The Duke’s Indiscretion
ADELE ASHWORTH
This book is dedicated to the memory of
Maxine Harrison Garlick, my favorite
vocal instructor and musically gifted grandmother,
who chose love over fame by giving up
stardom on the operatic stage to elope
with a trumpet-playing marine biologist
in 1930s Seattle.
I miss you, Grandma!
And yes, I will practice…
Contents
Chapter 1
Colin Ramsey, third distinguished Duke of Newark, had been in…
Chapter 2
As always, Lottie English shined on stage. Colin sat next…
Chapter 3
Colin’s week had been hell. Aside from having to dismiss…
Chapter 4
Charlotte Hughes had been in love with Colin Ramsey, the…
Chapter 5
Colin rapped on the door of Sir Thomas’s office at…
Chapter 6
Colin stood in Earl Brixham’s sparsely decorated parlor, brushing his…
Chapter 7
Charlotte sat on her white, satin-covered vanity chair in her…
Chapter 8
Carlotte sat in Colin’s study, on the cushion-covered bench seat…
Chapter 9
Charlotte had great difficulty concentrating on the tedious lecture given…
Chapter 10
Dinner had been routine and rather uneventful despite the awkward…
Chapter 11
Charlotte sat at her dressing table, wearing her practical cotton…
Chapter 12
Charlotte sat rigidly across from her husband in the hackney…
Chapter 13
Charlotte had never had to act so well in her…
Chapter 14
Gripped by his own determination, Colin waited until he heard…
Chapter 15
Charlotte had never been so conflicted with emotion in all…
Chapter 16
Charlotte stared at her reflection in the mirror, her heart…
Chapter 17
Charlotte felt surprisingly refreshed this morning after such a fitful…
Chapter 18
Colin sat in the dark recesses of the theater, in…
Chapter 19
Their ride home had to be the most tense and…
Chapter 20
He carried her through the scullery and out into the…
Chapter 21
Colin entered Charlotte’s dressing room unnoticed, then closed the door…
Chapter 22
The entire theater was abuzz with exhilaration, the chatter and…
Chapter 23
Near the end of the second act, Colin rose from…
Chapter 24
Even after all the turmoil she’d just endured, with a…
Epilogue
Colin stirred from what he supposed was a nap, glancing…
About the Author
Other Books by Adele Ashworth
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
London, England
February, 1861
Colin Ramsey, third distinguished Duke of Newark, had been in love with Lottie English for three and a half years. Oh, that probably wasn’t her legal name, and of course he hadn’t actually been introduced to her formally. But the part of her that so engaged him when she sang upon the stage never ceased to capture his imagination, and, he suspected, would remain at the center of his very erotic fantasies until his dying breath—or at least until he bedded her.
Just such a vision of her lingered in his mind as he entered the magnificent Royal Italian Opera House in Covent Garden, vowing that tonight he would meet her face to face at last. He’d attempted to make her acquaintance twice before by calling on her behind the stage after her performances, but she’d cleverly eluded him, offering her final curtsy to her adoring public, then hastily leaving the theater by hired hack to places unknown before he could reach her.
That was the mystery of Lottie English, and, Colin supposed, why she endured as his fantasy, haunting his dreams. Nobody knew who she was, aside from her persona as one of England’s greatest coloratura sopranos.
Tonight, however, performing as Susanna in Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro, he would watch her as always, but his plan had changed from all previous attempts to introduce himself after her performance. Tonight, he would catch her unawares during the final interval. Because he was the Duke of Newark, she could hardly deny him a request for an audience.
Highly confident, Colin felt as giddy as a schoolboy as he spied his friends, Samson Carlisle, the Duke of Durham, and the man’s new wife, Olivia, sipping champagne in the center lobby of the opera house. Of course everybody he personally knew had, over time, become quite aware of his lustful infatuation with the lovely Lottie, and they were all, one way or another, rather amused by it, enough to tease him on occasion, as they undoubtedly would tonight.
The magic of the impending performance charged the air, as Colin graciously nodded to a few ladies who curtsied to him as he passed through the crowded foyer, lit brightly by wall sconces and crystal chandeliers. He’d dressed formally this evening, choosing his finest evening suite in black silk with velveteen collar and cuffs, a white shirt with pleated frills, and a charcoal-gray waistcoat and matching cravat secured by an onyx tie pin. He’d brushed his hair back from his face, shaved closely, and wore only a trace of musk cologne. Nothing but the best for Lottie English.
Olivia noticed him first, her dark blue eyes sparkling knowingly as he walked up to stand beside her. “I see you’re looking your best for Lottie English.”
Sam snorted.
Colin grinned, grasping her gloved palm and leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“You never seem to think of anything else,” Sam drawled. “At least not lately.”
He shrugged. “It is the winter opera season.”
