Sins Of A Duke Part 13

"Take a look." Closing the book from which he'd been reading, Shay slid it over.

For a moment Sebastian looked at the t.i.tle impressed into the leather on the book's front cover. "This..." He cleared his throat, the ramifications of what he was seeing beginning to dawn on him. "This is a survey of Jamaica."

"Dating from seventy-five years ago, and commissioned by King George the Second." He took the Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela prospectus back and turned another few pages. "I kept thinking that some of this sounded familiar."

"In all fairness," Sebastian heard himself saying, "perhaps the rey doesn't have the gift for putting pen to paper. Borrowing a few-"

"It's whole chapters, Seb. All of the wests are changed to easts, the river and town names are altered, but everything else is identical. It even has the trade winds blowing in the wrong direction to accommodate the country's location on the coast." He grabbed another book. "And do you want to read about the populace? It's all in this one-A Cultural Study of the West Indies. And the-"

"That's enough, Shay."

"But-"

"I understand what you're telling me. There's not an original word in here."

"It does make one wonder what Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela is really like," his brother commented.

Sebastian stood. "I think I'll go ask. Excuse me."

"The rey's not back from Scotland yet." Shay pushed to his feet as well, gathering books up in his arms as he went.

"Prince Josefina's here." He glanced at Charlemagne as his brother fell into step behind him. "I'm going alone."

Shay gave him an exasperated look, but nodded. "I suppose then that I'm to keep this to myself."

"Until you hear otherwise from me, yes."

"You're going to miss Parliament if you go now."

He grabbed his hat and gloves from Stanton and headed down the front steps toward the stable. No coach today; he wanted to ride. "To the devil with Parliament," he snapped.

Chapter 10.

J osefina signaled Colonel Branbury's butler. "Grimm, please turn any additional callers away," she said as he reached her side. "Have them come back tomorrow."

He bowed. "Very good, Your Highness. And shall I send to the kitchen for more tea and pastries?"

"Yes, thank you." At least if the hordes of visitors were eating, they couldn't be talking. That might leave just enough air in the modest-sized drawing room for her to keep breathing. If she fainted in there, she would probably be trampled to death before anyone noticed her on the floor.

"Your Highness," Lord Ausbey said, bowing so reverently that the top of his curly blond head nearly brushed the pale blue carpet, "thank you so much for agreeing to receive me this morning. I am one of your most ardent admirers. In fact, I've written you a poem stating the depth of my feelings." He pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his dark green jacket-apparently worn in honor of the green cross of the Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela flag.

"I would love to hear it, Lord Ausbey," she said with a smile, putting a hand on his arm to keep him from unfolding the thing, "but I have-"

"Please, Your Highness, you must call me Adam. I long to hear my name on your lips."

Yes, men did seem to enjoy that sort of thing, she recalled, telling herself that the sudden tightness in her chest was cynical anger and not heated memory. She chuckled, pus.h.i.+ng his arm down as she released him. Unfortunately he kept hold of the poem. "You flatter me, Lord Ausbey. Now excuse me while I see to my other guests."

Without waiting for a reply she turned away, wading further into the sea of admirers and would-be hangers-on. Conchita intercepted her, surrept.i.tiously fluffing the cream-colored sleeves that had drooped amid the press of people.

"Your father would be ecstatic to see all this interest," the maid whispered.

"At the moment, I wish he were here to deal with it," Josefina returned in the same low tone. "Welcoming them and being charming is one thing, but how does one get rid of them?"

"Perhaps you should ask the duke," Conchita suggested, slipping into the background again as Lady Holliwell approached, a prospectus clasped in her arms.

They'd been printing the things as swiftly as they could. It had become a noticeable expense, but she supposed that spending a few s.h.i.+llings was a fair exchange for encouraging an investment of thousands of pounds. And the more interest they stirred, the better.

"Ah, there you are, Your Highness," the Duke of Harek said, stepping in front of the countess to offer his arm.

"You seem to have some admirers," she noted, indicating the group of women with whom he'd been chatting.

"They are here to see you." He covered her hand with his as she took his arm. "As am I."

