Sins of a Duke (9 page)

She twisted her neck to look up at him. “I daresay I’ll scarcely remember that you’re there,” she whispered back.

He bowed, almost brushing her cheek with his lips, but not quite. “Liar,” he breathed, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Whatever his doubts about Melbourne’s motives, Harek was obviously pleased as a cat with a ball of twine to be seen sitting beside her in the front of the theater’s best box. Behind her, Melbourne and Lord Charlemagne were quietly discussing something about a birthday party and acrobats, though she couldn’t overhear all of the conversation in the midst of the chattering that surrounded them.

Harek leaned toward her. “As a word of warning, this play is so blasted long that we won’t see intermission for nearly two hours. Luckily falling asleep’s not a sin, as long as you don’t fall out of your chair.”

“I don’t think I shall have to worry about that, but thank you.”

As he leaned over the edge of the box to greet someone below, she distinctly heard Melbourne’s brother mutter the word “buffoon.” That troubled her; not that Harek seemed anything but a buffoon to her, either, but that the
haute ton
in general might think him one. She certainly didn’t need that sentiment joined in any way to her family.

A moment later the curtain lifted and the play began. Though she’d read
Hamlet
in the course of her studies, she’d never seen it performed before. She sat forward.

Twenty minutes later she heard a soft snore beside her, and turned to look. Sunk down in his chair, arms crossed and his head tilted back, Harek had at least braced himself so that he wouldn’t succumb to his own sin of falling out of his chair.

The box behind her was silent, but she knew without any doubt that Melbourne remained wide awake. He would be gazing at her, he’d said. Her skin prickled. Dammit, he’d said that she would be thinking about him, about how he wanted to kiss her again. It wasn’t just that, though, that started warmth between her thighs.

He wanted to do more than kiss her, and it would be in the best interest of her father’s plans to allow him to do so. As for her own best interest, she knew with an abrupt clarity that she wanted him to be her first. Every other man she knew would settle for a kingdom and seconds, but not Melbourne.

She had no wish to sit next to a snoring buffoon for four hours—not when she could spend at least a little of that time being kissed by a man whom her cause needed, a man who heated her from the inside out. She rose.

“Excuse me for a few moments,” she whispered, moving to the back of the box as Conchita stood.

“I’ll show you the way,” Melbourne said easily, getting to his feet. “Shay, might I get you a port?”

“If you don’t mind,” his brother replied in the same low voice, rising halfway to his feet and then sitting again as she passed by him. “I’ll make sure our guest doesn’t lose his balance.”

The candlelit hallway seemed bright after the dimness of the theater, and Josefina blinked as they emerged. “This way,” Melbourne said, leading her a short distance to one of the curtained privacy alcoves. Then he slowed, drawing even with the maid. “What’s your name?”

“Conchita, Your Grace.”

“Conchita, you will wait exactly there,” he said, indicating the wall several yards away. “You will ensure Her Highness’s privacy, and you will not hear anything. Is that clear?”

The maid sent Josefina a nervous look. “Your Highness?”

“Do as you’re told, Conchita.”

With a curtsy the maid moved away to where Melbourne had indicated. The duke glanced up and down the empty hall, then held the half-open curtain aside. “After you.”

Even if she’d wanted to refuse him, she wasn’t certain
she would have been willing to argue with that tone. He stepped in behind her and pulled the curtain closed. Echoing dimly from inside she could hear the play continuing.

“I have to say,” she whispered, facing him in the tiny alcove lit only by a single candle, “this is quite bold of you.”

He continued to gaze at her, the sensation disconcerting. As he took a slow step closer her breathing deepened. For heaven’s sake, she’d grown up practically surrounded by soldiers and their silly attempts at seduction. Why, then, did having the Duke of Melbourne look at her make her knees weak?

She could tell herself it was because she needed to secure his cooperation and his influence, but no business she’d ever engaged in made her feel like this. “What are you waiting for? We haven’t much time.”

“Do you know who John Rice-Able is?” he finally uttered.

“What? I’m not here to be quizzed about acquaintances.” She ran a finger along his lapel. “Kiss me, or go away so I can return to the play.”

