Sins Of A Duke Part 10

"Yes. And Aunt Nell knows all about fas.h.i.+on, Aunt Caroline is teaching me to paint, and Aunt Sarala knows how to charm snakes."

"But?" he prompted after a moment, hearing the unspoken reservation in her statement.

Her face folded into a thoughtful scowl. "Nothing. They go home at night, and Aunt Nell has Rose, and n.o.body has me." Tears welled in her eyes.

Sebastian pulled his daughter into a tight hug. "I have you, sweetling." Christ. The thoughts of a seven-year-old humbled him. "Do you want me to get married again, then?" he asked, touching his forehead to hers.

"Not to Mary's aunt. She laughs like a donkey." Peep brayed in demonstration.

"So that was her?" he returned, forcing a grin. "I thought it was an actual donkey." He pulled out his pocket watch. "Shall we adjourn for some luncheon? I have a meeting this afternoon."

She kissed him on the forehead. "You're a very good Papa, you know."

"I do try."

Rising, he took her hand and they went downstairs to the breakfast room. Peep wanted a mother. It made sense; she probably had only a very vague memory of Charlotte, and though they talked about her often, he'd noticed lately that the tales had the same feel to them as any fairy story.

Did he want to remarry? A year ago he would have dismissed the question. Two years ago, it would have made him angry. Now, though, he simply didn't know.

What he did know, however, was that Mary Haley's aunt would make a better match for him than Josefina Embry. For one thing, Lady Margaret Trent wasn't heir to a Central American monarchy. For another, Margaret didn't spin his head around as Josefina seemed able to do. He didn't want his head spun. He liked being in control and having things go as they should.

He barely knew the d.a.m.n princess, anyway. Josefina claimed to prefer him over Harek, but he doubted that would make any difference if Harek proposed and he didn't. And he wouldn't. Sebastian blew out his breath. If he had a quarter of the heartless, calculating resolve he was well-known for, none of this should be troubling him. Yet obviously it was.

d.a.m.n the chit. What he needed to do was take a mistress, someone on whom he could exercise the physical demons that after four years had abruptly made themselves known again. Someone discreet, compliant, and with a pretty enough face that he could forget the dark-eyed one that continued to haunt him. Peep looked up at him.

"What's wrong?"

Wonderful. Now he couldn't even conceal his emotions from an infant. "Nothing. Go ahead, will you? I need to make a note of something before I forget."

She nodded, walking into luncheon without him. "Stanton," he heard her say, "did Cook remember that I particularly like cheese toast and asparagus soup?"

"Indeed she did, my lady."

Sebastian returned upstairs, heading not to his office, but to the library. There, over the fire, hung a portrait of his lovely Charlotte. Her blue eyes twinkled, even on the flat, painted surface. Chestnut hair coiled atop her head and escaped from the pins that held it, as though it had been ruffled by a stray breeze while she'd paused in the garden to smile at him.

He could still recall her voice, her laugh, her touch, just as he remembered her last days, when her skin had been pale and drawn, her eyes dull, and her smile a mask that hadn't fooled either of them.

What he couldn't remember was the last time she'd been in his dreams. For months it had been every night, to the point that if not for Peep and his siblings he wouldn't have wanted to awaken again. Then she'd begun to visit a little less regularly, but still frequently-more days in a month than not. When, then, had it stopped? And why for the past five nights had he dreamed of someone else?

He knew Charlotte's painted expression wouldn't change, just as he knew without thinking that of course she would want him and their daughter to be happy. But he wasn't certain whether it was happiness he would find with Josefina, or disaster.

Gathering himself, he ducked into his office and wrote out a swift note to Lord Beltram, one of the ministers of public records. If anyone could determine the present whereabouts of one John Rice-Able, Beltram could. Before he allowed his heart to become tangled in anything, even pure impossibilities, his mind wanted some answers as to why one person's paradise was another's insect-infested swamp.

"I don't understand," Conchita said, as she fastened the pearl necklace around Josefina's neck. "You have two dukes courting you now?"

"No," Josefina returned, taking one last look into her dressing mirror before she stood, "officially, I am not being courted at all."

"But unofficially?"

She smiled. "Unofficially I think one of them wants to marry me, and the other one wants to bed me."

"Jo-Your Highness!"

"I would call that a very promising beginning, wouldn't you?"

"I wouldn't call it any such thing."

Halfway out her bedchamber door, Josefina turned around. "Are you, or are you not, my confidante, Conchita?"

