The Duke's Indiscretion (21 page)

He fell onto the bed beside her and drew her close to him, holding her head against his chest until his breathing slowed, his body relaxed.

Charlotte closed her eyes and fairly buried her
body into the side of his as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, feeling confident she had finally made her peace with Lottie.

 

Colin lay awake for a long time, on his back with only a sheet to cover his naked body, both hands stuffed up under his pillow as he stared at the darkened ceiling, seeing nothing, too edgy to sleep. Charlotte snored faintly beside him, something about which he'd later get profound joy in teasing her. She'd dozed off after he'd insisted she stay with him for the entire night, and just thinking of her horror at such a suggestion made him grin in the darkness. She had come to him as the temptress every man alive had fantasized about bedding, and yet the notion of sleeping an entire night beside her husband mortified her. His wife—such a complex creature.

Tonight had been the most erotic of his life. Never, ever, had he imagined that sex within marriage could be so…unpredictable, so lush and charged with a palpable erotic energy. So utterly perfect. Charlotte had become the Lottie English he'd dreamed of taking intimately, of teaching and making his own for years, but she had also been much more than that. The fact that he alone possessed her and she would never have another lover in her life filled him with a contentment he couldn't begin to describe.

True, he'd been quite shocked when he caught her watching him from the doorway, and he'd very nearly climaxed the moment he saw her. He'd been aroused and thinking of her, envisioning her touch, needing her desperately. But it was her own desire that unraveled him. Of all the women he'd been with in his life,
not one of them had stroked him to climax, and his wife had
asked
him to let her. After tasting the delicious sweetness that flowed from her, feeling her experience her own orgasm, he'd been desperate to enter her and come deep inside. But that tiny part of him that had needed Lottie for so many years had held him back long enough to see if she'd touch him, and to his complete gratification, she'd done it without reservation. Before she fell asleep she asked him if she'd done it correctly, and he'd laughed. Not from the question, but because she had absolutely no idea how much her openness, her enjoyment in bed meant to him.

Their love life would be grand. Of that, he had no doubt. Charlotte was more than a wife, more than a mistress. She was his partner in bed, and he would give her everything she could ever desire. After tonight, he knew he'd never need another woman, would never need anything more.

With that knowledge in mind, peacefulness enveloping him, Colin finally closed his eyes and allowed the comfort of sleep to take him.

C
harlotte felt surprisingly refreshed this morning after such a fitful night's sleep in his bed. She rose early, bathed, and dressed in a modest day gown of lavender chiffon—probably the best she'd ever worn to the theater for rehearsal—hoping that Colin might notice and comment on her attire, or better, remark upon the way she looked in it. Unfortunately, she didn't see Colin at all this morning as Betsy, their new housekeeper, informed her he was working in his study and had asked not to be disturbed. She suspected he was well into copying the Handel piece, though since she'd never actually seen him at work, and had yet to view his progress, she had no idea how far along he was in the process or if he'd even managed to make a convincing forgery up to this point. But she could hardly concentrate on that now when she centered her thoughts on the events of last night, what he did to her body, her emotions. It subdued her a little when he didn't meet
her for breakfast, or choose to ride in with her this morning. But no matter. Her work would likely come easier today as she'd be able to better concentrate on her performance with him not there to distract her. Although she tried not to think about it, her body still tingled from the memory of his touch, his delicious kisses, the expert way he made her…

She shivered even in the warm sunshine as she opened the backstage door to the theater. Making her way toward her dressing room, she couldn't help but feel a keen embarrassment from lingering thoughts of last night—not so much by her boldness in going to him, but because in the end she had touched him so shockingly, in a manner that he had thoroughly enjoyed, even begged for. The constant musings made her suddenly recall their meeting in her brother's home before they were married when he emphasized in no uncertain terms that he wanted to keep her from getting with child until he'd gotten enough of her physically. Of course he hadn't said it quite that way, but just remembering his insistence that fateful day helped her to understand exactly why he'd not wanted to leave her with the possibility of getting with child last night. Then again, she would be the first to admit that she didn't know anything, really, about the male mind and how their logic worked, though to her, it did make sense.

“You're here early.”

Charlotte paused in her stride and turned to see a smiling Sadie walking toward her own dressing room from the opposite direction.

“I am, aren't I?” she replied good-naturedly. Hugging the day's music to her chest, she offered a smile
in return. “I think Walter is getting annoyed at me for being distracted every day.”

Sadie laughed lightly as she adjusted the pins that held her long mahogany braid to the back of her head. “No, he's not,” she replied in slightly accented French. “He can't chastise you too much or you might threaten to leave him for the Continent. Then where would we find ourselves?”

