The Duke's Indiscretion (20 page)

A strained silence ensued, giving her time to consider her next most private disclosure. She needed to get to the heart of the issue in her mind, since she didn't know anyone else she could trust to help her understand. Softly, she murmured, “I think he expects me to
be
Lottie when we're intimate.”

She closed her eyes, waiting for Olivia to laugh, or deny it outright, she supposed, though all she heard from behind her was a long exhale and a creak of the sofa.

Deciding to ignore the heat in her cheeks, she turned to bravely face the beautiful Frenchwoman again, careful to keep her chin high, body erect lest the Duchess of Durham know how truly embarrassed she was to reveal such secrets of the bedroom.

Olivia had adjusted herself so that she could view her standing at the window, but she didn't appear at all shocked. Her features remained neutral, though her forehead had creased minutely into a frown. Finally, she patted the seat beside her. “Come back and sit, and don't be ashamed to discuss such a thing, either,” she said in understanding. “As I said, we're both married ladies and quite clearly this bothers you.” She raised her brows to add, “It would bother me, too.”

For a second or two, Charlotte didn't move. Then she did as ordered, deciding Olivia might just sympathize with the situation after all.

Following another adjustment of her skirts around her ankles, she folded her hands in her lap. “I'm sorry if this is too delicate—”

“Oh, nonsense,” Olivia chided with a wave of her hand. “Let's have some cake and muddle through it.”

Unable to hide a smile, she said, “Thank you, but I really shouldn't. My waistline will grow too large for my costumes.”

Olivia briefly eyed her askance, then cut two pieces anyway. “There is one thing Colin has mentioned to Sam about you,” she disclosed, placing a slice of gooey chocolate on a china plate. “He thinks you have a marvelous feminine form. In fact, he's quite in awe of the beauty of your body. I wouldn't worry too much about a little bit of cake.”

Charlotte coughed and ran her fingers across her
upper lip, completely startled by such a heady compliment, especially spoken aloud.

“He…um…said this to your husband?” she asked in reply.

Olivia laughed again, handing her a generous portion. “On more than one occasion, I assume.” She reached for her own plate, then paused, holding it out in mid-air. “Sam seems to think he's mad for you.”

“For Lottie,” she corrected, feeling an uncomfortable tightening in her stomach.

“Oh, I see,” the other woman acknowledged at once, slicing into her cake. She placed the bite in her mouth, chewing as she rolled her eyes.

Charlotte just stared at the rich chocolate confection on her plate, having absolutely no appetite at the moment.

“So,” Olivia continued after swallowing and licking her lips, “explain to me how you change forms at home.”

She gazed at the Frenchwoman, puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

Olivia flipped a hand in her direction. “Your marvelous figure. If he's so enamored of it as Lottie, how do you change back into his wife when you retire each evening?”

She couldn't decide if the Duchess of Durham teased her or simply tried to confuse the issue, though Charlotte clearly comprehended her intent.

“My figure is not
me
,” she asserted, probably too curtly.

Olivia smiled. “I know.” She lowered her fork to her plate and leaned forward, eyeing her intently. “But you do understand my point. Charlotte, you are both per
sonalities wrapped into one person, just as I am both French and English. You can't change who you are, even when you're on stage. Think of it that way. Charlotte was born with a gifted voice and takes the stage just as Lottie is sitting here in my parlor, eating—or shall I say
not
eating—my chocolate cake.” She sat up a little, raised her fork again, and sliced another bite. “You are a mixture of all these wonderful qualities, Lottie.” She brightened as if totally satisfied by her argument. “In fact, I'd rather call you Lottie. It suits you, and I imagine Colin feels exactly the same.”

Charlotte had never been spoken to so boldly in her life, by anyone, and it dazed her a little. Apparently Olivia realized how she'd take such a statement, for the woman simply continued eating her cake with gusto, wiping the china plate clean with her fork, then licking it free of icing before placing both back on the tea table.

“You really should try a bite,” she said after daintily patting her lips with her linen napkin. “It's delicious.”

Charlotte lowered her gaze and stared at the chocolate, unseeing as she tried to come to terms with all the Frenchwoman had said. Then, voice edgy, she murmured, “He bought me a corset to wear on our wedding night. Or rather, he bought Lottie a…costume resembling a corset.” Feeling utterly mortified, she added in a whisper, “To complete his fantasy.”

Olivia remained silent for a moment or two, then relaxed against the sofa back again, her hands in her lap. “I don't understand.”

Charlotte inhaled deeply, attempting to find a
confidence she didn't feel at all, then raised her gaze to look the Frenchwoman squarely in the eye. She couldn't change the subject now, even if she wanted to. She'd come too far for that, and frankly needed answers.