“Is that a yes?”

This close she had to look up at him to meet his gaze. That dark hair with the upturn at his collar, that mouth—if he ever relaxed from the hard place he held himself, she didn’t think she would ever want to leave his presence. If only those eyes of his didn’t…trouble her soul, as well as arouse her body.

“No, I don’t know him. Why? Is he an investor?”

“He’s an author. I thought you might have been introduced.”

Josefina brushed his black sleeve with her fingers. Not touching him seemed absurdly difficult. “No. Are you jealous of him?”

“Not if you’ve never met.” Finally lifting one of his hands, he touched her chin, lowering his face toward hers. When only a breath separated them, he stopped again. “Say my name,” he murmured.

“Melbourne.”

“No.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Say my Christian name.”

“Sebastian,” she breathed.

He kissed her. Josefina wrapped her arms behind his neck, breathing him in. Silently he pushed her against the side wall, his mouth hot and hungry as it sought and captured hers again and again. His hands brushed her hips, and then his grip firmed, holding her hard against him.

“I want more,” she rasped, clinging against him and not having to fake the sincerity and urgency in her voice. “I want you, Sebastian.”

Again silently, he slid a hand up from her waist to her shoulders, the pressure of his fingers against the outside of her right breast making her gasp. With those clever
fingers he lowered the shoulder of her burgundy gown, his lips following the trail of his hand.

He lowered the strap to her elbow, freeing her breast. For a heartbeat he gazed at the flesh he’d exposed, then lifted his gray eyes to her face. “It’s been a very long time for me,” he said, his voice shaking.

The loneliness and longing in his tone seared straight through to her heart. This was what she’d worried about, that he would want more of her than she even possessed. She’d already leapt into the fire, though, and her skin burned. “It’s been a lifetime for me,” she returned.

He kissed her again, those same clever fingers drawing feather-light, breath-stealing circles closer and closer around her breast until his short nails flicked across her nipple. She felt it all the way down between her thighs, and gasped again.

“Tell me where you’ll live in San Saturus,” he ordered, his mouth trailing down her shoulder and then clamping over her breast.

“Good…God,” she managed, digging her fingers into his dark hair. “Why?”

“I want to hear you talk about it.”

“I’ve only seen it…ah, once,” she said in a shaking whisper. Her knees wanted to give way as he peeled the cloth from her left shoulder and began caressing her other breast, as well.

“What color is it?”

“White…white stone, with tall…mm
mmm
…windows to let in the ocean breeze.”

“How many rooms?”

Was he thinking of moving in? Oh, God, she hoped so, if only so he would do this to her every night. “Hundreds. Enough for the royal guard and every cabinet minister.”

He straightened, taking her lips again. “Do you want to know something?” he whispered against her mouth, his fingers still caressing her breasts.

“Tell me,” she panted, pressing against his hands.

“I think you’re lying.” With another rough kiss he returned her sleeves to her shoulders and stepped back.

Josefina’s mind was a puddle of lust and surprise and dawning frustration. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know what it is, exactly,” he continued, his voice still not quite steady, “but something’s going on.”

“The only thing that’s going on, you bastard,” she snapped, adjusting the front of her gown, “is that you’ve proven that you’re not good enough for me.” She pushed past him and grabbed the curtain.

Melbourne clamped a hand on her shoulder, his grip like iron. “We’re not finished,” he rumbled, turning her to face him. “How do you do it?”

Half panicked, she jerked free. “Do what? I have no idea what you’re—”

“How do you make me…want you like this? Is it your perfume, or some drug on your skin? What—”

“So you think you must be drugged to feel attracted to me? We are finished here, sir.” She yanked the curtain aside and stepped through, into the hallway.

Conchita immediately hurried forward. “Your Highness? Are you—”

Josefina brushed her away. With every fiber of her being she wanted to flee the building, flee London, flee her own skin, which was still hot and sensitive from his
touch. So he thought he was being used, or seduced, that she was lying. But didn’t everyone lie and seduce to get that what they wanted or needed? Oh, she hated Melbourne right now—and she still wanted him, damn it all. And damn him.

