Owen: Regency Rockstars Page 6

  A sheepish-looking Reid held up his hand. “Eliza felt she needed a name with a little more spark to it in order to secure us our first booking. Rather than a ragtag of bored nobles playing for the sheer hell of it, she said it would improve our chances of finding an audience if we sounded like we were serious musicians.”

  “We are serious musicians,” grumbled Kendal.

  “She had no right to change our name. I want to be the Noble Lords,” said Owen.

  “Agreed,” said Callum.

  Reid held both hands up in surrender. “I shall have a word with Eliza and let her know that we are to be known simply as the Noble Lords.”

  “Good. Then I suggest that it is time for us to leave,” announced Kendal. He swept past them all and made a beeline for the door. His cloak fluttered behind him in a dramatic fashion.

  Callum chuckled. “One day they will rebuild Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, and I have no doubt that Kendal will be first to claim center stage.”

  Owen picked up his violin case, then took a moment to steady his own nerves. He flexed the fingers of his left hand; they felt tender and stiff. He chided himself for not having at least kept up his finger exercises and thereby ensure that they remained soft and flexible. His recent injuries only served to make things worse.

  “Too late now,” he muttered. He followed Callum out of the ballroom and toward the front door. Reid brought up the rear. The time for rehearsals and worry was nearly over.

  It was time to face the music.

  Chapter Twelve

  Amy’s provocative gown did indeed garner a number of gasps, wide eyes, and longing sighs the moment she and Colin stepped into the main reception room at Mrs. Scott’s house.

  She turned to her brother and was about to seek his reassurance or offer to leave when Colin leaned in close and whispered, “Don’t look at me; just hold your head up and smile. You must behave as if that gown is something you are comfortable in and have several more of at home. Otherwise this charade won’t work.”

  She straightened her back and forced a smile to her lips. The gown was not at all comfortable. While the cream silk hugged her curves in all the right places and displayed her breasts to their best advantage, the fabric itself held little warmth. She shivered as goose bumps appeared on her arms.

  Colin placed a warm hand on the small of her back and rubbed. “Let’s find somewhere warmer for you to stand, shall we?”

  After staking out a spot near one of the grand fireplaces, Colin left Amy and went in search of a drink for them. Amy held herself in a somewhat stiff posture and concentrated on her breathing. As various guests passed her by, she noticed a distinct difference in the looks she got from the different sexes. Women glanced at her briefly before shaking their heads and turning away, while men’s gazes tended to linger. And linger.

  She was relieved when she saw Colin returning carrying a brandy and a glass of champagne, which he handed to her.

  “I have been making subtle enquiries and from what I understand, the Noble Lords are already here, but they are in one of the other rooms. I didn’t want to make it look too obvious that we are on the hunt for Lord Morrison by going and seeking them out.”

  Owen is here. She took a large gulp of the champagne, and then another, praying that the alcohol would quickly hit her brain and calm her nerves.

  Breathe. Remember, you are supposed to be worldly and sophisticated.

  She was feeling anything but a woman of sophistication—more like a country bumpkin out of her depth.

  A male guest passed them, slowing his steps as his gaze settled on Amy’s cleavage. Colin cleared his throat in obvious warning, and the gentleman gave a quick nod before turning on his heel and walking away.

  “He wasn’t even making an effort to be subtle in his ogling of you,” Colin ground out.

  Colin may have taken offense at having strange men stare at his sister in such lecherous ways, but Amy took heart from the interested looks that the gown was attracting. She might well be feeling cold and more than a little exposed, but she was getting attention.

  You did wear the gown to capture his eye.

  “At least this chilly creation is doing its job. Hopefully, it has the same effect on Lord Morrison,” she replied. Oh, God, I hope so. Otherwise I will have to think of something else. I am not doing a Lady Godiva in anyone’s ballroom.

  Colin did not look the least bit placated by his sister’s response.