“On our wedding night he came to me with a gift. I stupidly thought it would be something practical, or thoughtful, or…I don't know.” She shook her head. “Instead, I opened the present to find this…costume—a red satin, black lace corset that covered nothing, a little piece of apparel I imagine might be worn by a dancer on the French stage, or the like. Beneath it in the box were matching shoes that had heels so high I could hardly walk. He insisted I wear the ridiculous thing, and I did, because…because I wanted to please him, I suppose.” She swallowed, then added in whisper, “He wanted to make love to the woman in the corset, which would have to be his perception of Lottie, not me.
I
would never dream of wearing such a thing on my wedding night.”

For a long time Olivia said nothing, just watched her, her brows furrowed a little. Charlotte grew rather afraid the woman might laugh again, or tell her flatly that gentlemen of all nature and classes purchase such things, forced their wives to wear such outrageous outfits.

Finally, the Duchess of Durham began to slowly shake her head. “Unbelievable,” she mumbled. “Even intelligent gentlemen can be such stupid creatures when desire comes into play. His action only fed into your doubts, didn't it, Lottie? Good heavens, what on earth was he thinking?”

She couldn't begin to describe the rush of relief
that washed over her at that moment. Realizing she'd been holding her breath, she let it out loudly through her teeth and sagged into her stays. “I'm so glad you see it from my perspective. It's obvious he was thinking I was Lottie, the person from the stage who wears costumes and—”

“No, absolutely not,” Olivia cut in with a firm shake of her head. “That's not what I meant at all. Perhaps that's what he expected, and it's very likely his fantasy is to make love to you while you're wearing such a thing. But
he
knows you're one and the same person, of that I have no doubt.”

God, they were back to this point. Charlotte felt like screaming. Olivia must have seen the frustration in her face, for at that moment, she reached over and took her hand again, this time cupping it between both of her own.

“You are Lottie, who is just one part of Charlotte,” she said with absolute sincerity. “Never doubt that Colin knows this. He admires you for your talent, for your appearance, and probably for your intelligence and humor and all the things that are attractive about you.” She squeezed her hand and continued. “I suspect what you need to know is if he feels that way about you intimately. Am I right?”

Truthfully, Charlotte had never before thought about it in such a way. Yet, as she considered it now, she supposed her doubts centered around lovemaking, and the way he made her feel, the manner in which he touched her and brought her to such delicious heights of—

Shaking herself of such a lascivious memory, she said, “I'm just not sure
what
he wants from me.”

Olivia smiled again in understanding. “He wants a wife, Lottie. He wants a companion, a seductress in the bedroom. On top of everything, he probably wants you to fall in love with him for who
he
is.”

That comment made her stomach twist in knots. “He's never mentioned love. I don't think he thinks about that.”

“Ha! Gentlemen never do, not directly at least.” She shrugged. “Honestly, I don't think they recognize it until it strikes them in the face, usually from learning that we're one step away from leaving them.”

Charlotte actually giggled. The more she knew of Olivia, the friendlier the two of them became, the more she adored her.

Slyly, the Frenchwoman asked, “Do you want him to fall in love with you?”

She felt perspiration break out on her neck, between her breasts, and she swallowed. “I—I haven't thought about it.”

“Of course you have, all women do,” Olivia replied at once. “And it's always better to love your husband, and be loved by him, than for either of you to find it elsewhere.”

Love, love,
love.
The French were always talking of
love.
And yet there was probably much truth in her words, Charlotte decided after a few seconds of consideration. She had just never thought about it in regard to her own complex feelings for her husband.

“I just want him to be…pleased with me,” she admitted, hoping her voice didn't make her sound as discomfited as she felt.

“Pleased with you?” Olivia repeated, eyes wide.
“Then you must first forget the silly notion that you are not Lottie English.”

Charlotte groaned inside.

“And then,” the woman continued before she could argue, “if you truly want to please your husband, be the seductress in bed that he adores when you bring that part of your personality out on the stage. And yes, that means wearing the costume he gave you and letting him
know
you want to please him.”

Her mouth dropped open a little. “I'm not sure I—”

“Of course you can,” the Frenchwoman interjected, reading her thoughts. Then she grinned crookedly. “I suspect you are already a good wife as the Duchess of Newark. Now you must take direction of Lottie, and let Colin know you can successfully combine the two parts of
you
into the lover he wants, perhaps becoming the one lady he can love completely, and cherish always.”

