He’d asked that in such a manner that she almost chided herself for making such a callous remark. But then, perhaps honesty was in order.
“I didn’t mean to be rude, your grace,” she admitted, feeling a little deflated. “But the truth is, you make me…nervous. I don’t know why. And really, my work can’t possibly be that interesting to you.”
He actually smiled. “Your work doesn’t interest me at all.”
She squirmed a little in her seat. “I am not a cause, your grace.”
He tipped his head to the side as his gaze traveled over her face. At last, he asked quietly, “Did you think about me after I left you last night?”
She felt heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks again. “That has nothing to do with our discussion.”
“Oh, I’m certain it does,” he countered knowingly.
She pressed her lips together with irritation. “Will you stop being so evasive? I’ve asked you repeatedly what you do with your time, where you go, why you’re so interested in me and my whereabouts, and instead of giving me answers, you’ve decided to start following me.” She huffed, and without clear thought, added, “Perhaps you need a mistress, sir.”
She’d blurted that out before thinking, and immediately she wished she could take it back.
Obviously surprised, his brows shot up. “Is that what you’d like, Charlotte? For me to take a mistress?” He rubbed his shoe up and down along her skirt-covered calf as he lowered his voice to confess, “Somehow, I don’t think so. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of it after the marvelous few minutes we shared last night when we were both so aroused. For now, I don’t need anyone but you.”
Startled by his candor, her mouth dropped open a little as her entire body seemed to melt like warm butter. He must have enjoyed her astonishment, for he suddenly leaned forward and whispered, “We’re here, my darling. Shall I follow you inside?”
Charlotte couldn’t have reacted faster. Fairly jumping from her seat, she unlatched the handle and opened the door before their driver had even stepped down to offer help.
Colin didn’t think he’d ever had a more enjoyable ride in a hired hack in his life. Initially, he’d wanted to take one of his own smaller coaches for the comfort, but Charlotte had persuaded him otherwise. She had reasons to be concerned, he supposed, as many would see them arriving and wonder at their relationship. He didn’t give a damn what people thought, but he knew it would disturb her and so he’d acquiesced. After last night, when he’d so cleverly manipulated her into an aching need left unsatisfied, he supposed he owed her something. It had been a perfectly arousing few minutes together, and a first for him, which probably made it all the more erotic.
It had taken him a long time to fall asleep after leaving her. He’d stared at the ceiling, recalling her reaction to just a light touch here and there, the way her nipple hardened and she moaned when he brushed his fingers against it. But what surprised him most was how he’d reacted. He’d never left a woman wanting more, if he recalled. Always, if he worked at a seduction, at least they got the ultimate pleasure from it. But Charlotte was different. The ultimate pleasure he got from her, for now, was the challenge. And he was enjoying it immensely.
Now, after their warm and somewhat bumpy ride to the theater, he followed her inside the backstage entrance of the opera house, watching her hips sway gently with each step, thinking that if he continued to dwell on her hips and nipples, he’d no doubt be bothered by an erection all damn day. And the gown she wore didn’t help at all. Although she’d donned a plain olive-green work dress with short, puffed sleeves and a high neckline, which didn’t usually make for tempting fare, Charlotte managed to look splendid. Regardless of the fabric and style, nothing could hide her marvelous figure. At least that gave him something to look at when she wouldn’t let him touch, he supposed.
The theater felt warm when they entered, and Colin pulled at his neckline, loosening his tie. The smell of fresh paint assaulted his senses, and already he heard singing, probably Porano, as the notes reverberated through the building while someone clapped in time to the music. Charlotte more or less ignored him, but he followed her anyway, toward her dressing room, he assumed. They were behind the stage, but the curtains were drawn, making it impossible to see anything more than a couple of feet in front of his face, though she knew exactly where to go.
“Is he getting the tempo right this morning?” he asked.
“Shhh,” she replied without turning around. “He hears everything.”
“Except for rhythm, apparently.”
She actually chuckled at that, and it occurred to him that the only place he’d heard her laugh was on the stage. Now it warmed him within to think she found humor in something he’d said. He only wished he could have seen her face.
“Who else is here this early?” he asked as they neared her private room, fairly centered at the back of the theater.
“Just a few of the stage hands; they’re working on scenery today,” she replied as she turned the handle and opened the door. “Anne and Sadie will be here shortly, and—”
She stopped short and gasped. Colin quickly moved up behind her, his own eyes widening at the scene before them.
Illuminated by only a trace amount of window light, the two of them stared at a paper mess, sheets of Charlotte’s music that had been pulled from boxes and drawers to be strewn across the floor.
At first sight, Colin thought the room had been fully ransacked, though after a moment of careful observation, he quickly changed his mind. The large wardrobe remained closed, and none of the cosmetic bottles and brushes atop the vanity had been disturbed. This was a deliberate attempt to either destroy sheets of music, or look for something, a warning of some kind left in the disarray.
Although she hadn’t yet said a word, Charlotte seemed calm—too calm, in his opinion, as if finding her dressing room vandalized was something she might have expected. At the very least, she didn’t seem at all surprised.