The maid dipped a curtsy. "I am, of course."

"Then I will say such things to you, because you should know what's going on." She frowned briefly. "And because I certainly can't say those things to anyone else."

"I apologize, Your Highness."

Josefina didn't answer. After having Conchita with her for over ten years, she probably did tend to be a little over-familiar, but at the same time she wanted someone about whom she could trust.

None of that explained why she hadn't mentioned to her maid that Melbourne had kissed her, or that he meant to do so again tonight. If the cause of Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela required that sacrifice of her, she would make it. Josefina touched her fingers to her lips, smiling as her heart accelerated. She would make that sacrifice gladly, and would do so several more times, if required.

The Duke of Harek waited in the foyer as she descended the stairs. "You are lovelier than any creature on this earth," he said reverently, bowing.

He'd probably hunted enough of those creatures to know. "Thank you, Your Grace. Shall we go? I'm eager to see the theater."

Outside he handed her and Conchita into his coach, then climbed in behind them. As soon as the door closed, they rumbled down the drive.

"Did you attend the theater in Jamaica?" the duke asked.

"Whenever I could. The last two years, though, we were simply too busy."

"I've been a bit starved for culture, myself. Theater in Quebec consisted mainly of natives dancing about in cured deerskins."

"I hope we shall both be pleased, then." Josefina was beginning to wonder whether he ever spoke a sentence that didn't have a dead animal in it.

"Tell me, when does your father return from Scotland, Your Highness? I confess that I'm anxious to meet the rey and begin my official duties as liaison to Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela."

"You're fulfilling them already," she returned, "simply by allowing me to be seen. As for the rey, he meant for the trip to be a brief one, and he should be back in London by the end of next week."

"Splendid. Most excellent."

"Yes. I miss him and the queen, and we must begin purchasing supplies for our return voyage."

"I hope there may be room for additional pa.s.sengers on that voyage," he said with a charming smile. "I'm sure there must be a few Britons who would like to start life anew, in the company of the right...well, companion."

"That will be up to my father," she returned just as smoothly. If he attempted to make his intentions any clearer, he would have to produce a pastor from his pocket.

"Of course." He turned the conversation to fox hunting there in England, and seemed to think it would be something she would enjoy watching, if not partic.i.p.ating in.

Finally the coach stopped, and he disembarked first. "I know which duke wants to marry you," Conchita whispered as he handed them down to the ground.

"Hush."

A horde of vehicles crowded the street in front of the theater. Once they made their way inside, so many people filled the lobby and flowed up the central staircase that she couldn't even find her own feet. Princess, duke, knight, or wealthy merchant-in the lobby no one had room for a deep breath.

And then the path in front of her cleared. "This way, Your Highness," the Duke of Melbourne said, offering his arm.

She took it gratefully, belatedly noticing that his brother, Charlemagne, stood just beyond him. Melbourne rarely seemed to go anywhere alone, though at the same time even a complete stranger would know who commanded the group. He wore all black tonight but for his stark white cravat, and the result was...mesmerizing. Given the other females devouring him with their eyes, she wasn't the only one to find him so.

"Is it always this crowded?" she asked, climbing the stairs beside him. Before them the crowd parted like a receding ocean wave. For one of the few times since this all had begun, she absolutely felt like a princess.

"You are the toast of the Town, Your Highness," he returned. "Everyone wants to see the Embrys, who seem to be bringing London so much good fortune."

"'Seem to be'?" she returned, keeping the amused expression on her face.

"I know you slapped me," he pointed out, humor deepening his voice. "Who knows how many others you might have maimed."

"Only you, Melbourne."

"You may call me Sebastian, if you wish."

A breath s.h.i.+vered through her. "We'll see."

The upstairs crowd wasn't as dense, and it was there that she saw people whom she recognized from other ton gatherings. And she realized that what Melbourne had said was true-as many theater-goers gazed at her as stared at him.

As they continued along the ever-more empty hallway, she glanced behind her to see Harek and Lord Charlemagne in step and discussing something-probably hunting-with Conchita a few feet behind them. After the crowd below, she was somewhat surprised that their party remained intact.

"Almost there," Melbourne said in a low, intimate voice, sending her a brief sideways glance.

"This theater is far larger than the one at Morant Bay."

He nodded. "London is a larger city than Morant Bay."

"And I always had a chaperone with me," she continued. "Is that why your brother is here? To protect you?"

"From you, I suppose?"

"Who else are you afraid of?"

