The Duke's Indiscretion (2 page)

Sir Thomas scratched his side whiskers, a wry smile playing across his mouth as he glanced around once again to the now nearly empty foyer. “It's a good excuse, and the man will certainly sell it. He's in quite a bind financially, we believe, and the piano
forte is worth a pretty penny.” He sighed. “But I also want you inside his home, to see how the man is living, to take a general count of his possessions and such. When you offer for the instrument, ask for a complete bill of sale. That's all. You can work with that, can't you?”

Of course he could work with just a bill of sale; he was a professional, after all. Still, Colin remained silent on that point, pondering the strange request from his superior.

Sir Thomas recognized his reservation and piped in jovially, “It's for the good of England, old boy.”

And that settled the matter. How could he possibly say no? With an exaggerated exhale, he relented. “Give me a week or so.”

Sir Thomas smiled broadly. “No problem, that. The man has a sister, as well. Had three or four Seasons already and she refuses every suitor, or so I've heard. Perhaps you can court her.”

Colin snorted through a chuckle. “Not bloody likely.”

The older man shook his head with feigned pity. “As the lovely Duchess of Durham only just said, you need a wife.”

Following that sound advice, Sir Thomas reached up and patted his shoulder, then abruptly left him—to hunt down his own consort before she lectured him regarding the necessity of being seated on time, Colin gathered. Wives were trouble, spending all your money on frivolities, whining when you denied them luxuries, and nagging constantly about nothing of any importance. What he needed was a good mistress who did none of those things without risk of
losing all she gained by the companionship. It had been ages, it seemed, since he'd bedded a woman, and the only woman he wanted right now was the beautiful and artistically brilliant Lottie English.

That thought in mind, he curbed his excitement over the evening's coming events, and turned toward the stairs just as the orchestra began to play.

A
s always, Lottie English shined on stage. Colin sat next to Sam and Olivia in box three, the very box he'd purchased directly after hearing the famed soprano sing for the first time nearly four years ago, before she'd become the star she was today. Again tonight, she managed to engage him completely, not just with her mesmerizing performance and spectacular voice, but also by her uncanny ability to own the stage, to captivate the entire audience. He watched her now, dressed in costume, her hair, whatever its true color, hidden behind a tall, white wig, her face covered in cosmetics. Yet she still had the ability to look graceful and poised, even breathtaking, though he supposed her entire performance enraptured him. She had high cheekbones, an oval face, a small waist, and a nicely formed bosom, from what he'd noticed over the years. And she sang like an angel.

“She's magnificent,” Olivia whispered to him when
Lottie's first aria concluded and the audience broke out into applause.

He beamed with a silly sense of pride through nearly every second of her performance, a satisfaction that didn't exactly make sense as she wasn't yet his to be proud of. But, God willing, and with a great deal of personal persuasion, she would be soon. Very soon.

Finally the last interval drew close, and his heart began to pound from a sudden, new surge of excitement. The time had almost arrived for him to go behind the stage to meet her, at long last, and she could hardly deny him access to her presence if he presented himself as the noble Duke of Newark. Colin rarely used his title as a ploy to get what he wanted, but he really couldn't see any other way, and shamefully, he'd grown almost desperate in his fantasies. He had to know if she stirred his blood in person as she did from afar.

He glanced to Olivia and Sam during the final scene before the break, noting with amusement how Sam could hardly keep his eyes open, which made him wonder how many gentlemen in the audience this night were reacting the same. Olivia, naturally, seemed as enthralled as he, though obviously for different reasons. Quickly, he reached over and gently squeezed her hand, begging for luck, he supposed, and she looked at him, shaking her head.

“Behave,” she mouthed.

He only winked in response, then stood and silently left his box.

Colin had never been behind the stage during any production, so he wasn't at all sure what to expect.
But he fully intended to do everything in his power to remain anonymous and avoid everyone who wasn't part of the opera or theater staff. If Lottie English laughed in his face and dismissed him, he could only imagine the humiliation that might arise if someone from the audience happened to catch a glimpse of him.

The music on stage continued with intensity as he held his head high and pretended to know exactly what he was about. Quietly, he descended the stairs and swiftly made his way down the left corridor that led to the lower orchestra seating, encountering only one or two patrons outside the theater proper who hardly gave him a second glance. He had just a few seconds before applause would break out, signaling the final interval, and he wanted to be inside before anyone noticed him. Finally an overseer of sorts came into view, standing guard in front of the wooden doors that secured the backstage area, probably from people like him who would disrupt the act and its players intentionally or otherwise.