  “So, the Noble Lords are definitely going to play here tonight. That is good news,” she said, trying to change the subject.

  “Yes. The other interesting piece of gossip I managed to catch is that the Italian musical group are also going to be here later this evening. Not performing, but sizing up their competition,” said Colin.

  Amy put a hand over her mouth and tried to hide a wicked smile. She could use the Italians as part of her plan. Jealousy. Now there is a thought.

  Colin gave her a questioning look.

  “The modiste told me that the group from Venice are all handsome devils and very popular with the ladies. What if I was to. . .?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t need to say more. Their father had forbidden Amy to flirt with men other than her fiancé. The hard set of Colin’s jaw told her in no uncertain terms that he was not going to stand by and let her put her spotless reputation at risk.

  “I wasn’t planning on doing anything with the Italians—more using them to keep up Owen’s interest in me. You have to admit that men are prideful creatures. If I can catch Lord Morrison’s eye but at the same time throw a rival into the mix, it might be enough to keep him captivated. It may even help to win his affections,” she replied.

  “And for you to have your character held up to scrutiny? No, absolutely not,” said Colin. There was a hard edge to his words; he was going to protect her, even from herself.

  He took her by the arm and led her out of the main room and into an alcove away from the other guests.

  “Amy, you haven’t even met Owen and yet you are already building in contingency plans. Why are you doing this? What haven’t you told me?” he demanded.

  Amy fiddled nervously with her champagne glass and stared hard at the floor. After a long silence, she shrugged and lifted her head. She looked at him through a sheen of tears. “Because Papa said that the Marquess of Lowe is his oldest and dearest friend; and that if I don’t marry Owen, the Morrison family will have to sell much of their estate. The situation with regard to Lord Lowe’s finances is far more dire than Papa told you. Without my dowry, the Morrisons will likely be ruined both financially and in the eyes of the nobility.”

  “When did he say this?” replied Colin, anger edging his voice.

  “When I confronted him over the betrothal. He practically begged me to marry Owen Morrison. And while Papa has given me the next few weeks to gain a better understanding of my fiancé, I was left with the distinct impression that it will take more than me simply saying ‘no’ for him to call off the engagement. There is every chance that by the end of this summer, I will be Owen’s wife. The truth is, I am not just trying to catch Owen Morrison’s eye; I need to capture his heart.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Oh, finally. I can’t believe that we have had to wait this long to hear them play,” said Amy.

  It was nearing midnight, and only now had the guests been asked to take their seats for the evening’s special performance by the Noble Lords.

  “You are showing your provincial roots, Amy. It’s not uncommon for these sorts of events to go well into the wee hours of the morning. Town hours are not the same as country hours,” said Colin.

  Amy couldn’t care less about town hours; she just wanted to go home and put on some warm clothes. She was certain that come morning she would be nursing a cold from having been out in the chilly night air.

  Next time, I shall wear a pair of woolen trousers under my skirts.

  “Come. Let us find some good seats near the front. If
you are to study Lord Morrison, then you should do so at close range,” he said.

  They were headed toward the rows of seats that had been arranged for the musical performance when four well-dressed gentlemen entered the room. Various guests immediately went to greet them.

  Colin took a hold of Amy’s arm and spun her about-face. He drew close. “I think that’s them. The chap with the long fair hair is Lord Kendal Grant; I remember him from a hunting party I attended at the Duke of Banfield’s estate with Papa a few years ago. I don’t know the others; they were all a couple of years ahead of me at school.”

  She went to turn back, but he stopped her.

  “Take it slow, Amy. You don’t want to be rushing over and trying to get their attention right before they are about to make their musical debut. They will likely have thoughts of their performance concentrating their minds at the moment. When you do meet Lord Morrison for the first time, you want it to be memorable. For you to make a lasting impression on him.”

  His words made perfect sense, but they didn’t address the problem which was forefront of her mind right at that very moment. Which of the others was Owen?