Charlotte couldn't deny the depth of satisfaction she felt as such an idea began to take shape in her mind. She wouldn't say the notion confused or overwhelmed her, either, as she understood everything Olivia suggested, and knew rather instinctively how to go about seducing him. She just wasn't certain if she could bring herself to play a seductress for him in the privacy of the bedroom. But would it actually be an act? Not, she supposed, if she stopped trying so desperately hard to draw a line between Lottie of the stage and the part of herself she presented to the outside world. She'd pretended to be two people for so long now it had become natural for her, but in truth, the seductress had to be inside of her, part of her, just as her singing was.

Her greatest confusion, she decided, really rested with the delicate emotion of love. Her parents had never been in love, although they'd had as decent a marriage as anyone in the nobility could ever expect. She'd never had the time to think about love, really, and now, suddenly, it had been thrust to center stage in her relationship with her husband.

Did she love Colin? She didn't think so, and she felt quite certain he didn't love her apart from the lust he felt for Lottie. In that regard, she supposed she also lusted after him, though just the notion distressed her. Ladies did not lust. Still, after last night's remarkable interlude, she absolutely knew that she wanted him to bed her again, which complicated everything. Becoming closer, more intimate with each other could prove disastrous for her ambition and desire to work abroad. And what if she became pregnant? She'd told him she'd give him an heir, but after the fiasco of their wedding night, she'd changed her mind. He'd told her before their wedding that he wanted her to remain childless for a while, and yet he'd left his seed inside of her during their first time together. At this point the only thing about which she could be absolutely certain was that when it came to Colin and her as a couple, nothing was certain; clearly, neither of them knew what they wanted from each other.

With a sigh, Charlotte ran a palm across her forehead, feeling the heated flush of her skin, realizing she probably looked as mortified by the entire conversation thus far as she felt. But she couldn't leave yet, not when Olivia had been so cheerful and understanding of her complex problem. And so, with
resolve, she reached for the slice of cake she'd been offered, planted a sunny smile on her face, and changed the subject to Olivia's forthcoming baby—a much safer and thoroughly welcome topic that had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

C
harlotte stared at her reflection in the mirror, her heart racing with the knowledge that in just a few minutes, she would be attempting the seduction of her husband.

She had little doubt that he would want her, or at least that was her hope, especially after taking the time to don the corset he'd given her on their wedding night. But now, eyeing herself objectively, she did have to give him credit for having something fashioned that fit her perfectly. Yes, it was tight, scratchy, and not very comfortable, but it made her body look quite seductive, barely concealing her breasts with lace, outlining her curves, which, she supposed, was the entire point of the outfit.

They'd taken dinner together in the dining room, though she'd been too nervous to eat much. He didn't seem to notice, however, as he'd been engrossed in his own food. She'd retired after the meal, taking a long, relaxing bath in the rose-scented oil Olivia had
given her. Then she'd brushed her hair to a sheen and waited a good forty-five minutes before she heard him enter his own room just a short time ago. That's when she finally squeezed herself into the corset and applied only a touch of rouge to her cheeks for an appealing flush. And now the time had come to startle the man.

Shoulders back, pulse racing, stomach tight with apprehension, she donned her white silk robe and loosely tied the sash, deciding to forego wearing the ridiculous shoes. It would make his surprise all the more palpable when she removed her covering for his view.

With a deep breath and a long exhale, she shook her hair loose and walked quietly to the adjoining door. Without knocking, she turned the handle and silently opened it.

All but one light on the night stand had been dimmed, and it took her a second or two to find him, as he wasn't on the bed. And then as her eyes adjusted, she caught sight of him, sprawled nude as the day he was born across his small sofa, his head perched on the armrest, eyes closed, a brandy in his left hand, his right laying on top of his most private area, his thumb brushing back and forth across the tip of his—

She gasped and her palm flew to her mouth. But to her horror, he'd heard her. He sat up abruptly and glanced in her direction, confusion crossing his shadowed brow.

“Charlotte?”

She couldn't move.
God help me…

“I was just thinking about you,” he admitted in a low, husky murmur.

She couldn't close her eyes, couldn't avert her gaze. The fascination at seeing him like this—nude and muscular and strong—caused a quick rush of heat to flow through her.

She swallowed, and lowered her hand from her mouth. “I'm sorry,” she breathed, backing up a step.

Slowly, he stood, without any shame whatsoever, and her eyes couldn't help but wander down to the most powerful, intimate part of him, now long and stiff with arousal, surrounded by thick dark curls and hard, chiseled thighs.

For a second she thought she might faint.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice deep and speculative.

Play the part.

Shaking herself of as much trepidation as possible, she replied, “I wanted to bring you a gift.”

