When His Kiss Is Wicked (18 page)

But what would Jeffrey think of her if he knew the truth of what she had done with Lucien? For all that Juliette described him as understanding and forgiving of women’s indiscretions, Colette did not believe he would easily overlook such an intimate past between his best friend and his wife.

Jeffrey was being so sympathetic and comforting that for an impulsive moment she considered telling him about what happened with Lucien. Although she would love to hear his thoughts on the matter, she could not bring herself to say the words aloud. What she had done with Lucien was too humiliating. Too ruinous. And Jeffrey did not need to be burdened by such information about his closest friend.

While she sat with this wonderful man’s arms around her, she longed for the arms of another man. She felt dreadful.

“Jeffrey?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry…I…” she stammered awkwardly. “I…Forgive me. You have been very sweet to me, and here I am burdening you with all of my problems. You must have been on your way somewhere this evening, before you saw me running down the street like a complete madwoman. You were very kind to stop and help me, but I’ve taken up enough of your time. Could you please take me home now?”

Jeffrey nodded and gave instructions to his driver to go to Hamilton’s. He then turned to her, demanding her attention with a glance. “I didn’t stop to help you simply to be kind, but because I care about you very much, Colette. You are a special woman. I admire all that you have done with the bookshop and I am terribly saddened to see you lose it. I am not giving up hope that there still is not something we can do to rectify the situation.”

“Thank you, Jeffrey.”

“Does Juliette know about the shop being sold?”

“I suppose she does by now, and she is probably out of her mind with worry, wondering where I am.”

“Yes, I’m sure she is worried. However, before we get you home, I wish to say something to you.”

Sensing a seriousness in him, she nodded to let him know he had her full attention.

“I want you to know that you can count on me for anything you need. You can come to me any time of day or night and I will help you.”

When Colette looked at him he was staring at her with a look on his face that puzzled her. He really was a handsome man. Oh, not handsome in the same way Lucien was. Lucien was more—oh, Lucien was just Lucien.

At Jeffrey’s gallant offer of assistance she could only murmur once again, “I will. Thank you.”

He was very close to her and he used that to his advantage as he leaned even closer to place a kiss her lips. It was a sweet kiss, gentle and tender. His lips felt warm and inviting. If Lucien had not passionately and thoroughly kissed her a number of times already, Colette might have enjoyed this lovely little kiss from Jeffrey. Slowly he pulled away from her. She gazed at him in the dim light of the carriage.

“I’m sorry,” he said, easing his head back against the seat. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why do men insist on apologizing after they kiss me?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

He turned, eyeing her curiously, the glimmer of a smile on his mouth. “Well, well, well. Just how many men have you kissed, Colette?”

Nervous laughter bubbled from her and she shook her head. “Not that many.”

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, jostling the two of them.

With his arm still around her, Jeffrey asked softly, “Would one of those men happen to be Lucien Sinclair?”

Feeling her cheeks warm in mortification at his question, Colette merely nodded and whispered a faint, “Yes.”

“I thought that might be the case. It seems you are quite the irresistible woman.”

She gave an inelegant, helpless shrug.

Suddenly Jeffrey cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, this time a more aggressive kiss, a more demanding kiss. His mouth covered hers heatedly, his arm pulling her tighter against his chest. Inexplicably, she kissed him back, her hands reaching around his neck. They clung to each other, their lips locked together. Just as she realized how breathless and dizzy she felt, he released her. Stunned by the impact of his kiss, she stared helplessly at him. Although his kiss was wonderful, she knew that something was lacking. The special connection she shared with Lucien had made their kisses more powerful, more intense, and so overwhelming. She forced herself to suppress the feeling that she had somehow betrayed Lucien by kissing Jeffrey.

Lucien does not care whom I kiss, because Lucien does not want me.

Giving her a crooked smile, he uttered in a low voice, “And I’m not apologizing for that one.”

Completely sympathetic now to all the women who had ever swooned at Jeffrey Eddington’s feet, she returned his smile. “I don’t wish for you to.”

