An Artful Seduction (17 page)

She fumbled for the key in her reticule. As soon as she had it out, Grayson took it from her, opened the door, and followed her inside the print shop. A single lantern was left to burn on a side table.

“Where are your sisters?” he asked.

“Shh,” she said. “It’s almost midnight. They are asleep upstairs.”

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t ravage her. Not when her inhibitions were loosened by wine and her sisters were asleep upstairs. “I enjoyed our dinner together.”

She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “Our evening isn’t over. Come.” Picking up the lantern, she took his hand and led him into the back workroom.

He was powerless to resist and followed her. The faint smell of oil paint and turpentine filled the small space. Two fresh paintings rested against the wall to dry. He’d seen similar ones in the shop before and suspected they were Amelia’s favorites that sold well—a painting of a bowl of fruit and a country landscape. The worn worktable was cleared of paints, but a jar of brushes rested in the corner.

Eliza closed the curtain partition, ensconcing them in a private art haven, and turned to face him. “I want you to kiss me again so that I may learn.”

“You drank too much wine.”

“So? Kiss me.” She shrugged and sauntered over to him. Her fingers grazed his cheek, then lowered to rest against his chest. His heart raced beneath her hand.

She didn’t wait for him, but stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. His whole body stiffened. He stared down at her, his body tense and controlled.

She made a little mewl of frustration, and tried slanting her mouth against his. Her delicate pink tongue flicked across his lips, then she pressed closer, and sucked his full bottom lip into her mouth.

Grayson’s control snapped as desire scorched through his entire body. He pulled her to him and pressed her against the worktable. His mouth opened, and his lips parted hers to make the first sweeping stroke of his tongue.

She didn’t resist, but clutched his shoulders and arched against him in surrender. Her heated response fueled his desire. His hands slid up her waist to cup her breasts. Even through her gown, he felt her nipples tighten at his touch. Her full breasts were magnificent and he needed to see them again…to feel them again.

He worked the fastenings on the back, and pushed aside the gaping fabric of her gown and chemise to free her breast and it filled his palm perfectly. He kissed her as his thumb grazed the rosy tip of her nipple.

His other hand raised her skirts and skimmed her silk stocking all the way up to the bare skin past her garter. He parted her drawers and touched her enticing heat.

She was wet.
For him.
His growl of approval was met with her own gasp of pleasure. His fingers teased her. He slipped a finger inside then withdrew to trace a slow circle over her sensitive bud. She moaned and arched toward his hand. He imagined what it would be like to be inside her. All that silken heat encasing him. He took deep breaths, desperate to keep control. Her first time should be all pleasure, no pain. He wanted to feel her tremble, to watch her experience her first climax. He wanted her to remember him when she had erotic dreams.

“Let yourself go. I won’t let you fall,” he whispered huskily against her lips.

His fingers stroked expertly. He watched her as she writhed in his arms. Pure, primal possession took hold, and she was exquisite in her passion. Her body convulsed in his grip and mewling sounds of pure pleasure escaped from her lips as she climaxed.

He lowered his lips to her ear. “I want you.”

Her eyelids fluttered open. “Where?”

Christ. Would she let him make love to her?

She struggled to sit on the table, and her hand swept out to steady herself. She hit a jar of brushes, sending it rolling off the table and shattering on the wood floor.

She gasped and her eyes widened in horror.

Seconds later a feminine voice called out from the print shop. “Eliza? Are you home?”

Eliza jumped to her feet and smoothed her gown. “It’s Amelia.”

Grayson needed no further explanation. He spun her around and helped her with her buttons. Her hair had suffered, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“Please stay here.” She parted the curtain to the workroom and left. Moments later, Grayson heard the two sisters begin to talk.

“Yes, it’s only me,” Eliza said.

“Are you all right? I heard a noise,” Amelia said.

“I apologize for waking you. I clumsily knocked over a jar in the back workroom. No need to worry. Go back to bed and I shall clean it up.”

“Are you certain? I can help.”

“No. I’m certain. Please go back to bed. I don’t want to wake Chloe as well,” Eliza said.

“Wait. How was your evening with Huntingdon? Was it romantic?” Amelia asked.

“Go back to bed, and I promise to tell you all about it tomorrow morning,” Eliza said.

Seconds later, the curtain to the workroom parted and Eliza returned. “I’m sorry, but—”

“I heard.” He raised her hand to his lips. “I had an enjoyable evening.”

“I did too.”