Immediately, Colin took action. Grasping her wrist, he moved her forward and out of the way so that he could enter completely and shut the door behind them.
“What are you doing?” she insisted, turning to him with a look of irritation on her face.
“Keep your voice down,” he ordered in a whisper. Then, “Does it lock?”
She frowned. “The door?”
“Yes, the door. Does it lock?”
Shaking her wrist loose, she said, “I think so, but I never lock it. I don’t have a key if that’s what you mean.”
After raking his fingers through his hair, he walked quickly to the wardrobe, careful to avoid the scattered sheets on the floor, and opened both doors, scanning the contents, making certain they were alone. Then he turned back to her and placed his hands on his hips. “What is going on, Charlotte?”
She took a step back in defense. “I have no idea—”
“Yes, you do,” he charged, his tone low and firm. “If you didn’t, you’d be shaken by this. As it is now, you don’t even seem surprised.”
She faltered, her expression going blank as she clutched the music she’d brought with her against her chest like a shield.
“No more evasiveness,” he said, his gaze locked with hers. “Tell me what you’re hiding.”
His insistence made her mad. He could see it in her flattened lips, her pinkening cheeks. She’d been caught, and she knew it.
“I want the truth,” he continued, starting a slow saunter toward her. “Now.”
Flustered, she wiped a palm across her forehead and looked away, as if she couldn’t decide where to start. He waited, walking past her to stand once more in front of the closed door, preventing her untimely departure should she try to avoid him. With that, she moved away from him and walked to her vanity, then placed the sheets she still had clutched in one arm gently on top of it.
After a few silent seconds, she inhaled deeply and stood erect, her hands clasped behind her, and faced him fully.
“
I have something someone wants,” she said hesitantly.
He cocked his head to the side a little and crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it? Music?”
“Yes,” she replied at once.
He’d been more or less sarcastic with his question, assuming, naturally, that music wasn’t worth stealing or risking a life for, but he could tell simply by looking at her across a darkened room that she spoke the truth.
Taking a step toward her, he asked, “What kind of music would someone go to such great extremes to acquire?”
She looked at him oddly. “Music worth a lot of money, your grace.”
“Of course,” he replied, his mouth curving into a sly smile. “Very expensive music.”
She drew her hands forward and crossed her arms over her breasts defensively as he approached. But her gaze never wavered.
“I didn’t say it was expensive, sir, I said it was worth a lot of money.”
He paused, glancing around, then said, “Well they obviously didn’t find it, or you’d be a bit more distraught.”
She almost smiled. “It’s not here.”
He leaned toward her and enunciated, “Where is it?”
“Hidden.”
Standing directly in front of her now, his anger roused, he leaned over so that his face nearly touched hers. “Charlotte, darling, tell me what the devil is going on. Now.”
The intensity in his quiet tone made her blink. Then in one smooth action, she plopped her bottom down in the vanity chair behind her, ignoring her twisted and bunched skirts.
He waited, saying nothing, knowing the moment of truth was at hand.
“Can I trust you, Colin?” she asked in a deep murmur.
Perplexed, his brows furrowed minutely. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
She fidgeted in the chair, wringing her hands together in her lap. “Before I can tell you anything, I need to know that I can trust you.”
He leaned to his side and rested his shoulder on the gilt-framed mirror, his arms crossed over his chest, his frank gaze locked with hers. “If you’re asking me to trust what you say, then I will. If, instead, you’re asking me to trust your judgement, I don’t honestly know, Charlotte. Up to this point, you haven’t made it easy.”
It was the most candid answer he could give her, and even with its vagueness, the words seemed to have the desired effect.
“My first vocal tutor was the great baritone Sir Randolph Hillman. I began my singing career when I was only eleven years old, and he trained me as if I were the best. I was fatherless, as well, and over the years we grew very close, as would a proud father of his talented daughter.”
Although not surprised, it occurred to Colin how small the world was when learning her vocal coach of many years was a man he’d known, had spoken to on occasion at social events, and had even seen many times on the stage. But he didn’t want to discuss it now when he needed her to get to the point. “Go on,” he said after a moment’s pause.
She inhaled a deep breath and relaxed into her stays, resting the full of her body against the back of the small vanity chair, her gaze lowered.
“When I turned seventeen, my brother, who was my guardian at that point, decided it was time for me to stop my singing nonsense and put my efforts into finding a husband. As you might expect, I didn’t take to the idea all that well. I wanted time before I had to give up my dream of the stage, but Charles was quite impatient. He more or less forced me to stop my tutoring sessions with Sir Randolph, regardless of my feelings.”
“That had to be difficult for you,” Colin interjected, his tone sincere.
She gave him a vague smile. “It was. But I was also very determined,” she continued. “It was about this same time that Sir Randolph succumbed to years of a weakened heart and fell ill. As my luck would have it, Charles felt sorry enough for me he allowed me to visit. After all, my brother assumed I couldn’t spend my time practicing my ‘singing nonsense’ when the man was bedridden.”
Colin continued to watch her, rather engrossed and trying not to smile from her sarcasm. She really became dramatic, and quite adorable, when she was irritated.
