure arousal slammed down her backbone, potent and not at all subtle. His lips, his
tongue, pushed and teased at her until she opened her mouth to him.

Abruptly he broke away. Breathing hard, his gray eyes glittering, he looked from her to the drawer before he pulled the pistol free. “Is this what you were after? Do you want to shoot me, Josefina?”

“No,” she blurted, knocking the pistol aside and grabbing his hair to yank his face down to her mouth again.

She heard the weapon hit the floor, but she no longer cared. She wanted to crawl inside him, inside his mind, his body, his heart. Moaning as his hands swept down to her hips, pulling her still closer, Josefina fumbled with the knot of his cravat.

Melbourne pushed, throwing her onto the bed with him on top of her, kissing everywhere he bared her skin. She felt electric, as though bolts of lightning were running through her veins. “Sebastian,” she moaned, giving up on the cravat and tearing at his waistcoat buttons. “I want to touch you.”

Without answering he yanked down the front of her dress, sinking lower to take her left breast in his mouth, his tongue rasping across her nipple. Pure fire seared through her. He was
not
going to stop this seduction here, as he had done before. Her hands shaking, she pushed his jacket and waistcoat off his shoulders. He shrugged them off one arm at a time, the other hand still running crazily along her skin.

Sebastian lifted away from her just enough to pull the white linen shirt off over his head, the cravat following it to the floor.
Finally
. Josefina skimmed her fingers along the warm skin of his chest, through the light dusting of dark hair there, down to where his trousers banded his hips. His skin was soft, but she could feel the hard muscles beneath; muscles that jumped at her touch.

He gathered her skirts in his hands, kneeling as he lifted
them above her ankles, drawing them past her knees, her thighs, and baring her finally to the waist. For a moment he gazed in hard-breathing silence.

“Sit up,” he finally ordered.

As soon as she complied, he moved into her again, one knee on either side of her bare left thigh. As they kissed, he reached around to undo the fastenings at the back of her gown. She felt it loosen, and the soft material puddled around her waist.

“Lift your arms.”

“Stop ordering me about,” she returned, though she did as he said. “I’m not a thing, you know.”

He raised up to pull the dress off over her head, slowing and being more careful as it came over her hair. He’d been married, though; he would know that a female did not want her hair mussed when she had to go back out in public.

“I know you’re not a thing,” he murmured as her arms came free. “You are Josefina Embry, Princess of Costa Habichuela, which may or may not have a climate like that of Jamaica.”

“I told you that the—”

“Unfasten my trousers,” he interrupted.

She lowered her eyes to them, to the bulge at the apex of his thighs. “You want me,” she muttered, swallowing as another wave of pure, shivering lust ran through her.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I set eyes on you.” Sebastian reached for her hands and drew them to his waist. “Unbutton me,” he repeated, releasing her hands to run his fingers across her nipples.