S
ebastian closed the privacy curtain again as Josefina and her maid returned to the box. As for himself, both caution and propriety demanded that he remain in hiding for another few minutes.

God, she aroused him, and though his logical, practical mind had determined to put a stop to their encounter before any lasting and provable damage could be done, his body—his cock—wanted badly to continue.

Initially he
had
meant to continue, to go as far as was necessary to discover what it was about her and about Costa Habichuela that troubled him so. But immediately—too immediately, as far as his body was concerned—she had struck a note that rang false.

Why would San Saturus—by all of her and her father’s accounts a small, picturesque town made up mostly of natives and English ex-patriots—boast a white-stoned behemoth of a palace consisting of hundreds of rooms? The Mosquito King didn’t reside there, or he wouldn’t have given it away. And if the Spanish knew of a manor of that
size overlooking a well-protected ocean harbor, they would have sent troops after it.

But perhaps she’d exaggerated in order to impress him. Perhaps the huge palace was a small villa with tens of rooms. Perhaps the ocean breeze was as pleasant and beckoning as she and the prospectus claimed. And perhaps he was an idiot looking for reasons to distrust a woman toward whom he otherwise felt a great deal of interest and attraction.

“Damnation,” he muttered, and pulled open the curtain. As he did so, a gleam on the carpeted floor caught his eye. Josefina’s pearl necklace lay there in a forgotten heap. Sebastian picked it up, placed it in his pocket, and went to find a footman and some glasses of port.

When he returned to his box, Josefina was seated beside the still-snoring Harek. Even with her back turned he could feel her hostility. That could be useful, as well. She would have to decide whether her anger outweighed whatever it was she needed from him. He handed one of the glasses to Shay and sat.

“What took you so long?” his brother whispered. “I was ready to begin poking Harek just so I could be certain he wasn’t dead and the lot of you hadn’t completely deserted me.”

“I had them fetch me a better bottle,” Sebastian lied. “I refuse to drink the watered-down tripe they generally offer. But here, hold this a moment.” He handed over his own glass before he reached into his pocket. As he produced the pearl necklace, his brother’s eyes widened.

“What—”

“Shh.” Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against Josefina’s left ear. “I believe this is yours,” he murmured, sliding his hand along the arm of her chair to place the necklace in her palm. “Put it in your reticule. It won’t do for anyone to see you dressing in public.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said audibly, her voice rich and easy as always. If not for the shaking of her fingers he would have thought her perfectly composed.

As he sat back and recaptured his drink, Shay continued to eye him. “She dropped it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I saw it on the floor just outside.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Do you think I ran out and bought it just now? Watch the bloody play.”

“I am.”

During intermission Josefina smiled and chatted with their rapt fellow theater guests as though he hadn’t rendered her moaning and half naked earlier, but he noticed that she had either Harek’s arm or Shay’s, and kept at least one of them between herself and him.

He wondered whether she was more angry that he hadn’t completed the seduction, or that he’d caught her in what was most probably a lie. Whatever the answer was to that question, he meant to find out.

In the morning he stifled a yawn as he took his seat in the House of Lords. Four hours of Denmarkian tragedy followed by another six of sleeplessness had soured his mood beyond what even he could call reasonable. As soon as the morning’s arguments began over Prinny’s newest round of debts, he leaned forward to tap the shoulder of the gentleman seated below him.

The fellow turned around. “Melbourne.”

“Lord Beltram. I was wondering if you’d received my inquiry.”

“I did. In fact,” and he patted his left breast pocket, then pulled a folded piece of paper from it, “I found your fellow. He resides in Eton. Teaches there, actually.”

Sebastian took the paper from the minister. “My thanks,”
he said, opening it to read the address. “You’ve saved me a great deal of effort.”

“Then perhaps you won’t mind introducing me to those South American royals when they all return to London. At ninety pounds a bond, I’m pulling out of the Italian loans and buying stock in Costa Habichuela. How much have you purchased? Half the country, I’ll wager, since you’ve got the rey practically in your pocket.”