  “Wait here,” she said.

  If Owen was indeed part of the group of recently arrived gentlemen, his reputation would no doubt bring attention to him from the ladies present in the room.

  It didn’t take long for Amy’s theory to be proven right.

  She watched with interest as one female guest glanced furtively in the direction of the new arrivals. The lady quickly turned away when the gentleman she was with spoke to her in a brisk whisper. The woman’s husband clearly didn’t hold the same affection for the Noble Lords as his wife did.

  Amy stepped forward and caught the woman’s gaze. With a soft smile on her lips, she came and stood beside her. “Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could settle an argument I am having with my companion.”

  The woman returned Amy’s smile. “Yes?”

  “The gentleman over there with the long golden locks is Lord Kendal Grant, but my companion is certain that the fair-haired gentleman next to him is Lord Owen Morrison. Whereas I think the man with short dark hair is him.”

  Her words were greeted with a perceptive chortle. The woman took Amy by the arm and leaned in close. “You are both wrong. Lord Morrison is the gentleman closest to us—the one with shoulder-length dark hair. And while you may find him interesting, I should warn you that the man is an unashamed rake.”

  “Really? Do tell,” replied Amy.

  The woman’s gaze settled on the top of Amy’s gown, taking in the ample amount of bust on show. An understanding smile crept to her lips. “Or perhaps you don’t wish for me to warn you off. From the daring manner of your dress, my dear, I would suggest you know exactly the sort of man Lord Morrison is and you intend to get yourself a piece of him.”

  Amy’s heart thumped hard in her chest; her blood pounded in her ears. She swallowed nervously but pressed on. “I may be interested in making his acquaintance.”

  Her words were met with a soft, knowing laugh. “I must say, you don’t look old enough to have been married for more than a handful of years. Are you sure you can’t get that husband of yours over there to learn some better tricks in bed? It takes a certain level of sexual knowledge to handle a man such as Owen. I happen to know from personal experience that he is marvelous in bed, but even a lothario like him would likely think twice at tupping someone as young as yourself.”

  The woman’s words pulled Amy’s grand plans to capture Owen’s affections to a sudden stop. Owen was only interested in sexually experienced women. If he didn’t view her as a potential lover, she would struggle to hold his attention, let alone win his heart.

  Damn. There goes that part of the plan. I will have to come at this from another angle.

  She was about to question her fellow guest further, but the woman’s husband cleared his throat. “Come, dear, we must take our seats.”

  Amy smiled her thanks and returned to Colin’s side. She nodded in the direction of Owen and his friends. “The man on the end, the one badly in need of a haircut, is Owen.”

  “Ah. Well done, Amy; you have run the beggar to ground. So, what are your plans now?” he replied.

  Her plans were in flux. If Owen was not one for bedding young women, she had to rethink her approach. Find another way to bait the hook.

  “I think we should do as Papa suggested—watch and take notes. At least for tonight. I will wait until another social engagement before I make my move. Now that I know what he looks like, I can make our first meeting seem more of a chance occurrence than just marching up and saying hello,” she replied.

  “Wise thoughts. We should find a seat,” offered Colin. He pointed to a pair of chairs close to the front of the room. Amy hesitated, unsure as to whether she should be sitting so close to Owen, but she eventually relented and followed her brother. From her seat, she had a clear line of sight to where the Noble Lords would perform.

  The Noble Lords made their way to center stage. Kendal took a seat at the piano. The other members of the group followed him, with Owen bringing up the rear. After he passed by, Amy leaned over and slowly admired his rear. Colin elbowed her in the ribs, and she sat upright once more.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  “I am supposed to be a wicked woman of the ton. Looking at men is part of the disguise,” she replied.

  Colin rolled his eyes.

  Her already racing heart beat a little faster when Owen took the chair closest to her. He was seated side on, but she was still able to get an appreciation of the man, and the beginning of an understanding as to why he was so successful with women.

