When His Kiss Is Wicked (21 page)

Lucien entered Hamilton’s Book Shoppe hesitantly, glancing around for Colette. He still had not been able to talk to her privately since that night in his bedroom, but felt safer seeing her at the shop. Since it was almost closing time, he hoped he would have a chance to talk to her privately.

Seated atop a tall stool behind the counter, Paulette lit up when she saw him and she gave a little wave. “Hello, Lord Waverly! I mean, Lucien.”

“Good evening, Paulette.” He returned her smile, intrigued by her animated little expression. “Are you minding the store alone again?”

“Yes.” She nodded proudly, straightening her shoulders. “I’m quite accomplished at it.”

“Where are your sisters?”

“Upstairs. Colette will be down in a minute to close up.”

“I see.” He looked around the shop, still marveling at the incredible changes Colette had made over the weeks. She had truly accomplished so much since the first time he had visited there. Her ability to make her dreams a reality impressed him.

“Are you here to buy books or to see Colette?” Paulette asked with an arch look.

The impish gleam in her pretty eyes caused him to smile in spite of himself. He had been fairly caught by a fifteen-year-old. “I confess. I am here for the sole reason of speaking to your sister,” he admitted.

She grinned knowingly. “I thought as much.”

“Do you mind if I wait here for her?” He placed his hat on the counter.

Paulette nodded affirmatively. “I must warn you though, you should hurry, you don’t have much time left before we leave.”

What was the girl talking about? “Time for what?”

“Time to ask Colette to marry you.”

Stunned, Lucien could only stare at her for a moment. “However did you get that idea into your head?”

“Well, isn’t that why you are here all the time, because you are in love with her?”

Lucien shook his head in mute silence.
Because he was in love with her?
He was not in love with Colette!

Giving him a skeptical look, Paulette uttered with complete confidence, “It’s obvious to me that you are both in love with each other.”

“Is it, now?” To think he had once believed Paulette to be a highly intelligent and reasonable child. Now she was talking complete nonsense. He was not in love with Colette, nor was Colette in love with him.
Was she?
Which led him to ask another question, “What do you mean before you leave?”

“Hasn’t she told you yet? Uncle Randall finally sold the shop and my mother has purchased a house for us in Brighton. We’re moving there soon, so it would be best if you proposed to Colette before we leave.”

Ignoring her remark about proposing, he asked, “Brighton? Are you all really moving there?” It had never occurred to him that they would leave London.

She nodded, somewhat sadly. “That’s where our mother wishes to live.”

He was surprised Colette had not mentioned this to him, but then again, things had not been the same between them since the night at his house. She must be devastated. “Is Colette terribly upset about losing the shop?”

“Of course she is. I knew she would be. But she is handling it quite well.”

“Yes,” Lucien mumbled, lost in his thoughts. This was not turning out as he anticipated.

“Hello.”

Turning around at the sound of her voice, Lucien faced Colette, looking lovely in a simple dress of dark burgundy, her full breasts outlined temptingly. Her long chocolate-colored hair was pulled loosely back from her face. Lucien found himself aroused just looking at her, amazed at the force of his desire. He took a deep breath. He’d been half expecting her to toss him from the shop on sight; her neutral greeting gave him hope that perhaps the evening might be pleasant after all.

With a warm smile, he nodded to her. “Good evening.”

Colette turned to her younger sister, looking at her pointedly. “Run along upstairs, Paulette.”

Putting up a protest, Paulette began valiantly, “I was just speaking to Lord Waverly and tell—”

“Go upstairs now, Paulette,” Colette repeated, her voice edged with impatience.

“Fine,” Paulette muttered with a beleaguered sigh, knowing she was defeated. She slid off the stool on which she had been perched and made her way reluctantly around the counter, bidding them both good night.

“It was lovely talking with you, Paulette,” Lucien said kindly. “Good night.”

“And don’t listen at the door!” Colette called after her sister as she reached the staircase.

“I wouldn’t dream of such a thing!” Paulette cried indignantly with her hands on her hips. With an affronted sigh, she closed the door firmly behind her.