“With you as lead soprano, I suppose,” Charlotte returned at once, knowing that probably wasn't true but choosing to compliment her.

“Ha! I would never follow in your footsteps, Lottie,” Sadie teased, dropping her arms to her sides.

Her smile faded a little as she wondered if the Frenchwoman had deliberately said
would
never instead of
could
never, or if she'd only gotten the meaning wrong due to her less than perfect knowledge of English. But she quickly shook such a thought from her mind. Her husband had made her doubt her friend when there was no reason to do so.

“But,” Sadie added with a cunning grin, “he was looking for you earlier.”

Charlotte sagged a little into her stays. “Why? I just got here,” she said, exasperated.

Sadie shrugged, clasping her hands in front of her. “I have no idea, but he wasn't angry, if that makes you feel any better.”

Charlotte grumbled within and opened her dressing room door. “I'll find him in a moment.”

“Where is your handsome duke today?”

She whirled around, astonished that Sadie had mentioned Colin to her, and that the woman actually seemed to assume they were involved in something
together, perhaps even romantically. For a slice of a second she had no idea how to respond. Then, playing her best part yet, she sighed and revealed nothing. “I have no idea.”

“Ah. I see,” Sadie said knowingly, placing her hands on her hips. Then with a quick glance over her shoulder, she added mischievously, “You know he married a noblewoman.”

Charlotte could feel her cheeks burning, but she gracefully ignored it, clutching the music in her arms like a barrier. “Really? I thought I'd heard as much.”

“And I'm sure you know that man will trifle with anyone,” Sadie added, her lips tilted into a crooked grin as she looked her up and down. “He seems to like you.”

She couldn't decide if her friend was warning her to beware of the rake, or suggesting she have a romantic affair with him if she wasn't doing so already. But the fact that other cast members seemed to think she was involved clandestinely with the Duke of Newark rather unnerved her.

“There you are,” Anne cut in, fairly waltzing up to the two of them from behind the stage curtain to their left.

Charlotte exhaled deeply in relief. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

“And to you, as well,” the woman answered, patting her olive-green day gown at her abundant hips while she gazed at her from head to foot. “My goodness, don't you look pretty today, Lottie.”

She'd completely forgotten she'd worn a day gown in chiffon rather than her usual work clothes made of linen in colors that struck the onlooker as practical
rather than comely. She'd also dressed her hair in a loose pile on top of her head rather than an unbecoming knot at her nape. Apparently Anne had noticed, and possibly Sadie had, too, which may have been why she'd brought Colin up in conversation in the first place.

“Thank you,” she replied with a nod.

“Goodness, I hadn't even noticed,” Sadie said, taking part of the chiffon from her skirt into her fingers. “You could almost pass as a noblewoman yourself in such a gown.”

Anne laughed. “Indeed. And your English is just as good. But I suppose that's what comes from having a good ear.”

“Think the queen herself will invite me to tea?” Charlotte mocked with a curtsy.

Now both women chuckled, then Anne remarked, “Well,
my lady,
before that happens you'd better see the director. Walter is looking for you.”

Joking aside, she maintained, “Yes, I heard, and I suppose I'd better see what he wants before he turns red and hunts me down.”

Sadie moved to the older woman's side, linking her arm through hers. “Come, Anne,” she said with feigned impertinence, “
we're
obviously not needed.”

“Thankfully,” Anne added with a wink. “'Tis truly a bonus when one is
not
the star of the opera. See you on the stage, Lottie.”

With that, the two women walked away arm in arm, Sadie whispering and Anne laughing at whatever she'd said.

Charlotte sagged into her corset, knowing they teased her but feeling unsettled just the same. They
couldn't possibly know her identity, and yet dressing in better clothing had obviously been a mistake, certainly a lesson learned.

Quickly, she walked into her dressing room to leave her music on the seat of her vanity chair, then she righted herself, smoothed her skirts, and headed for the director's office on the second floor.

She paused at the closed door when she came to it, hearing male voices raised in anger, immediately recognizing Porano's. She could only imagine him waving arms dramatically since he sounded upset. She could not, however, distinguish what they might be discussing.

Standing erect with confidence, she knocked twice and walked into Walter's office when she heard his gruff call to enter.

As always, the small, windowless room remained spotless. A perfectionist beyond description, Charlotte could only wonder what the man's wife of twenty-five years thought of a husband who filed everything from production notes and costume receipts to the weekly grooming schedule of his terrier, Coco, who followed him everywhere, even to the theater.

Charlotte noticed the dog first, who perked up from her quilted blanket in the corner of the room and waddled toward her for attention.

“Coco, you darling,” she said, kneeling to pet the dog's very clean and recently brushed coat.