He placed his hands on his hips, facing her fully, and it took all that was in her to drag her gaze up to his face.

“What gift would that be?” he asked with a trace of amusement.

God, had he no shame? He had to know how embarrassed she felt to find him like this, doing…what? She shivered just to envision it.

“Come here,” he whispered as he began to saunter toward her.

She hesitated, but the appeal of his physical form coupled with his unique blend of humor and caring became far too ardent of a pull for her to deny. She could feel her heart pounding in her temples, a dangerous sense of her own need building within, but
she knew without doubt that she could be what, or who, he wanted.

“Do you desire me, Colin?” she asked in a deep, husky tone.

The amusement faded from his face; his eyes narrowed. “Why are you here, Charlotte?” he asked again, this time with dark intensity and even a trace of suspicion.

“I'm here to give you Lottie,” she revealed as she began to move toward him.

He stopped walking in mid-stride, his hard gaze traveling from her face to her bare feet, then back again, his expression one of pure calculation.

Charlotte realized at once that he didn't trust her intent. And with that sudden thought, she instantly, and recklessly, became the Lottie English of his dreams, the Lottie that was
her,
no longer hesitant in approaching him.

Smiling provocatively, she reached down and began to slowly untie the sash at her waist, noting how his gaze fell to her hands briefly before he raised it back to capture hers again. His jaw tightened; the muscles in his chest bunched as all remaining humor escaped him, replaced by a fresh surge of sexual hunger. She felt it. Just as she felt awash with a new appreciation of her power over him. And it was at that moment that all lingering doubts and trepidation evaporated.

Pulling the tie apart, she allowed her silk wrap to open as she continued to close the distance between them. His gaze remained locked with hers until she reached up with both hands and lifted the silk from
her shoulders, allowing it to fall in a feather-soft heap to the floor.

He didn't move, but she heard him suck in a sharp breath at the sight of her in his specially made corset.

“Do you want me, Colin?” she breathed, nearing him at last, focusing on his beautifully masculine features, his tightened lips, knowing his erection stood between them as the only barrier to her touch. “Answer me,” she insisted in a husky whisper, her mouth curled into what she hoped was a tempting smile.

His nostrils flared, his lids fell heavy over his eyes. And then he murmured, “Yes.”

Confidence growing, she reached out and placed her palm on the hot skin of his chest. “How much?”

She felt him stiffen, and with that she began to draw a line with one finger down his stomach to his navel.

In a flash of a second, he startled her by grabbing a handful of lace at the top of her corset, between her breasts, and yanking her hard against him.

She gasped and clutched his shoulders as he lowered his face to within inches of hers.

“What game are you playing with me, Charlotte?” he asked, his tone coarse and hard.

She blinked. “I'm not playing any game.”

“Do you have any idea what you're doing to me? How you make me feel? How you look in this?” He shook his head negligibly as he glanced down at her figure. “I don't need you to tease me if you're not here because you want to be.”

The strain in his voice took her aback, and it im
mediately dawned on her that she was a very real weakness in him, that he refused to be baited if she had no desire of her own to give him pleasure. That he was vulnerable.

Trembling inside, she replied, “You
made
me want you, Colin. I want you to make me feel like you did last night. I want to be your wife, your lover, and the only mistress you'll ever need to satisfy you.”

For a long, tense moment, he said nothing, barely breathed as he peered into her eyes, searching for falsehoods imbedded in her honest claim of longing.

Then his cheek twitched. “The mistress you tempted me with the night we met?”

She melted inside, and with a determination she didn't know she possessed, she moved her hand between them and grazed the hot flesh of his engorged member with her fingertips, making him flinch.

“The woman you desire from me now,” she replied in a silky murmur.

He swallowed hard as his gaze roved over her face. And then he grasped the back of her head with one hand and crushed his lips to hers so hard she cried out, stunned.

He was everywhere on her at once, one hand at her breast, pinching her nipples over the lace, tongue exploring, searching, sucking as he lowered his palm from her head to her bare bottom, massaging her there for seconds before pulling her forcefully against his hips.

His erection seared her between her thighs, and a marvelous new surge of longing sliced through her, causing her to whimper, to wrap her arms around his neck and hold him tightly.

In one smooth action, he lifted her off her feet and carried her, still joined at the mouth, to the edge of the bed. Dropping her quickly, he fell on top of her, bracing himself with his hand on the mattress to keep from crushing her with his weight.

He kissed her hard and long, one leg between hers as he fumbled only a moment with the buttons on the corset before giving up and ripping them apart with one strong hand. She inhaled sharply when he lowered his head to her breasts, sucking one nipple, then the other in a frenzy.