He chuckled deep at her remark. Removing his arm from around her, he sat up straighter. “You should go back inside now and talk things out with your mother.”

“Thank you, Jeffrey.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it affectionately. “For everything.”

“You are very welcome. I may have to leave for France in a few weeks, but please remember that I am always here for you if you need me, Colette. You simply have to send word to me.”

Thinking it a somewhat odd statement for him to make—although very sweet—she could think of nothing to say but, “I will.”

With that he escorted her out of the carriage, helping her to the ground. He gave a little wave to her as he climbed back inside. Before Colette entered the shop, she turned back toward him with a heavy heart and watched his carriage drive away.

Lucien ascended the wide curving staircase of Devon House and headed to his father’s suite to read to him. He had returned home earlier than he had expected and thought he would use the time to begin their reading session. Just as he approached his father’s room, he heard the murmur of a soft female voice. Immediately ruling out the voice as Nurse Fiona, for she possessed a rather gravelly voice and this one was definitely pleasant, he wondered who had come to visit his father. The realization dawned on him before he actually saw her.

His heart pounding like thunder in his chest, Lucien stared at Colette Hamilton. She sat before the fire with his father, her head bent over the copy of
David Copperfield
. Reading aloud softly, her dulcet voice filled the room. In a lovely day gown of deep rose, with a matching jacket and her lustrous sable hair swept artfully off her neck, revealing smooth white skin, she looked incredibly beautiful. He fought a crazy impulse to kiss the back of her elegant neck.

What was she doing there? Why was she reading with his father, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be doing? How could she sit there and act as if nothing had happened between them just days ago in this very house? In his own bed, for Christ’s sake!

Lucien had not slept since the night of their earth-shattering encounter. He had not decided if his sleeplessness was caused by his blatant stupidity in having bedded her or by the haunting memories of the exquisite passion they had shared together. In truth the decision hardly mattered. He had made a terrible mistake with her and he did not know how to correct it.

Yes, he ought to marry her. She deserved that much respect from him. She had been an innocent and he had pressed his advantage with her, no matter how willing and enticing she had acted that evening. He had told her to leave and yet she had only pushed him further beyond his limits of self-control by willingly agreeing to continue.

Just what was she doing visiting his house unchaperoned that afternoon anyway? This was what came from women being independent and was exactly why he believed women should not be running their own business. It was simply wrong. There was no reason for her to be traipsing around town, visiting men in their homes! A beauty like Colette could wreak havoc upon the city. She was a walking temptation.

He still could not believe that it had even happened.

She had been astonishingly uninhibited and eager, kissing him passionately and relishing every caress. She had loved it just as much as he had, and her heartfelt words haunted him. “
I don’t regret it, not one minute of it. It was heavenly. And the most thrilling and most wonderful, and the most amazing…”
And he had humiliated her afterward.

He let her believe that she meant nothing to him.

Letting her believe the worst of him was easier than facing the truth himself. In all honesty, being with Colette had been like nothing else in his life.

And now she hated him. Her icy silence in the carriage when he took her home that night had been cold and final and told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him.

The ironic part was his reputation as a rake. He had earned such status a few years ago when he had quickly and effortlessly taken any woman who glanced at him in encouragement. His affairs had been meaningless and heartless, as he desperately struggled to satisfy the aching void within him to forget his disastrous relationship with the beautiful Lady Virginia Warren.

He conceded that he had a very public but brief affair with a famous opera singer, a fling with a lovely and talented actress, a few weekends in the country with a sweet tavern wench, and a rather long stint with a widowed duchess. And for the most part that was it. Which in his mind did not signify him as a rake, for he never seduced innocents. But after his well-known break with Virginia Warren the word spread, apparently from the young widow, who was not happy when he ended their affair, that Lucien Sinclair, the Earl of Waverly, had a way with women. Because his close friend was Lord Jeffrey Eddington, and Jeffrey
did
dally with scores of women, and being that society loved to suspect the worst of people, they readily believed that Lucien was more of a scoundrel than he actually was. Granted, his penchant for enjoying himself did nothing to quell the rumors either.

All had been done in an effort to rid his memory of Virginia Warren.