"So much flattery today. My head is spinning." She forced her aching cheek muscles into another smile. "In fact, I'm feeling a bit fatigued at the moment."

"I believe I can manage our guests if you want to go freshen up."

"'Our guests'?"

"I speak in the sense of my being your host here in England," he said smoothly, his charming smile bright enough to leave shadows.

She glanced about at the crowded drawing room again. Her father would be kissing knuckles and shaking hands, each gesture and word bringing more wealth and support to Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela. The rey, however, wouldn't be back in London until tomorrow. And her ears were ringing from all the noise.

"Then do please host for a few minutes," she said, pulling her hand free. "I'll just go upstairs to fix my hair."

"Have no worries." His smile deepened. "A princess is supposed to be delicate."

She nearly asked if he would prefer that she t.i.tter and faint, but that would have required staying in the middle of the madhouse and talking. As quickly as she could Josefina made her way into the hallway, where even more guests overflowed, and up the stairs to her private rooms.

"Your Highness," Conchita puffed from behind her, topping the stairs. "Is everything well?"

"I just need to catch my breath. Keep an eye on Harek, will you? I don't want him to declare himself rey while I'm pinning my hair."

The maid gave a quick curtsy, flas.h.i.+ng an even briefer smile. "If I sense trouble I will kick him. In this crowd he won't know who to blame."

Josefina pushed open the door. "An excellent idea."

Stepping inside, she closed it again, resting her forehead against the cool oak. She hadn't realized that being gracious and charming could be so taxing.

"Don't tell me you've run out of pretty stories to tell."

At the deep, familiar drawl she froze. Melbourne. She whipped around. "What the devil are you doing here?"

He leaned a haunch against her writing desk. From the chaos of the papers there, he'd been rifling through them. "I had a question," he said easily, not moving.

"Get out of my bedchamber. If you're here to call on me, then go downstairs with my other guests."

Melbourne straightened, seeming abruptly to fill the room. "One of the sycophantic horde?" he asked, moving past her as she edged around toward her bed and the pistol she kept in the bed stand there.

"I suppose so, since you can't seem to stay away from me."

He stopped at the door. "I can't, can I?" he mused, almost to himself. Slowly he reached out and secured the lock.

She heard the click from halfway across the room. Alarm ran down her spine. As mightily attracted to him as she felt, she was not a fool. Whatever he was up to would serve his purposes rather than hers. Josefina drew a breath.

"Since you won't leave, what is your question?"

"Who auth.o.r.ed your prospectus?"

The question surprised her. "That is what you wish to know? I thought perhaps you wanted your old liaison position back."

"Who wrote it?" he repeated.

"Are you looking for someone to a.s.sist you with your memoirs? I can give you a t.i.tle-A Very Unpleasant Man, or the Memoirs of Someone You Don't Wish to Know."

For a second he looked at her. "Are you afraid of anything?"

Only of how she felt in his presence. "I'm certainly not afraid of you, Sebastian," she said, deliberately using his Christian name. "You did give me leave to call you Sebastian, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. And you gave me leave to remove that gown and strip you naked."

Her skin heated. "No," she returned, holding onto her scattering wits with all her strength, "that was a different gown. This one stays where it is, because you called me a liar."

Melbourne walked toward her. "You are a liar. Who wrote the d.a.m.ned prospectus?"

He knew. Somehow, he'd figured it out. Panic twisted through her. Her father should never have given Sebastian Griffin more information than strictly required. He was far too clever, and far too dangerous.

"Don't waste your time trying to think up something plausible," he snapped, stopping close enough to touch. "Tell me the truth."

Josefina took a deep breath, looking up to meet his gaze. "The truth," she said, her mind racing. "Very well. I wrote it."

"Ah." His eyes glinted. "You're very knowledgeable about a country you saw for a total of two days."

"I wrote it before I ever saw it." She frowned. "Father wrote me letter after letter describing Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela. He needed money to carry out his dream, and in order to get money, he needed investors. To get them, he needed something official and in writing. We didn't have time to commission a complete, formal survey-that would have taken too much time with Spain pus.h.i.+ng back against the rebels. So I studied other volumes to which I had access, and I...adapted them to fit what my father had described."