  He was strongly built. His broad shoulders were skillfully displayed by the elegant cut of his black evening jacket. His sable hair shone with a gleam which had her fingers twitching. She could imagine running her fingers through those luxurious locks. Perhaps she wouldn’t ask him to cut his locks after all.

  And after I have touched your hair, I would tie it back with a black ribbon. You would look even more handsome, if that were possible.

  If she did end up marrying him, she would claim brushing his hair and tying it back each morning as her marital right.

  Two seconds after setting eyes on him and you are already fantasying about what it would be like to wake beside this man. What are you doing, Amy?!

  Her train of thought was broken when Owen leaned over and picked up a violin and bow from the case beside his chair. She blinked back to the now.

  A surreptitious check of the bodice of her gown showed her nipples to be peaked. She placed her left arm across her chest and held onto her right arm. She raised the fingertips of her right hand to her lips and pretended to be in deep thought. Her hardened buds were now hidden from view. Where was a shawl when you needed one?

  Mrs. Scott introduced the other dark-haired member of the Noble Lords as Lord Reid Follett. Amy recalled reading about his heroic efforts at Waterloo in the papers. Something about a cavalry charge and almost losing his head.

  Reid came to stand alongside Mrs. Scott. “My lords, ladies and gentlemen. We are the Noble Lords. My friends and I have decided to come together this summer to perform at select homes and venues. While we are receiving payment for our performances, all monies raised will go to help the widows and orphans of our brave soldiers.”

  Amy held her arms close to her chest and joined the rest of the gathering in applauding Lord Follett’s words. Whomever had come up with the idea of war veterans playing to raise money for war widows and orphans was a genius.

  “Lord Kendal Grant is at the piano, with Sir Callum Sharp and Lord Owen Morrison accompanying him on the flute and violin respectively. A little later in our performance, I shall be singing the Catalog Aria from Don Giovanni. We hope you will enjoy our performance. Thank you.”

  As Reid stepped back, Owen lifted his violin and tucked it under his chin. Amy smiled as he nuzzled it. She could just picture what
he would look like holding a baby close to him.

  She pressed her arms hard against her. Her aroused nipples protested, but she ignored the discomfort. If this was her body’s reaction to seeing Owen for the first time, she was in serious trouble. Serious. Trouble.

  The opening strains of a Vivaldi violin concerto filled the room and Amy closed her eyes. She loved the sweet sound of a violin. She concentrated on steadying her breathing, hoping that the music would settle the whirl of emotions which Owen had already stirred up within her.

  “They are rather good,” whispered Colin.

  She managed a small nod in response.

  Late in this first piece of music, a hum rippled through the gathering. Amy opened her eyes, but her gaze settled and remained on the Noble Lords. They continued to play, seemingly oblivious to anything other than their music.

  Colin lay his head back and looked over his shoulder, then righted himself and leaned across to whisper in her ear. “A group of four gentlemen have just arrived, and from the way that most of the women at the back of this room are carrying on, I would hazard a safe bet that they are the Italians. Even Mrs. Scott looks ready to throw herself at their feet.”

  Amy didn’t respond. Her mind, body and spirit were all focused on the gentleman seated a few feet away, lovingly holding a violin in his hands.

  Reid Follett got to his feet and the audience fell silent. He announced the song as the Catalog Aria from Don Giovanni and then began to sing. She could hear him, but she wasn’t paying that much attention.

  Just before Reid had taken to center stage, Owen had placed his violin on his lap and turned to face the audience. His gaze had wandered slowly over the gathering. The occasional lifting of an eyebrow, or a long, slow blink at someone in the audience were the only indications that he wasn’t fully paying attention to the group’s singer.

  Look here. Look at me. See me.

  Amy sat straighter in her seat and, letting her arms drop, placed her hands gently in her lap. The expensive gown came into its own, displaying her ample breasts to perfection.