Now there was a woman he never should have gotten involved with. Virginia spelled trouble right from the start, but he had been blinded by her sultry beauty and his own ardor.

And he would not let that happen to him again. Which was why he could not let down his guard with Colette. Especially the modern, forward-thinking, independent, and beautiful Colette. If someone like Virginia could devastate him so thoroughly, then Colette Hamilton would surely destroy him for good.

Now debating whether or not to let his presence be known, he observed the scene for a while longer, oddly enjoying Colette sitting with his father. Perhaps she sensed him, but she suddenly glanced toward the doorway and stumbled over the words on the page, losing her place. His father turned toward him and offered a lopsided half-smile.

“Good afternoon,” Lucien said.

Colette nodded at him and closed the book, directing her gaze toward her father. “I would so love to stay and continue reading with you, Lord Stancliff, but I should be going now, for it is later than I realized. I shall return again next week.”

Simon held out his hand to her and Colette took his gnarled hand in hers, smiling at him. Touched by the affection between them, Lucien muttered, “I did not mean to intrude. You may continue reading if you wish, Miss Hamilton.”

Without meeting his eyes, Colette rose from the chair and gathered her things. “I’m sorry, but I really must be going home now.”

She brushed by him as she passed through the doorway. Lucien stood immobile for a moment, gave an apologetic glance to his father, and then hurried after her. Colette had continued walking at a brisk pace along the corridor but he managed to catch up with her at the top of the staircase. Reaching out, he touched his hand to her shoulder. She paused, but still did not look at him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked softly.

Colette flinched away from him, shrugging her shoulder to avoid contact with his hand. Taking a step down the stairs, she finally looked back up at him. “I was not expecting you to be home, but I was here doing the job I agreed to do.”

What was she talking about?
What job?
His perplexed look annoyed her.

“Your library, remember?” she prompted him, her tempting mouth frowning.

He shook his head in blank puzzlement.

“I was working in your library this afternoon, and I thought I would visit with your father before I left since I promised him that I would the last time…”

Stunned, Lucien stared at her in mute surprise. He had completely forgotten about his hasty invitation to help select books. Given what they had shared later that night, he would have expected her to disregard their earlier agreement about his library. Besides, he did not think he could bear the temptation of having her in his house. “After what happened between us, why would you do such a thing?”

“Why?” she echoed in affronted outrage.

For a moment he thought she might slap him, but then she squared her petite shoulders and held up her chin proudly. God, she was gloriously beautiful. Standing there on the staircase, poised to defend herself, she was a woman unlike any he had ever known. The overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her once again washed over him in staggering waves. The memory of being buried deep within her and the sound of her voice crying out his name called to every nerve in his being. He clenched his hands tightly to keep himself from grabbing her and doing just that.

“Contrary to what you believe about women,” Colette began, her voice laced with passion, “I gave you my word that I would help with the library, and I committed to read to your father. What kind of businesswoman would I be if I let my emotions guide me? Since you seem incapable of answering, I shall answer for you, Lord Waverly. If I allowed myself to cry and wail anytime my feelings were hurt by a man, I would not remain in business very long. However, no matter how fervently I wished never to see you or set foot in this house again, I did not let my emotions overrule my business decision.”

Impressed by her argument more than he wanted to admit, he remained silent as she stared at him, her incredible blue eyes flashing with anger.

“With Granger’s consent this afternoon, I have arranged for the library furniture to be delivered next week, and I shall return in a day or two to oversee the stocking of the shelves with the first book delivery. Good day, Lord Waverly.” She turned with an imperious toss of her silky curls and began to descend the stairs.

Lucien stood motionless, watching her go; fighting the urge to reach out and grab her, to stop her from leaving by carrying her back up to his bed and making love to her for days and days.

“Colette, wait, please,” he called after her.

She was midway down the long winding marble staircase when Granger hastened to answer the doorbell. Colette had just reached the last step as Lucien caught up with her and Granger opened the front door.

“Colette,” he began again. “Just give me a moment. I’m sorry—”

Lucien stopped abruptly at the sight before him, his mouth frozen in mid-sentence.