Planting his best charming smile upon his mouth, Colin strode up to the theater employee with a purposeful, regal bearing, until he stood before the scrawny young man who, up close, didn't appear to be more than twenty years of age.

“His grace, the Duke of Newark, to see Miss English, please,” he stated with casual assurance, pulling down on his velvet cuffs. “I won't be but a minute.”

The youth's eyes lit up fractionally in surprise as he scanned him from head to foot, assessing. “Is she expecting you?”

Predicting such a standard inquiry, Colin clasped his hands behind his back, never averting his direct gaze. “Of course. And it's important.”

After only seconds of deciding it best not to tempt a confrontation with a man of his rank, the youth nodded once. “You'll only have a few minutes, your grace,” he admonished, just a trace of disapproval in his tone, “before the final act begins.”

“I shouldn't need more,” he replied lightheartedly.

The young man moved to his side and opened the door, just enough for him to slip through, then closed it softly behind him.

Colin stood in the dark, allowing only seconds for his eyes to adjust, then made his way around various bins and large, painted scenes, ropes and pulleys, and props of all kinds, hearing the sudden cheering and applause from the audience just as he neared the small back rooms where he knew the protagonists and players would take a few minutes of rest before returning to the stage for the opera's finale.

He heard soft voices and snickering around him as the cast and crew started making their way backstage, though he acted very well as if he knew precisely what he was doing, nodding once or twice to work hands in grubby attire who glanced at him, showing only the slightest interest, or perhaps confusion, in seeing a man in formal regalia treading where he shouldn't. He knew which room belonged to Lottie, as he'd attempted to meet her here before, and he walked immediately toward it without interruption. Drawing a deep breath for confidence, and hearing not a word inside, he grasped the knob and let himself in.

Her dressing room was a bit brighter than he thought it would be, taking note of three oil lamps, lit for the interval, two on each side of the dressing table that reflected light from the long, gilt framed mirror, and one across the small room, sitting atop an old oak wardrobe.

Colin first noticed a lady's maid, adorned in costume, placing cosmetics, brushes and little bottles of who knew what on the table in front of the mirror. She glanced up when she heard him enter, staring at him, her mouth opened a bit in puzzlement.

“Are you—may I help you, sir?” she asked with wide eyes, clutching a thick brush to her breasts.

Colin smiled. “I'm here to meet Miss English.”

“Oh.” She hesitated, looking him up and down with assessment just as the scrawny youth had done. “Is she expecting you?”

He wanted to tell her abruptly to leave, and that his reasons for intruding were none of her business. But he supposed it was highly unusual for the famed soprano to be interrupted by strange men from the audience during a performance.

“Yes,” he answered simply, looking not at her, but around the room, observing for the first time how the decorations were highly indicative of a female's touch, including a small, emerald-green velveteen settee leaning against one floral papered wall, and several dozen roses of every possible color, displayed in numerous crystal vases placed on every flat surface he could see. Apparently he wasn't Lottie's only gentleman admirer, he thought, amused and a little irked by the revelation.

He glanced back to the girl, who continued to stare at him, apparently stumped. In a fair but commanding voice, he stated, “Please excuse us, won't you?”

The girl blinked quickly, swallowing. “I—but I need to see to her needs.”

Colin slowly sauntered toward her. “
I'll
see to her needs this night.”

“And just what needs might those be, your grace?”

Caught off guard, Colin pivoted quickly around to face the exquisite stature and husky, sensual voice of the great Lottie English, who now stood in the opened doorway, resting her shoulder against the frame, arms interlocked across her chest, forgoing a curtsy as she gazed at him curiously.

He felt his skin prickle with gooseflesh, his face flush beneath the tightness of his collar, and he clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from shaking.

“Miss English,” he acknowledged, his tone purposely low and controlled, “at long last we meet.”

The great soprano watched him closely for a few long, awkward seconds. Then she straightened and stepped inside the dressing room with great effort due to the unusually wide hoops of her costume. “You may leave, Lucy Beth. I'll handle him.”

Handle me?
She didn't seem at all pleased by his unannounced and unexpected interruption, and the coolness in her manner took him aback, if only just a little.

Still a bit confused, the young lady's maid nevertheless did as ordered, curtsying twice. “Ma'am. Your grace.” And then she scurried out the door like a rabbit on the run, closing it behind her with a thud.