Coco licked her hands, nipped at her fingers, and she scratched her behind her ears while looking up at Porano.

She could tell immediately that their discussion had been less than affable. Porano's nose and rounded
cheeks flushed scarlet, though he'd managed to clamp his mouth down hard at her entrance. Walter seemed contrite, rubbing his oiled hair incessantly as he gazed at her from behind his polished and bare desk.

“You wanted to see me, Walter?” she said, still petting Coco while the dog tried but failed to jump into her lap.

Porano turned his back on her, gazing at the files Walter kept stacked and dust-free on the shelf to her left, his hands clasped behind him.

Barrington-Graham cleared his throat as he smoothed his black-and white-striped cravat. “I received a letter yesterday from the director of
La Scala,
in Milan,” he disclosed, his tone oddly mollified. “The…uh…Italians have heard of your magnificent talent, Lottie, and are requesting your response.”

Very slowly, Charlotte stood again, glancing from Porano's back to her director, her interest aroused. “My response to what, exactly?” she asked when he offered no more.

Walter's thin face seemed gaunt in the bright lamplight, his forehead and lips crinkled with what appeared to be concern.

“Actually,” he explained, lifting a finger to pull at his ridiculously tight collar, “they'd like you to come to Italy, with Adamo, and sing at
La Scala
with him, for the whole of next year, perhaps longer.”

It took her a long moment to actually understand what her director meant by such a stunning announcement. Then she felt her heart stop beating, her knees grow weak, as meaning sunk in.

“I—
La Scala
wants me?” she mumbled, her voice shaky.

“As their leading soprano.” Barrington-Graham tried to smile. “Italy wants you, Lottie. And as much as I despise the notion of losing you for a season or more, I must inform you of the interest.”

Charlotte desperately needed to sit, to gather her thoughts and come to terms with such incredible, such…fabulous news. But suddenly, as if this were all about him, Porano threw his hands in the air and walked to the only chair in the room in front of Walter's desk, fairly dumping his large frame into it, exasperated.

Barrington-Graham didn't appear to even notice the uncivilized error of decorum, instead plopping his own skinny backside down in the chair behind the desk as if winded.

Charlotte just stood there, gazing from one to the other, the shock on her face likely noticed as her mouth remained open with a totally unladylike speechlessness.

“They like you. They
want
you,” Porano exclaimed in heavily accented English, breaking the silence at last.

At that moment, Charlotte came to the conclusion that Adamo was none too happy with the news, and her first clear thought was to wonder how he learned about it before she did. But that hardly mattered. Standing in her director's office, her heart now pounding wildly, she began to realize what exactly this unbelievable opportunity meant to her, to her future.

The director of
La Scala,
Milan's grand opera house, had offered her a chance to sing in Italy. She'd
only seen drawings of the building, of the stage, but it was large enough to sit thousands, she suspected. It remained one of the greatest in the world, and would be the first step toward the attainment of her dream.

Barrington-Graham apparently noticed her initial shock, and he offered her a tentative smile.

“It's a marvelous offer, Lottie,” he said quietly, ignoring Porano altogether. “But I will expect you to finish your engagement in
The Bohemian Girl,
as will Adamo.” He leaned forward, placing his forearms on his desk, lacing his fingers together in front of him. “The theater can't afford to lose you—you know that—before next season.”

Charlotte hardly noticed as Coco began yapping, then pulling at the hem of her delicate chiffon skirt with her teeth, vying for attention again. Reaching down, she absentmindedly picked the terrier up and began petting her.

Italy. God help her, but this was the chance of a lifetime. “I…I have to accept such a generous offer,” she said moments later, her mouth dry.

Adamo shook his head and then dropped it, staring at his lap.

“Do you have a problem sharing the stage with me in Milan, Mr. Porano?” she asked flatly, her wits returning to her as his childishness grew ever more pronounced.

Adamo glanced over his shoulder. “Of course not,” he snapped back, his voice gruff.

Charlotte actually appreciated his reaction, as it wasn't altogether unexpected. The tenor was, and would always be in his mind, Italy's greatest star. To share the stage at
La Scala
with an invited English
singer, regardless of gender, would in a manner take away from his glory. Still, she mused, he also had to know what their pairing could do for his own career on the Continent, if he chose to manage it properly.

Giddy with a growing exhilaration, she purposely dismissed all negative and disconcerting conjecture. She had been offered a gift, and she would take it.

“Of course I'll be here for the entire season, Walter,” she acknowledged, trying to sound matter-of-fact about something that was, to him more than anyone, a business decision. “But you know as well as I that I can hardly refuse an offer like this from one of the greatest houses in Europe.”