“I only got to see him twice in the long week he lay abed,” she continued, subdued. “The first time he made me promise I would never stop singing. I made him that promise, but I didn’t mention the fact that I couldn’t, of course, afford any kind of tour, or sing on the stage as a leading soprano. My brother would never allow it, would never fund it, even if he could, and he was insistent that I marry well, settle down, and have children to better occupy my time.” She grinned crookedly. “But Sir Randolph knew this.”
“Because you’d told him,” Colin remarked.
“No, because Charles told him,” she corrected with a lift of her brows. “And because my brother is so insensitive, the day before he died—the last time I saw the great baritone—Sir Randolph gave me something that would make my dreams come true, if I ever had the nerve to leave Charles and actually begin a music career.”
Colin scratched the hairline at his neck, a little confused. “Sir Randolph gave you priceless music?”
Charlotte leaned toward him, her eyes shining, a smile of genuine excitement gently tugging at her lips. “Exactly. Charles made Sir Randolph so angry, he gave me the one thing that would assure I could sing professionally, if that was my choice, for the rest of my life.”
“What music is so valuable it would finance you for years?” he asked. He grinned slyly to add, “I’m aching to know.”
Her features turned serious once more as she replied, “What I’m about to tell you stays between us, Colin. Is that clear?”
He shrugged lightly. “If you have secrets, Charlotte, I will do my best to keep them—provided it doesn’t put you in danger.”
For a second or two she stared at him skeptically, as if trying to decide if his answer was fair enough. But he wouldn’t budge on this, and she knew it.
Leaning forward, she placed her elbows on her thighs and clasped her palms together in front of her. In a barely heard whisper, she announced, “Sir Randolph gave me an original piece, never published, by the great George Frideric Handel.”
Colin just stared at her, at first dazed, then growing cold with understanding as the meaning of her words began to sink in. The look on his face must have been as priceless as the music she claimed to own, for she suddenly started giggling, covering her mouth to keep it silent.
After a long moment of speechlessness, he mumbled, “You’re not joking, are you?”
She dropped her hand and pulled back, appalled. “Of course I’m not joking. Just look at this mess.”
He glanced at the floor as he ran his fingers through his hair. “If it’s not here, where is it?” he asked, his throat dry.
She gazed at him curiously, her head tilted to one side, and replied, “It’s safe.”
Recovering himself, he pulled away from the mirror and took a step toward her, his nerves catching fire. “Safe? That’s not an answer, Charlotte. I want to see it.”
“It’s not here,” she reiterated flatly.
“Yes, you’ve made that clear,” he returned as patiently as he could. “But I still want to see it. I need to see it. Where is it?”
For several long, lingering, silent seconds, she held back, biting down on her bottom lip in obvious doubt as he studied her.
“If you trust me,” he said softly, “you have to trust me completely, Charlotte.”
At last, she swallowed and said, “Frankly, because we’re married, I’m a little afraid—”
“I have no intention of selling it,” he interjected with a sudden understanding of her fear. “But I might be able to help you if you trust me.”
She glanced once to her reflection in the mirror at her side, then lowered her lashes to her lap. “It’s at home.”
He blinked. “At home? At our home?”
She nodded.
He closed his eyes and raised his arms, interlacing his fingers behind
his head.
Jesus. He’d been living under the same roof as an original Handel, probably since they’d married, and he had yet to have a look at it because she didn’t trust him not to sell it. At that moment, in a rush of sheer frustration, Colin wished he’d told her of his profession when they’d met. If she only knew what he could do…
“Have you had the piece authenticated?” he asked gruffly as the thought suddenly occurred to him.
“I don’t have to,” she replied a bit defensively.
He dropped his arms, and chuckled as he looked at her again. “You don’t have to?” He shook his head. “Charlotte, it may be worth nothing. It may be a forgery—”
“Then tell me, sir,” she cut in, irritated, “why would someone keep trying to steal it?”
Before he could respond, a sharp burst of female laughter floated in from beyond the dressing room door, startling them both.
“Sadie and Anne are here,” she whispered. “They’ll be looking for me.”
He didn’t care. His mind was still on the precious, priceless piece now sitting somewhere in his home. “We need to get it, lock it in a vault.” He sighed within. “And I suppose you won’t tell me where to look so I can return and get it myself.”
“Absolutely not. Besides, you’ll never find it, never know where to look, even if I told you,” she said, standing to meet his gaze and smoothing her skirts. “And I obviously can’t leave now. Everyone would question my absence.”
“Including the person who did this,” he speculated, drawing conclusions as his mind began to organize a plan. Abruptly, he said, “Help me clean this up.”
Without argument, she stooped down and started collecting the scattered music. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we need to keep this a secret for the time being,” Colin said as he began to help gather the scattered paper. “The person who did this is trying to scare you, Charlotte, or he or she would have been far more discreet, wouldn’t have left a mess for you to clean.”
She glanced up and frowned. “But that makes no sense. Why try to frighten me? Why would someone want me to know that they want to steal my work?”
The Duke’s Indiscretion Page 15