“Indeed,” Olivia agreed. Then with a nod of her head to beckon them, she moved to her side a little so that she closed in on the wall to her right, taking them away from the growing crowd. After a sip of champagne, she murmured sneakily, “I’ve heard a rumor about her…”
Colin’s brows rose. “Oh? I adore rumors.”
“Especially if they’re about you,” Sam said, trying not to smirk.
He ignored that, gazing at Olivia with ardent anticipation. “Well?”
She began to swivel back and forth, teasing him with a crooked smile. “I just left the ladies’ withdrawing room, where several people who apparently ‘know’ said they’ve heard she’s the daughter of a viscount.”
Sam chuckled and raised his full champagne flute to his lips. “Ridiculous gossip.”
It sounded beyond credible to Colin as well. “Daughters of nobility don’t work on the stage,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Just another dead end, I’m afraid.”
“And yet rumors are sometimes true, are they not?” Olivia piped in, twisting a loose tendril of hair at her neck with a finger. “At least the rumors I’ve heard about you seem to be.”
“Madam,” Colin asked in feigned shock, “what has your husband been telling you?”
Sam answered for her. “Nothing that I’m certain she didn’t hear whispered first in the ladies’ withdrawing room.”
Colin tipped his head toward her. “If that’s where you’ve heard these rumors, then yes, they’re all true.”
“Oh, really?” Olivia mused. “Quite the ladies’ man, aren’t you?”
Colin lifted a flute of champagne from the tray-carrying server walki
ng by. “I’ll know for certain later tonight.”
Sam shook his head, smiling dryly. “Here we go again. I suppose you’ll let us know if you manage to woo her.”
He’d said that as a statement, not a question, and Colin only shrugged. “I guarantee to both of you, right now, that the lush and lovely Lottie English will one day swoon at my feet.” He took a sip from his flute, then pointed it toward them, “Mark my words.”
Olivia laughed again. “Determination counts for something, right, darling?”
Sam shook his head but offered nothing in response.
“And what are we discussing this blustery evening?” came the gruffly cheerful baritone voice from behind him.
Colin turned to acknowledge his longtime friend and immediate supervisor in his work for the Crown, Sir Thomas Kilborne, a stately, rotund gentleman with pinkened cheeks and thinning black hair that he combed over his head from one ear to the other.
“Good evening, Sir Thomas,” he remarked good-naturedly. “We were just discussing the ladies who swoon at our feet.”
“Ah. Lottie English, again.”
Olivia took two steps to kiss the older man’s cheek. “Good evening, Sir Thomas.”
“Madam, you look as lovely as ever,” he replied, pulling back a little to view her person, dressed richly in dark red satin. Then he turned to Sam and bowed slightly. “Your grace.”
Sam returned it with a nod of his own. “And where is your lovely wife?”
Sir Thomas sighed with feigned exaggeration. “I’ve no idea. She left me to mingle with a group of ladies as soon as we entered.”
“They tend to do that, don’t they?” Colin commented.
Sir Thomas’s lips twitched up making his side whiskers flair. “It’s a nice reprieve, actually. She’ll be tapping me with her fan all evening to make certain I stay awake.”
“You sound as excited to be here as I am,” Sam offered in light sarcasm.
Olivia scoffed, smacking her husband in the arm with her fan, as it apparently worked for all women. “Sometimes it’s necessary to make sacrifices for the pleasure of those we love.”
The older man chuckled, patting his hair down atop his head. “She dragged you here, didn’t she?”
Sam took a sip of champagne. “I won’t go into the nasty details, but yes. She did. My passion for opera extends only beyond my passion for cleaning my teeth.”
A bell sounded above the clamor of laughter, rustling skirts, and a thousand and one voices, reminding them that only a few minutes remained before the performance would begin.
“Well,” Olivia teased, wrapping a palm around her husband’s elbow, “we don’t want to miss the introduction, do we, darling?”
“I can hardly contain myself,” Sam replied slowly.
“I can’t either,” Colin added, his own excitement no doubt far greater than any other man dragged in this night.
Stalling his departure, Sam looked at his friend askance. “And just why are you so confident in meeting the famous Miss English tonight?”
Colin grinned again and pretended to straighten his tie. “I’m going to jump up on the stage and declare my love during her first aria. She can hardly evade me when I’m standing in front of her.”
“Good God,” Sir Thomas interjected. “Just don’t start singing.”
Olivia giggled.
Sam stared at him. “You know that if you do such a disgraceful thing I’ll have to disown you as a friend.”
Colin shrugged. “The cost of love.”
Olivia patted his cheek. “You need a wife.”
“Like I need my teeth cleaned,” he grumbled. “Unless, of course, Sam intends to rid himself of you.”
“Fat chance, that,” Sam said far too casually.