He wanted to pick her up, fling her across his shoulder, and carry her away like a pirate with his booty. “So do you believe me now when I say I enjoyed kissing you?”

…

Eliza tossed and turned that night. She kept reliving their passionate encounter in the workroom. He’d made her body come alive, and her own driving need had shocked her. Never had she thought such intense pleasure was possible.

If Amelia hadn’t unwittingly interrupted, what would have happened? Would she have allowed Grayson to make love to her?

She could only blame so much on the wine. She’d known of the strong passion within her whenever they were together. But tonight was an awakening experience that had left her reeling. If Grayson could make her body unravel from just his touch, what would it feel like to be with such a virile man in an even more intimate way?

She wanted him. But could she give herself to him, and not fall in love? A future was out of the question. The differences in their stations could never be overlooked.

But the most frightening question of all was: had she lost a bit of her heart already?

Chapter Twenty

The night of the Pickens ball arrived two days later. They had decided that Eliza would arrive separately from Grayson. He’d sent an unmarked carriage for her and it was currently stuck in a long line of traffic leading up to the house. At last her conveyance stopped by the front door of the massive Mayfair mansion and a liveried footman opened the door and lowered the step.

Eliza alighted and immediately composed her features into one of calm as she observed the continuous flow of well-dressed guests up the front steps. Strains from the orchestra could be heard outside, and numerous lanterns by the front doors illuminated the scene.

Although she’d never previously attended a London ball, she had a role to play. No one must suspect she felt unease.

Especially not Viscount Pickens.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Grayson approach. He must have blended with the crush of guests and waited for her outside the mansion. She glanced at his presence and tried not to stare. She assumed he would wear black and white, but he looked striking in a long-tailed coat of blue superfine, white waistcoat, and dark knee-breeches.

He stepped in line behind her as they made their way up the stairs to enter. “Stay close for now, Eliza. The crowd will disperse once we enter the ballroom. We will be introduced separately by the majordomo. No one should assume we have arrived together.”

She surveyed her surroundings as they reached the ballroom. The light of hundreds of beeswax candles from crystal chandeliers reflected off the marble columns and black and white floor tiles. The scent of expensive perfumes and colognes and the vivid colors of the guests’ gowns overwhelmed her senses. And the jewels…the diamonds, rubies and emeralds in the ladies’ earbobs and around their necks were spectacular. The men were not to be outdone either, with gold pins in almost every cravat.

She spotted two gentlemen who had been at the Royal Academy. The rest were a nameless, faceless mass comprising the members of the
beau monde
who were in town either for the Pickens’s ball or because they found the country boring. Either way, Eliza was uncomfortable with the pomp and the wealth. For a fleeting instant, she understood how her father had sold these people forgeries without conscience. The openly displayed wealth was beyond her wildest imaginings.

It is a victimless crime
, Jonathan Miller had said.
They certainly can afford it
.

But money was only a piece of her father’s crime. She had begun to realize there was much more to it than wealth. Father had hurt people in other ways. She recalled the viscount’s humiliating barbs at Grayson for falling victim to her father’s schemes.

Grayson eyed her. “Are you certain you’re up to greeting our host?”

“Only if you are prepared to greet the viscountess.”

He winked at her and she was caught off guard by how handsome he appeared in his evening attire tonight. As the receiving line moved along, Eliza was aware of women eyeing Grayson and of whispers behind fluttering fans. He had captured more than one feminine eye.

Eliza spotted Viscount Pickens ahead. Dressed in a robin’s-egg blue jacket and checkered waistcoat, he looked like an overweight peacock. The viscountess, who was at least a decade younger than the viscount, was a tall, rail-thin woman whose taste for the flamboyant rivaled her husband’s. Her pink dress was the exact shade of the papered walls and was trimmed with an abundance of silk flowers and ruffles. Her blond hair was swept upward with an ornamental headdress, which added to her already imposing height.

“Mrs. Somerton, it is a delight to see you again,” the viscount said, his gaze lingering on Eliza’s face before turning to Grayson. A flash of dislike crossed his features. “Huntingdon, I daresay I wasn’t certain you’d attend.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Grayson said.

The viscountess smiled at Grayson. “Lord Huntingdon, it’s been years.”

“Happy birthday, my lady.”

She smiled coyly at Grayson. Eliza disliked the viscountess instantly.

Don’t be ridiculous,
she chided herself. The viscountess was a married woman and Grayson claimed never to have had an affair with her.
Besides, I have no claim over the man
.