“Oh, wouldn’t she, though,” Colette retorted as she silently raced back to the door and yanked it wide open. A flabbergasted Paulette jumped guiltily back from where she had been poised to listen.

“Aha!” Colette pronounced triumphantly. “Now go upstairs!”

As Lucien laughed out loud, Paulette fled up the steps and Colette closed the door behind her, locking it for good measure. “That should hold her for a while. It’s a terrible habit she has,” she explained as she made her way back to where Lucien had been waiting.

Still amused by the scene, Lucien had to come to Paulette’s defense, for he had benefited from at least one of her eavesdropping sessions. “Yes, but she has good intentions.”

“No, she doesn’t!” Colette cried, and then laughed in spite of herself.

“Your sisters are all wonderful,” he remarked earnestly. “You must know they love you very much.”

She nodded in agreement. “And I love them.”

“Your family is very important to you.” He stated the obvious. To know Colette was to know she loved her sisters. Enjoying the easy moment between them, Lucien hesitated to bring up the reason for his visit, and suddenly held the vain hope that she would not ask why he was there in the shop.

“Speaking of family,” she began quietly. “How was the visit with your mother?”

He sighed heavily, recalling the dramatic changes that had occurred at Devon House. A month ago he never would have thought it even a remote possibility. “It has not been easy for me. My mother and I are still working things through.”

“I would imagine you have a lot to catch up on. She’s been gone for a long time.”

“It’s strange to see her again,” he admitted. “I don’t know quite how to treat her.”

“Of course it must be awkward between you. Has she seen your father?”

“Surprisingly enough, she and my father have reconciled.”

Colette’s eyes widened. “He forgave her for leaving?” she asked incredulously.

Lucien nodded. “Apparently there is more to their story than I had been led to believe all these years.”

“I wonder what happened between them to cause her to leave a man like your father. Still, I don’t think I could forgive my husband for leaving me for someone else for years,” she murmured, shaking her head.

He looked at her curiously, intrigued by her comment. “Would you ever stray in your marriage, Colette?”

“Of course not.” She hesitated, and then questioned him, her blue eyes inquisitive. “Would you?”

“No.”

She glanced away and said nothing. They stood there in the empty shop, neither one addressing the issue that mattered most to both of them.

“I should close up now,” she murmured.

Without a word, Lucien assisted Colette in the now familiar process of shutting down the bookshop for the night. They worked together in companionable silence and once the front door was finally locked and the lights dimmed, she turned to him.

“Thank you for your help, but I think it is time for you to go,” she said, looking hesitant.

He did not want to leave. His desire to stay with her superseded all other feelings. “You haven’t asked why I came by to see you,” he stated in a low voice.

Keeping her eyes on his, she whispered, “Because I don’t wish to know.”

“Don’t you?” On an impulse he reached out and took her hand. Her elegant fingers, so surprisingly soft, felt ridiculously small and delicate in his. It amazed him that such small, feminine hands could accomplish so much. But Colette’s hands seemed capable of anything.

Colette shook her head, a silky tendril of her hair shaking loose, framing her face. She did not want to hear why he had come to see her, but she did not pull away, allowing him to hold her warm hand within his. Slowly his fingers threaded with hers, locking their hands together. An overwhelming sense of belonging settled over him. His thumb gently caressed her hand, stroking the soft skin of her palm.

She knows,
Lucien thought, with a pang of remorse. Colette had sensed what he had come to say; that he was sorry for what happened that night at Devon House, and that he wanted to help her somehow and make it up to her. And she did not wish to hear it from him.
Could he blame her?
He realized then that he was a complete idiot. He needed to say those things to her simply to assuage his own guilt. It would only make him feel better, not her. Aside from asking her to marry him, there
was
nothing he could say to her. He should not have even come.

Their fingers still intertwined, they stared at each other in the dimness of the empty shop. The clip-clop of a horse’s hooves on the cobblestone street outside echoed faintly through the room. Otherwise it was silent. Colette’s beautiful face tilted up to him, the shadowy light falling across her flawless cheeks, her expression full of sorrow.