Colin hardly noticed her departure as he held the candid gaze of his fantasy, standing before him for the first time. She looked positively radiant tonight, and more beautiful than he'd ever imagined. She wore a period gown of luxurious white and aqua satin, cut low across her breasts, and obviously a corset that lifted them to heights of sheer glory. Her wide eyes, a magnificent blue, were outlined in thick kohl to enhance their color and boldness on the stage, her perfectly shaped face covered in heavy white cream and dusted with powder that matched her high wig, now glittering from the golden ribbons winding through it that reflected the lamplight.

“You're staring,” she remarked as she suddenly whisked past him toward her dressing table, sitting in the small, padded chair as gracefully as possible with massive hoops, pausing to consider her image in the glass.

He hadn't realized he was doing that exactly, but he wouldn't deny it. “You're a vision,” he admitted soberly, moving his large form very slowly in her direction, watching with fascination as she began to brush more powder on her cheeks.

“Why are you here, your grace? Certainly you've got better things to do with your time than interrupt a performance.”

“How do you know who I am?” he asked as he concentrated on his steady breathing so as not to sound totally bewitched.

One side of her painted red lips tilted up coyly as she glanced at him through the mirror. “I think everyone knows who you are.”

“A fair reply,” he drawled, his own sly grin etched
into his features. “But I'm more concerned with you and what
you
know about me.”

“Are you,” she said rather than asked. Without looking at him, she added, “I've been very much aware of you for a long time now.”

She would never know how greatly those few words encouraged him.

She sighed and lowered her powder brush to open a tiny tub of bright red rouge. “You think I haven't noticed you cheering from box three after every performance I give?”

That additional comment subdued him a little, realizing for the first time that he might look nothing more than foolish to her. “I can't help myself, Miss English,” he answered honestly. “You…entrance me.”

Her smiled deepened a little as she began to paint the red onto her cheeks. “That's very interesting.”

He stepped closer. “Indeed. And it appears many gentlemen are just as taken with you. Although they're undoubtedly well deserved, I've never seen so many roses in one room in my life.”

Her smile faded a little, and he had to wonder if his words had annoyed her as his appearance likely had, the last thing he wanted to do now that he was finally speaking to her.

“Lottie English is a sensation,” she disclosed, her voice husky and contemplative. “But none of the men who send me flowers and jewels and chocolates really knows
me
at all. They simply like what they see, or what I pretend to be.” Her gaze quickly scanned his face through the mirror, then returned to her cosmetics. “They don't know me any more than you do,
your grace.”

Softly, he confessed, “I understand.”

“Do you?” she asked lightly.

“Yes.”

She shifted her attention to her bright red lips as she nimbly began reapplying the same crimson color to her mouth with tiny strokes from an outline brush.

“Is that why
you've
never sent me roses?”

Truthfully, doing such a thing had not occurred to him, and now he was quite glad it hadn't. Sending her roses would have made him just like all the other admirers she seemed to enjoy ignoring, even brushing aside as a nuisance.

Taking another few steps closer to stand behind her chair, he now peered at her through the mirror. “You're very beautiful,” he asserted, his voice a deep, gruff whisper. “A token of flowers could never do you justice.”

He witnessed the briefest hesitation in her lip application, but she didn't look at him. “You flatter me, sir. And yet it's true that cosmetics do wonders for a pale and ordinary face.”

He frowned a little at that. “Never ordinary, dear Lottie. It's exquisite. But I meant all of you, including your voice.”

She blinked, clearly unnerved by his candor, her blue eyes vibrant, striking as she stared into his through the glass. “Why are you here?”

The question, this time, held genuine interest, and the heat of her gaze coupled with the intensity in her tone pummeled him with a sudden rush of satisfaction. Smiling gently, he replied, “I want to get to
know you better.”

She watched him carefully, her eyelids narrowed in stark evaluation. Then she exhaled a quick breath as she lowered her lashes, turning her attention back to her table of cosmetics, reaching for a hair comb. “I hardly think you're here to ask me to dinner.”

“Dinner would be lovely,” he swiftly returned.

She shrugged with a sigh. “But alas, it's not to be. You can hardly court me, your grace, so what would be the point?”

The
point
? To get you in my bed, of course, he thought with exasperation. She had to know that.

Gingerly, lingeringly, he raised one hand and ran his fingertips down the side of her neck in a gentle, wispy movement, relishing the softness, aching to do more. To his relief, she neither flinched nor scolded him. She shivered instead, just minutely, and that's when Colin realized, in a moment of pure elation, how entranced she was with him.