"So the natives of Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela resemble those of the West Indies?"

"You have done some checking," she said, with grudging admiration. "No one cares about the history of the natives. They're there, and most of them speak at least some English. The rest is just...theatrical decoration."

"And San Saturus?"

"A little smaller than described, but it is pretty, and it does overlook an easily defended harbor."

"You have the trade winds blowing the wrong way."

She flushed. Lies were one thing, but she hated making stupid mistakes. "I didn't realize that until after copies had already been printed."

His gaze lowered to her mouth, then swiftly lifted again, as though he couldn't quite control his reaction to her. "What you've done," he said, "aside from the theft of someone else's research, is exceedingly...bold. Did you think no one would notice?"

"There's no harm in it." She lifted her hand toward him, running her fingers along the line of his jaw. Warm skin, and a barely discernable stubble of beard. Against all of her better thoughts and wishes, he fascinated her.

His muscles shuddered. "A seduction might distract me, Josefina," he said quietly, "but it won't make me forget what I know."

A seduction, though, might give her enough time to tell her father that Melbourne knew about the prospectus, and enough time to figure out if he meant to tell Sir Henry Sparks or anyone else and endanger the loan money that was already being issued to them.

"Weighing your options?" he murmured.

d.a.m.n it, he couldn't read minds. No one could do that. "And if you thought I was standing here to gain a favor or influence, what would you do?"

"Try me."

They stood halfway between the door and the bed, a breath from touching, for several hard beats of her heart. Lofty as he was in England, Melbourne probably had no idea the things she had to contemplate, the benefits of his favor against what either rejection or exposure could do to her. "I'm remembering a few nights ago," she said, managing somehow to keep her voice steady, "when you put your hands on me and then pushed me away."

He moved a feather's width closer. "And?"

"And so I think you should leave." She backed up, then deliberately turned away. "Whatever insult or accusation you level against me, what you did that night at the theater was worse."

"Get back here."

"No." Facing him again, Josefina stopped beside the bed stand, her hand on its dark, polished surface. "Go away."

She swore that he growled then, a low, primitive rumble that raised goose b.u.mps on her arms. "I am not someone to be trifled with," he uttered.

"Neither am I." But before she had time to do anything more than pull the drawer open, his hands clamped down on her shoulders. Melbourne yanked her around, the ease of the motion leaving her no doubt that he was far stronger than she.

"I will stop your mouth," he muttered tightly, and kissed her.

Oh, G.o.d. He'd been teasing her at the theater, and the other times he'd kissed her. Pure arousal slammed down her backbone, potent and not at all subtle. His lips, his tongue, pushed and teased at her until she opened her mouth to him.

Abruptly he broke away. Breathing hard, his gray eyes glittering, he looked from her to the drawer before he pulled the pistol free. "Is this what you were after? Do you want to shoot me, Josefina?"

"No," she blurted, knocking the pistol aside and grabbing his hair to yank his face down to her mouth again.

She heard the weapon hit the floor, but she no longer cared. She wanted to crawl inside him, inside his mind, his body, his heart. Moaning as his hands swept down to her hips, pulling her still closer, Josefina fumbled with the knot of his cravat.

Melbourne pushed, throwing her onto the bed with him on top of her, kissing everywhere he bared her skin. She felt electric, as though bolts of lightning were running through her veins. "Sebastian," she moaned, giving up on the cravat and tearing at his waistcoat b.u.t.tons. "I want to touch you."

Without answering he yanked down the front of her dress, sinking lower to take her left breast in his mouth, his tongue rasping across her nipple. Pure fire seared through her. He was not going to stop this seduction here, as he had done before. Her hands shaking, she pushed his jacket and waistcoat off his shoulders. He shrugged them off one arm at a time, the other hand still running crazily along her skin.

Sebastian lifted away from her just enough to pull the white linen s.h.i.+rt off over his head, the cravat following it to the floor. Finally. Josefina skimmed her fingers along the warm skin of his chest, through the light dusting of dark hair there, down to where his trousers banded his hips. His skin was soft, but she could feel the hard muscles beneath; muscles that jumped at her touch.