Feeling unbearably responsible for the sadness in her eyes, Lucien pulled her to him, enfolding her in the comfort of his arms. Again, she did not resist, but almost seemed to welcome his embrace.

With her head resting against his chest, she melted into him. She felt like heaven in his arms. Gently he stroked the length of her back. The floral scent of her hair flooded his senses and he could not help but press a tender kiss to the top of her head, holding her tight.

“I’m so sorry, Colette.”

She looked up at his whispered words, her cheek pressed against his jacket. “Please don’t say that to me again.”

He looked down at her beautiful face, with her sensuous lips that beckoned to him, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest. He had never intended to hurt her. He wouldn’t knowingly hurt Colette for the world. He wished he could take back what happened that night at Devon House. No, perhaps he wouldn’t go that far. He reluctantly admitted to himself that he was glad he had made love to her. He simply wished he could take away the consequences of his impulsive actions that night. As he held this amazing woman in his arms, he marveled at how she made him feel.

And then he did it.

He leaned his head forward and covered her mouth with his. Unable to restrain himself, he kissed her with a heated intensity built up over days of not being able to see her or touch her except in his tormented dreams. He could not get enough of her. As his mouth took possession of her, a little sigh escaped her and he groaned. Something about Colette stoked a need for her in him that was out of his control, out of his realm of knowing.

Everything about her was wrong for him.

Colette Hamilton was too beautiful and too independent and too full of modern ways and notions. She voiced her opinions and made business deals and managed to take care of her family. She was too passionate and unrestrained in her emotions. She blatantly refuted every single one of his beliefs about what constituted a woman’s role in life. Still, he found himself irresistibly drawn to her. He felt strangely protective of her, even responsible for her. And yet, he desired her more than any woman he had ever known.
God, but he desired her.
Colette was a dangerous combination, and the truth be known, she terrified him.

And there he was kissing her. Yet again.

As his lips and tongue seared her, she responded eagerly, her hands snaking their way around his neck, her fingers splaying into his hair. She felt so good, so incredibly perfect in his arms, while her luscious tongue explored his mouth and her full breasts pressed against his chest. Her lithe little body beckoned to be touched and caressed and his hands ran the length of her, circling her slender waist and resting on the curves of her hips. He knew he was making another mistake in kissing her, but he could not rein in his impulses around her. He could not. He wanted to kiss her. Hold her. Touch her. Remove every shred of her clothing and kiss her all over. He wanted to drive himself into her sweet body over and over again until he couldn’t think about anything else. He just wanted her.

Oh, this was dangerous, he knew. Very dangerous. But he was beyond caring.

All he could see, feel, hear, touch, and taste was Colette.

His hands moved lower over her the delectable curve of her bottom. With his hands he squeezed and pressed her hips firmly against his. A soft moan escaped her and she rubbed herself against him and he caught his breath. Inflamed by the intimate contact, they kissed wildly, their passion for each other increasing with each gasping breath.

Colette tugged frantically at the collar of his jacket. At first he thought she grabbed him for support, and then the thrilling realization dawned on him. She was trying to remove his jacket.
God help him!

They were surely lost now, for how could he resist her?

With an eager groan, he shrugged his dark gray jacket from his shoulders, dropping it to the floor without losing contact with the sweetness of her mouth. The brass buttons of his silk waistcoat were her next focus, and soon the waistcoat joined his jacket in a pile on the floor. The sheer excitement of having Colette in a frenzy to undress him aroused him beyond belief. With mounting impatience, she hastily unfastened the buttons of his shirtfront, spreading the white linen wide, her hands running over the smooth planes of his chest.

Practically bare-chested now, his shirt gapping open to his waist, he began to walk her backward toward the bookshelf. She took awkward steps, her hands clinging to his naked shoulders beneath his open shirt, her lips still joined with his. He walked her in reverse until her back was against one of the bookshelves. His body trembling, Lucien could not get enough of her mouth and the heady, sweet taste of her. Her kisses were all-consuming. It was almost as if they feared that losing contact would break the seductive spell they had fallen under.