Hot Historicals Bundle with An Invitation to Sin, The Naked Baron, When His Kiss Is Wicked, & Mastering the Marquess

by Jo Beverley

  “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 His desire to stay with her superseded all other feelings.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 s
weetness 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.

  What am I doing?

  Feeling as if he were in a dream, there in the darkened bookshop in the history section with her family just upstairs, Lucien kissed Colette with a wild urgency and a desperate need that completely overwhelmed him.

  Ignoring his pounding heart, he finally broke their prolonged kiss and cupped her face in his hands. Staring into her eyes, he knew he should end this. But the look of impassioned longing on her face, her dark, heavy-lidded eyes full of desire, and her heated body pressed eagerly against his weakened already thin resolve. Still breathing heavily, he murmured her name as a question.

  For an endless moment she stared back at him, and he was mesmerized by her. Her lips, reddened and swollen from his kisses, trembled in hesitation. He should turn away, but he couldn’t. He was rooted to the floor, fascinated by the passionate look of intent in her eyes. Was it sparked by desire? Was it daring? Without uttering a single word, Colette slid her hands ever so slowly from his shoulders. Her fingers, smooth and silky, glided with a feather-light touch down his chest. He dared not move a single muscle although every nerve in his body tensed with eager anticipation as the tips of her fingers gradually caressed the taut skin of his stomach. His skin burned where she touched him, inflaming his need for her. When she dared to lower her hands over his hips to the hardened bulge straining at the front of his trousers, Lucien sucked in his breath. Christ! She was not making this easy. He was already rock-hard with desire; the bold touch of her fingers through the fabric of his pants found him close to bursting.

  With an anguished groan, he covered her mouth in another searing kiss just as her fingers firmly closed around him. He was lost. He pressed her up against the nearest shelf, her bottom resting on the edge. Leaning her back, his tongue still possessing her mouth, he lifted the skirt of her burgundy gown and ran his hand up the length of her stocking-clad thigh. Colette clung to him, breathing heavily. With one touch of his finger, he knew she was ready for him, wanted him. The thought drove him mad. She had already freed him from the constraints of his trousers, amazed at how easily something so illicit could be accomplished. Within a matter of seconds he had thrust himself deeply inside her. Losing himself in the incredible heat of her body, he could think of nothing but the woman who arched against him, wanting him as much as he wanted her. It was the most erotic moment of his life. As they moved against each other, their pace increasing, their movements grew more urgent as he sought to give her the pleasure she was giving him. Her head fell against his shoulder and the warmth of her breath heated the skin of his neck. She clung to him with both long legs hitched tightly around his waist as he thrust into her over and over again. Books fell to the floor around them, their pages carelessly tossed open, as he rocked against her.

  For an endless while there was just the two of them, their hearts pounding, their mouths gasping, their bodies embracing. With no words to describe his feelings for her, Lucien just knew that he never wanted to let Colette go. She belonged to him. Suddenly Colette’s breathing became more rapid, her movements more frantic until she cried out his name into his mouth. With a few more grinding thrusts, Lucien immediately followed her into bliss.

  They held on to each other for some time, trying to regain their composure, each loath to let the other go.

  In the dimness of the empty and silent shop, they slowly slid from their awkward position on the bookshelf and began to arrange their clothes into some semblance of decency amid an epic silence before facing each other. With his pants closed and his shirt buttoned once again, Lucien collapsed into the nearest seat, an overstuffed armchair in the corner, and pulled a limp Colette onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her.

  “Oh, God, Colette,” he whispered, overwhelmed by his feelings for her and unable to define them. What had they just done? Again.

  She rested her head against his, and he breathed in her sweet scent. She felt like heaven in his arms and he could not resist another kiss on her lips.

  “This isn’t the reason you came to see me tonight, is it?” she asked in a weak attempt to lend humor to their situation.

  With a rueful half-smile, he gave his head a shake. “No, I must say, it was not.”

  She hesitated before saying, “But you did come to apologize for the last time this happened.”

  “The last time this happened at least I took you in a civilized manner, in a bed. Not a bookshop.”

  Seeming flustered and charmingly embarrassed by his referral to their erotically charged, and quite reckless, encounter, Colette hid her face against his chest. He shook her lightly and squeezed her in comfort, kissing her again. He could not kiss her enough.