A heart-stopping smile touched his mouth. "My brother is here to keep Harek occupied, in case you should need me to show you to a private closet."

"And what if I don't require that?"

"I leave it up to you, Your Highness."

"You're that confident, are you?"

He moved a fraction closer to her. "I suppose we'll find out." Melbourne straightened again. "Here we are. After you." Pulling aside the rich red curtain, he gestured her to step inside his private box.

She felt as though she'd stepped into another world. This theater was easily triple the size of the one she'd frequented in Morant Bay. And the rows of theater-goers below looked like a glittering, multicolored ocean. And all of those people would see her sitting with two dukes and a lord. She smiled. Even her father couldn't have dreamed of loftier heights.

"Your Highness, you and Harek take the front chairs," Melbourne was saying. "Shay and I bow to your popularity."

But she'd wanted to sit beside him. Three chairs sat at the front of the box, another four behind. Conchita had already claimed the least visible one in the corner. She didn't suppose, though, that Lord Charlemagne would wish to sit in the second row by himself.

Melbourne held her chair for her. "You'll have to imagine me sitting behind you, gazing at you, at the soft curve of your ear," he murmured as she sat.

She twisted her neck to look up at him. "I daresay I'll scarcely remember that you're there," she whispered back.

He bowed, almost brus.h.i.+ng her cheek with his lips, but not quite. "Liar," he breathed, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Whatever his doubts about Melbourne's motives, Harek was obviously pleased as a cat with a ball of twine to be seen sitting beside her in the front of the theater's best box. Behind her, Melbourne and Lord Charlemagne were quietly discussing something about a birthday party and acrobats, though she couldn't overhear all of the conversation in the midst of the chattering that surrounded them.

Harek leaned toward her. "As a word of warning, this play is so blasted long that we won't see intermission for nearly two hours. Luckily falling asleep's not a sin, as long as you don't fall out of your chair."

"I don't think I shall have to worry about that, but thank you."

As he leaned over the edge of the box to greet someone below, she distinctly heard Melbourne's brother mutter the word "buffoon." That troubled her; not that Harek seemed anything but a buffoon to her, either, but that the haute ton in general might think him one. She certainly didn't need that sentiment joined in any way to her family.

A moment later the curtain lifted and the play began. Though she'd read Hamlet in the course of her studies, she'd never seen it performed before. She sat forward.

Twenty minutes later she heard a soft snore beside her, and turned to look. Sunk down in his chair, arms crossed and his head tilted back, Harek had at least braced himself so that he wouldn't succ.u.mb to his own sin of falling out of his chair.

The box behind her was silent, but she knew without any doubt that Melbourne remained wide awake. He would be gazing at her, he'd said. Her skin p.r.i.c.kled. Dammit, he'd said that she would be thinking about him, about how he wanted to kiss her again. It wasn't just that, though, that started warmth between her thighs.

He wanted to do more than kiss her, and it would be in the best interest of her father's plans to allow him to do so. As for her own best interest, she knew with an abrupt clarity that she wanted him to be her first. Every other man she knew would settle for a kingdom and seconds, but not Melbourne.

She had no wish to sit next to a snoring buffoon for four hours-not when she could spend at least a little of that time being kissed by a man whom her cause needed, a man who heated her from the inside out. She rose.

"Excuse me for a few moments," she whispered, moving to the back of the box as Conchita stood.

"I'll show you the way," Melbourne said easily, getting to his feet. "Shay, might I get you a port?"

"If you don't mind," his brother replied in the same low voice, rising halfway to his feet and then sitting again as she pa.s.sed by him. "I'll make sure our guest doesn't lose his balance."

The candlelit hallway seemed bright after the dimness of the theater, and Josefina blinked as they emerged. "This way," Melbourne said, leading her a short distance to one of the curtained privacy alcoves. Then he slowed, drawing even with the maid. "What's your name?"

"Conchita, Your Grace."

"Conchita, you will wait exactly there," he said, indicating the wall several yards away. "You will ensure Her Highness's privacy, and you will not hear anything. Is that clear?"

The maid sent Josefina a nervous look. "Your Highness?"

"Do as you're told, Conchita."

With a curtsy the maid moved away to where Melbourne had indicated. The duke glanced up and down the empty hall, then held the half-open curtain aside. "After you."

Even if she'd wanted to refuse him, she wasn't certain she would have been willing to argue with that tone. He stepped in behind her and pulled the curtain closed. Echoing dimly from inside she could hear the play continuing.

"He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders Of his affection to me."