Olivia beamed. “Well, then, since I’m taken, maybe Lottie English will marry you.”
He took a swallow or two of his champagne. “I consider that highly unlikely.”
Sir Thomas scoffed. “That’s because she wouldn’t dare. Not if you make a fool of yourself by jumping up on stage during a performance. You’ll become the laughingstock of England.”
Olivia cocked her head, studying him with amusement. “So, how do you really expect to meet your intended…what? Friend, shall we call her?”
Colin lightly lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m going backstage to introduce myself during the last interval.”
All three of them laughed, including Sam, which meant not only did they consider him a lovesick puppy, they didn’t actually believe him.
“In the interval,” Olivia repeated, brows furrowed in awe.
Colin winked at her. “What else is a forlorn and desperate man to do?”
Sir Thomas cleared his throat. “Well, while you’re contemplating your, uh, proposal—”
“You mean his attack,” Sam cut in. “Poor woman.”
“Yes, undoubtedly,” Sir Thomas agreed. “But I would like to have a word with you, Colin, before you lose your head to the beauty on the stage and they cart you off to Bedlam.”
“Ye who have no faith…” was his only response before finishing off the contents of his flute.
“We do need to sit, darling,” Olivia urged again as she tugged at her husband’s sleeve. “I know you wouldn’t dream of missing the opening.”
“The thought never crossed my mind,” Sam lied, trying to suppress a smile as he gazed at his wife.
Turning her attention to the older man, she lifted her skirts to depart. “Well then, Sir Thomas, perhaps we’ll see you during the interval.”
He bopped up on his toes. “I’ll be here, of course, with my wife. I have my dignity in check.”
“Good. And Colin dear,” she admonished, shaking her head as she looked him up and down, “you behave.”
“I’ll do my best to contain myself, madam,” he replied with mock seriousness. “But I guarantee it’ll be a night to remember. At least for me.”
Olivia straightened her shoulders and sighed. “Then naturally I expect to hear the details. For now, however, we shall see you in your box.” With that, she turned and practically dragged her husband toward the inner doors, now filling with theater patrons as they slowly made their way inside for seating.
Colin placed his empty champagne flute next to several others on a small sidebar to his left, then silently, he and Sir Thomas strolled to the far end of the large foyer, waiting for the crowd to disperse even more before beginning their discussion. His nervousness about meeting the famous Lottie intensified as the seconds ticked by, and it made him ever more determined to get their business done, to watch the curtain rise and lights shine down upon the woman of his fantasies.
“What do you have for me?” he asked as soon as they were alone, squelching his impatience.
Sir Thomas glanced around him intently, skillfully, without looking as if he were doing so. “Charles Hughes,” he said quietly, lifting his champagne to his lips.
“Charles Hughes?” he repeated, rubbing his palm across the back of his perspiring neck.
Sir Thomas frowned, his jowls drooping over his starched collar as he nodded. “The Earl of Brixham. Seems he’s into some rather interesting dealings with foreign governments.”
Colin clasped his hands behind his back to keep his growing agitation restrained. “What kind of dealings?”
Sir Thomas inhaled a full breath, held it for a moment, then let his out slowly, staring at the carpet beneath his feet. “Not certain, but we suspect he’s trying to sell some kind of information he’s gleaned from his involvement in various committees inside the House.”
The House of Lords. Colin thought about that for a moment. He didn’t know Earl Brixham except by name and perhaps a shared handshake once or twice. But such a suggestion of illegality on the man’s part seemed thoroughly unlikely without reason.
“Why?” he asked simply. “What do you have on him?”
Sir Thomas looked up at him again, countenance drawn into serious contemplation, his dark brown
eyes sharply focused. “He’s desperately in debt. Gambles badly and all that.” He paused in thought, then added, “I think he’s at the point where he’d do just about anything for money.”
Colin tried to keep his mind on the details Sir Thomas provided rather than the lush curves of the famous soprano who would be taking to the stage at any moment. “What is it you think I can do?” he asked in a mild attempt to get to the point.
Sir Thomas finished off his champagne in a full swallow. After licking his lips, he replied, “I need you to meet with him, in his home—”
“I’m not an investigator, Thomas, you know that,” Colin cut in, cocking his head to the side a little as he gazed at the man with a great deal of skepticism. “Don’t you have others who can do this better?”
The older man shook his head most adamantly. “No. He would probably suspect something if we sent in one of our own; you’ll just appear to be a lazy nobleman, with far too much money on his hands, who would like to buy his antique pianoforte.”
Colin chuckled, incredulous. “You’re joking.”
“Indeed, I’m not,” came the fast reply.
“I don’t need a pianoforte,” Colin said pleasantly, knowing such an observation was entirely moot. “I’ve got a perfectly good piano that of course I never play.”
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 pianoforte 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.
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