“Certainly I’ll introduce you, William,” he said carefully. If his suspicions were unfounded, he was not going to be the one to cause all of the infant country’s much-needed investors to flee. England could use the alliance. “Though you know Harek’s taken over the liaison position. I have too many of my own candles burning as it is.”

“No doubt,” Beltram said, chuckling. He looked past Sebastian. “Lord Deverill.”

A hand clapped Sebastian on the shoulder. “Beltram, Melbourne,” the marquis said with a short smile.

“Valentine,” Sebastian returned. “This is a bit early in the day for you, isn’t it?”

His brother-in-law sank into his seat. “You have no idea. Rose has decided she must have teeth, and Eleanor’s decided that baths in lavender water will soothe the infant, so I’ve decided that at the moment Corbett House is the loudest, smelliest location in Britain.”

Sebastian laughed. “You were warned that domesticity has its perils.”

“Yes, I know. For the most part I actually adore it. To think that Nell and I made that small, squawking, giggling bundle—it’s…humbling.”

For a moment Sebastian gazed at his closest friend. “I know what you mean,” he finally said, waiting for the pang in his chest he always felt when he thought of what he’d planned with Charlotte, and what they hadn’t had
time to do. The pain was still there, but it felt older, like a regret rather than a fresh wound.

“Speaking of idiots,” Valentine said, breaking into his reverie, “apparently Harek’s taking the princess to Tattersall’s today.”

“Were we speaking of idiots?”

“Maybe that was just me. I’m trying to figure out why a king looking for investors and contacts leaves his business liaison with his daughter while he rides off to Scotland.”

“Because the best way to legitimize a new regime is to marry it with an old, established one.”

Valentine looked across the crowded chamber. “You knew that from the beginning, didn’t you? That you were being maneuvered toward the altar?”

“It wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“Then I understand why you resigned your post with them. What baffles me, though, is why you’re still waltzing with the chit and taking her to the theater.”

The question sounded so simple; it
was
simple. Something about the circumstances of Costa Habichuela troubled him, and he wanted his questions answered. To do that, however, he might just as easily have pursued a friendship with the rey and thereby spared himself any entanglements with the daughter. “Whatever my personal reservations,” he said in a low voice, “I have no reason to discourage investors. If I cut ties without explanation, that would likely result.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” the marquis returned. “After Parliament I’m sending my accountant out to purchase a hundred bonds. With a family to think of now, I’m looking for a solid, long-term investment.”

Bloody hell
. “Hold off on that, will you?” he muttered.

“Aha! I knew it. What the devil’s going on?”

Sebastian scowled at his hands. “Maybe nothing. I don’t
know. It’s just that I’ve conducted enough business to know that very few things have no downside to them. I’m still trying to determine what the underbelly of Costa Habichuela looks like.”

“Fair enough.”

It sounded that way, thankfully, but they both knew that he hadn’t explained why he continued to focus his attention on Princess Josefina, and why even when he suspected that all was not precisely as she claimed, the most pressing matter seemed to be finding another opportunity to see her.

Harek had found a bench several yards from the main auction pen at Tattersalls, and as Josefina sat and greeted and chatted with everyone from viscounts to grooms, she felt as though she was holding court. The duke stood at her elbow, acting every inch the host, while Lieutenant May served as a visible, black-garbed bodyguard.

“I bought two bonds yesterday,” a well-dressed young man was saying as he all but knelt at her feet. “Do you have plans to sell plots of land? I’ve read the prospectus, and I have to say that I’d rather take my chances owning land in Costa Habichuela than in relying on the charity of my father and older brother.”

“He is the youngest son to the Marquis of Bronshire,” Harek whispered, leaning over her shoulder. “Five older siblings.”

“That isn’t something the rey had planned for this visit,” she returned with a smile, “but I will let him know that we have at least one interested party.”

“And me, Your Highness!” someone further back in the crowd yelled.

“Aye!”

“Aye! I’d trade shoveling horse shit for sea breezes and good land any day!”