Lenora Sinclair stood in the doorway. Lucien recognized her instantly, for his mother had barely aged in fifteen years. As beautiful as ever but smaller than he remembered, she entered the house that had been her home for the first eleven years of her marriage to Simon Sinclair.

It had been a decade and a half since the venerable Devon House butler had opened the door for Lenora Sinclair, the Marchioness of Stancliff. Unruffled by this dramatic turn of family events, Granger calmly waved his arm to allow her entrance and closed the front door as if serving his long-absent mistress were an everyday occurrence.

“Hello, Granger,” Lenora Sinclair said, with an unsure smile, staring up at the tall, craggy-faced butler whom she had known since before Lucien was born. “I hope you have been well.”

“Welcome, my lady. It’s wonderful to see you again,” he murmured in his usual dignified tone. “Shall I bring you some tea? No cream, with two sugars?”

“Oh, you remembered…How thoughtful! Thank you, Granger, that would be lovely.” As Granger made a dignified exit and left them standing in the marble entrance hall, Lenora turned to her son. Her eyes softened and she uttered faintly, “Hello, Lucien.”

Her anxious expression and tentative smile made her seem fragile, not at all the forceful whirlwind of stylish glamour and sparkling brightness he remembered from his childhood. She stood about as high as his chest, the dark hair piled upon her head and hidden by a frivolous bonnet adorned with a peacock feather. A gown of deep blue draped over her still slender form. Her face had grown fine lines, but the porcelain creaminess of her skin had not faded over the years. Lucien figured his mother had to be closer to fifty than forty by now. Her upturned nose and wide emerald-hued eyes, the same shade as Lucien’s, had always been Lenora’s most praised features, and they had held her in good stead over the years. She was still a very attractive woman.

“Hello, Mother.”

How odd to say those words after so many years. Hello, Mother.
Mother.
He had imagined her return thousands of times when he was a young boy. His favorite fantasy consisted of his waking one morning to find his mother sitting calmly beside his father at the breakfast table as if she had never left, asking brightly, “What would you like to do today, my darling boy? Shall we go riding together? Or go on a picnic?” The very ordinariness of that domestic scene had been such a perfect antidote to the empty chaos his life had become when she left. Of the various scenarios of his mother’s grand return he had alternately prayed for and wished for over the years, none of them ever involved him as a grown man standing awkwardly with her in the elegant hall of Devon House.

He had absolutely no idea what to say to her. She was his mother, but he did not know the woman in front of him.

“I was not expecting you today,” he said woodenly, for lack of anything better to say.

“I’m sorry for calling unannounced like this. I know we planned for next week, but I…I just couldn’t stay away any longer.”

“Yes, fifteen years is a long time to stay away from your husband and son.” The sarcastic remark escaped his lips before he could stop himself. Honestly, what was her impatience to see them after all those years? She couldn’t wait a few more days to arrive at the time he had agreed to meet her? When he could have been more prepared to see her?

His mother stared pleadingly at him while an awkward silence descended upon them.

A sudden poke in his ribs jarred him back to his senses. He had completely forgotten about Colette. She stood quietly beside him observing the entire Sinclair family drama unfold. Colette’s face, now devoid of her earlier anger, possessed a look of surprised interest and even concern. Lucien’s infamous mother had finally come home. No doubt all of London society would hear of the news by sundown.

“Excuse my rudeness,” Lucien said, noticing the curious looks between the two women. “Mother, may I present Miss Colette Hamilton, a very good friend of mine. Colette, this is my mother, Lenora Sinclair, the Marchioness of Stancliff.”

“I am very happy to meet you, Lady Stancliff,” Colette said with a polite smile.

His mother gave an eager nod, seemingly relieved to hear a kind word. “And I am pleased to meet you, too.”

Another awkward pause lengthened between the three of them. Lucien could not help but note the very odd trio they made: himself and the two women who ironically tortured his thoughts.

“Lucien, why don’t you escort your mother to the parlor now where you can sit comfortably and Granger can serve tea?” Colette proposed softly.