“Touch me again, Charlotte,” he said, his voice muffled, pained. “It felt so good.”

The delight she felt in arousing him so thoroughly pushed all hesitation from her mind. Reaching down between them, she closed her hand over him, whimpering from a new and exciting touch, relishing in the feel of his desire, brushing her thumb across the tip as she'd seen him do so erotically to himself.

“Oh, Jesus,” he whispered, jerking his hips back a little as he moved his mouth to her neck.

His passion inflamed her, her erratic breathing mingled with his, and just as suddenly as she began to instinctively stroke his hard flesh, he reached down and pulled her hand away.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice raw with need. “You'll make me come too soon.”

“I want to please you,” she murmured, lifting her hips to meet his.

He groaned, pulling back a little. “God, sweetheart, everything about you pleases me.”

The sincerity in his voice made her crazy for him, made her desperate for him, as Charlotte, as Lottie—

“I want to touch you there,” she said breathlessly. “I want—I want to feel you climax, Colin.”

He stilled above her, inhaling an unsteady breath, and she closed her eyes, afraid she might have gone too far. Ladies never said—

“God, Charlotte,” he whispered, cutting into her thoughts, “you are a dream come true…”

She raised her lashes, and the look of pure, untamed lust he emitted from his startled gaze, meant only for her, flooded her with an intensity that struck her hard.

He briefly touched her lips with the pad of his thumb, and then lowered his hand and placed it between her legs. She whimpered, her eyes widening as he began to stroke her. He watched her, his gaze melding with hers as he ran his fingers along her cleft, taking her nearer to the edge.

And then he lowered his head and began to kiss her chest, her breasts, her stomach. She clutched the coverlet with both hands, lifting her hips again impulsively, matching the rhythm of his expert caress—until she felt his lips brush against the mound of coarse, curly hair at the junction of her thighs.

Startled, she sat up on her elbows and looked down at him when he rested his body between her legs. Then he suddenly placed his mouth where his hand had been.

“Colin—”

He ignored her shock as he started teasing the nub of her desire with his tongue. She watched him, her initial fascination soon replaced by a rush of pleasure she could never have imagined, quickly taking her to the edge once more.

He pursued her satisfaction, moving faster, harder, and she lost herself in the feel, leaning her head back, moaning, pushing her hips instinctively against his hard mouth, gasping when he drove his tongue into her, then back out again, pacing himself, driving her to the brink of insanity.

She relaxed against the mattress again, clutching the coverlet with tight fists, pushing against him, needing, wanting. Desperate. And then she felt that wondrous explosion of pleasure. Body shuddering, she gasped for air, allowing herself to experience every tingling wave of sensation that roared through her, given her with the expertise of his mouth, the caress of his strong hands.

Before she could reach for him, he released her, moving up and over her once more, staring at her through dark eyes glazed with hunger. She felt his hardness between her legs, and she braced herself for his entrance, welcomed it.

“Touch me now, sweetheart. Make me come,” he pleaded in a husky, choked murmur, lifting his hips over hers.

She did as he asked without question, reaching for him without restraint, holding his gaze as her hand closed over his rigid erection. He groaned as the heat of her skin seared his own hard flesh, and she felt him jerk minutely in her hand, his emanating need for release forcing a low whimper of satisfaction from her throat. He sucked in air through his teeth when she brushed her thumb along the tip, and for a second or two she hesitated, unsure what to do next.

Then as if reading her mind, he began to move his
hips as he towered over her, watching her through glazed eyes, his features taut, jaw tense. The stroking came naturally as he moved, teaching her without words, his head rolling back as he neared his own crest of pleasure.

She stared at his face, mesmerized by the beauty of him, swept up again in the passion of the moment.

“God, Charlotte,” he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, yes, make me come…”

She'd never felt more powerful in her life, caught up in the wonder of him, feeling his strength in her palm, so touched by his need for her, so ready to watch him climax.

“Colin…” she said through a soft moan.

He opened his eyes again and looked at her. “Faster, Lottie,” he begged, teeth clenched, breathing erratic. “Oh, God, stroke me—”

Suddenly she felt him twitch.

“Oh, God—oh, God, Charlotte—”

And then he jerked into her hand fast, twice, three times, moaning deeply, breathing through his teeth, the sticky fluid that pulsed from him spilling over her thumb and fingers and down onto her belly.

Charlotte knew immediately that she'd never experienced anything so intense in her life. She licked her lips, closed her eyes to the feel, stroking him softly until at last he pulled back and slipped out of her hand.