Everyone laughed. Goodness. She herself found London enchanting. It had never really occurred to her that anyone would be willing—much less eager—to trade a familiar life for an unknown one in an untamed, unseen land.

“Perhaps once we’ve had time to utilize the bank’s generous loan, we might be able to formalize some sort of immigration agreement with England.”

“Why wait?” someone else called. “I’d go in a fast tick!”

She laughed the comment off again. “I shall tell the rey,” she repeated. As she spied a trio of ladies approaching, two of them familiar, she stood. “Lady Caroline, Lady Sarala,” she said, inclining her head. “And this must be your sister, Lady Deverill.”

The brunette marchioness curtsied, a shallow but respectful gesture that reminded Josefina of the woman’s eldest brother. “I’m pleased to finally meet you, Your Highness,” she said with a smile. “I feel as if I’m the last person in London to do so.”

“Harek informs me that he’s never seen the auctions this well attended before.”

“Perhaps Your Highness would care to refresh yourself by joining us for luncheon?” Lady Deverill returned.

Thank heavens.
“That would be acceptable,” she said, trying not to sound too eager to escape. “Your Grace, I give you leave to see to that pair of bays you wanted to purchase.”

Harek bowed. “My barouche is at your disposal, ladies.”

“Thank you,” the marchioness said with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes, “but we have our own transportation. Your Highness, this way.”

As they walked through the boisterous crowd, Conchita and Lieutenant May fell in behind them. In the company of the other three ladies, the addition of a maid and a guard
seemed a bit gauche, and Josefina signaled Conchita to approach her.

“You and the lieutenant should return to Branbury House,” she said.

“But Your High—”

“I’ll be fine.” She raised her voice. “Certainly one of these gracious ladies will be kind enough to return me home after our luncheon.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Conchita bobbed, her expression still dubious. “Very well. Lieutenant?”

With her servants gone, Josefina concentrated her attention on her companions. “Did Melbourne ask you to come by?” she asked, unable to keep her voice from sticking on his name. She hated the blasted man, and she hated the way she’d dreamed all night of his hands and his mouth caressing her. He thought he was so clever, to excite her and then accuse her of lying when she couldn’t even remember what she’d said.

“Heavens no,” Lady Deverill returned, stopping beside a large barouche with the yellow Deverill crest painted on the door panel. “Caro and Sarala have been talking about you, and I wanted to meet you.”

“I’m pleased for that,” Josefina returned, allowing the groomsman to hand her into the carriage, “because though my country can use the publicity of my presence, I have to admit that having so many people hanging on my every word is a bit…disconcerting.”

“They all adore you,” Lady Sarala commented with a warm smile, the trace of a foreign accent in her words.

“If I may ask, my lady, you’re not from here, are you? London, I mean.”

“I grew up in India,” Lord Charlemagne’s wife said. “And I must say, you’ve done a much better job at facing the
ton
of London than I did.”

“My country’s good will depends on it.”

Lady Sarala nodded again. “Shay tells me that you had a sea of admirers at the theater last evening.”

And only one with his mouth on her breasts. Josefina shook herself. These ladies were Griffins either by birth or by marriage, and last night Sebastian Griffin had called her a liar. It would be foolish to assume she’d been asked to luncheon purely out of friendship. “Everyone has been very gracious,” she commented. “Our visit here has been fortuitous. And my father is so hopeful now for the future of Costa Habichuela.”

“Do you mean to reside in Costa Habichuela yourself?” Lady Caroline sat beside her, while the other two ladies took the back-facing seat opposite.

“It is my home. Of course I mean to live there.”

“Of course,” Lady Deverill agreed hurriedly. “I think Caro only wondered if the rey might have you stay on in London to continue your efforts to raise funds and support for your country.”

“My father spent so much time away from my mother and me that he has vowed we should never be separated again. He wanted me to travel to Scotland with him, but I insisted that I would be more useful here.”

“Does he mean to secure additional loans there?”

“That is his intention, yes.” She’d initially been against the attempt, but now she had to agree with his assessment that no time could be better for stirring up interest than the days immediately following a monarch’s ceremonial arrival in a friendly country.