  With her soft voice tinged with regret, she whispered, “And you’re going to apologize to me for this time, too?”

  “No, I’m blaming you entirely for this one.”

  Unsure if he was teasing her or not, she gave him a puzzled look. On some level he wasn’t joking. She had been rather bold with him this evening and he could not fight his desire for her. Not that he would have minded under normal circumstances. But this…this encounter, this madness, which had been more phenomenal and passionate and amazing than anything he had ever experienced in his life, should not have even occurred in the first place. He shouldn’t be having sexual liaisons with Colette at all. Period. This was a godawful mess, this was.

  He kissed her cheek, softening his words to her. “No, this was entirely my fault. But this can’t keep happening with us, Colette.”

  “No,” she murmured low in agreement. “It can’t ever happen again. It won’t.”

  He held her tightly, enjoying the feel of her body cradled intimately across his lap. He could hold her like that forever. “When were you going to tell me that you and your family were moving to Brighton?”

  She pulled away from him, sitting up. “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it does,” he said soothingly, pulling her back toward his chest. He needed to hold her close. “Do you want to live in Brighton?”

  “No,” she admitted with a heavy sigh, relaxing against him once again. “But there is not much of a choice for me in the matter. It seems my mother, with Uncle Randall’s help, sold the shop.”

  Lucien paused, his heart suddenly pounding. “Which brings me to the other reason I wished to speak to you tonight.”

  She looked at him curiously.

  “I’m the man who bought the building, Colette.”

  Her shocked expression was not unexpected, but the scrutiny in her narrowed eyes caught him off guard.

  “You?” she breathed. “You bought our shop?”

  “Yes, to help you,” he explained. “And your family.” He had not intended to ever reveal his identity as the anonymous buyer, but then he had not anticipated her family relocating to Brighton either.

  She stared at him in disbelief and something akin to horror shadowed her delicately formed features.

  Lucien assumed Colette would be relieved, perhaps even delighted by the news. Her silence worried him. When he’d purchased the building, he did it because he felt protective of the Hamilton girls. He did it anonymously so as not to caus
e them to feel indebted to him. With the unnamed buyer not requiring them to vacate the premises and allowing the bookshop to remain open, he felt he would be easing their financial burden while allowing them to maintain the status quo without ever knowing he was the one who helped them. He rather thought he had done a good deed and had been pleased with himself over it. Now, however, he had second thoughts about his little plan. Colette seemed strangely withdrawn and quiet.

  “Aren’t you relieved you can stay in London? And that you can keep the shop open now?” he suggested hopefully.

  The slap stunned him, for he didn’t see it coming. Her hand flew across his cheek in a stinging blow. He instinctively grabbed her wrist before she could hit him again, which she clearly had every intention of doing. Pulling her hand from his grasp, she sprang from his lap, scurrying away from him. She was furious.

  “What the hell was that for?” he asked, frowning and rubbing his cheek in confusion. It was definitely not the response he had expected from her.

  “Get out,” she uttered with a coldness and finality in her tone that chilled him.

  Wondering what the devil had gotten into her, he rose from the chair and followed after her. “Colette?”

  She picked up his jacket and waistcoat from the floor where she had removed them so seductively only moments ago and flung them at him. “Get out, and don’t ever try to see me again.”

  Catching the garments before they hit his face, he made another attempt to discover what was going on in her pretty head. He thought he had done something nice, but apparently he had offended her. “What is the matter?”

  Colette saw his hat resting on the counter and threw that at him, too. She then marched determinedly to the shop door and reached for the key. Her hands trembled as she turned to face him. “I don’t know who you think I am, but you cannot buy me off.”

  Incredulous at her words, he asked again, “What are you talking about?”

  “Apparently I’m good enough for you to bed, but not good enough for you to marry. You have made that point abundantly clear to me, Lucien, and I accepted it. I am a working woman and you are an earl, and as the heir to a marquis you have higher expectations in a wife. Fine. I wish you luck with Faith Bromleigh. But I will not be paid for services rendered with my own shop like some wharf-side doxy so you can walk away from me with a clean conscience. You can keep the building and the bloody shop and let it rot for all I care. I’ll be leaving with my family, and you need never trouble yourself over me again.” She took a gasping breath before unlocking the door and swinging it wide open. “Now get out of here this minute.”