She followed Grayson farther into the ballroom. The orchestra was in the middle of a lively country reel, and Eliza watched the dancers whirl by on the parquet floor. A dark-haired gentleman dancing with an attractive blond woman caught her eye. She shifted to the side and noticed the handsome man was Lord Vale. Upon closer scrutiny it appeared as if his female partner was continuously talking to him through the vigorous steps of the dance.

Goodness! How did she manage? She never missed a step.

“Who is the lady with Lord Vale?” Eliza asked.

“Lady Minerva, the Duke of Townsend’s daughter. Vale’s family seeks a match between them.”

She shouldn’t be surprised. Vale was an earl; it was expected that he dance with the daughters of dukes and make a good match. Yet she couldn’t help but feel dismay. She’d seen the way Vale had looked at Amelia, and she certainly suspected Amelia’s feelings toward the handsome man.

How would Amelia react to the sight of Vale dancing with a lady?

She’d be devastated.

But unlike the fanciful Chloe, Amelia was a realist and a survivor. She knew a future between them was impossible. Eliza had stressed all along that she wanted a good match for her sisters—wealthy merchants who would never question their pasts. Amelia had balked at Eliza’s thinking, but Amelia would do what was expedient.

Grayson and Brandon shared similar titles. There was little difference between them when it came to the
ton.
They’d both be expected to marry to ensure the integrity of their titles. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that. Her growing feelings for Grayson were troublesome. She must not allow him to occupy her thoughts more than necessary. The sooner they found the Rembrandt, the sooner she’d have her old life back without the temptation of Lord Huntingdon.

…

Grayson sipped a flute of champagne and watched as men made fools of themselves vying for Eliza’s attention. He couldn’t blame them. She looked exquisite tonight in the enticing sapphire gown that hugged her curves and displayed the lush mounds of her breasts. Another gentleman wandered over, increasing the number to four men who surrounded her. Every protective instinct made him want to stake his claim, but he couldn’t act as Eliza’s escort. They must appear to have been invited separately. He said her reputation mattered to him, and it did.

Still, he was perturbed, and he experienced an animalistic possessiveness. A young buck reached for her rapidly filling dance card and scribbled his name.

The orchestra struck up a waltz, and Grayson acted on impulse. He strode forward and elbowed his way past the men until he reached Eliza’s side.

“The lady’s first waltz is already taken.” Grayson took her arm and whisked her away from her admirers and to the parquet dance floor.

He rested his hand on her slim waist and caught the music. She followed his lead and it occurred to him that she had no reason to know the waltz, but she was proficient in the steps.

“Where did you learn how to dance?” he asked.

She arched a brow. “You mean how could a shopkeeper know how to waltz?”

“I didn’t mean to insult—”

She smiled up at him, and his pulse increased. “I’m teasing, my lord. I’ve been practicing these past two weeks with Amelia.”

He whirled her around the dance floor, their bodies inches apart. Her delicate lavender perfume teased him, and he could scarcely think about his steps due to the tumult of desire he felt for her. He was tempted to spin her straight out to the terrace and find a secluded spot in the gardens. To claim those red lips and peel the magnificent gown down her slim shoulders.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

Other than making love to you?

“The gallery, remember?” he said. “I’ll slip away during the champagne toast celebrating the viscountess’s birthday.”

“Where should I meet you?”

“I don’t want you to meet me. I want you to stay at the ball,” he said firmly.

She raised her chin and boldly met his gaze. “No.”

The music began to fade as the waltz ended and the orchestra prepared for its next ensemble. Grayson grasped her hand, fully intending to whisk her behind a potted palm where he could argue with her when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the young buck who had last written on Eliza’s dance card eagerly waiting for her at the edge of the parquet floor. Grayson pivoted, steering her toward the open French doors leading to the terrace.

Cool night air engulfed him. Torches burned bright, illuminating the slate tiles of the terrace and the well-sculpted gardens below. A pair of gentleman smoking cheroots lounged in the corner. Grayson led Eliza to the opposite corner and leaned against the balustrade.

“I insist you stay here. I have to pick the lock. It may not be safe,” he said.

Her magnificent green eyes shone defiantly in the torchlight. “I did not come all this way to be set aside. I’m coming with you.”

Infuriating woman. He didn’t know whether he wanted to vehemently argue with her or kiss her senseless.

“Fine. The viscount’s private gallery is at the top of the stairs. We’ll have to go up through the servants’ staircase. If we’re caught, we are lovers looking for a secluded room for a rendezvous, understand?”

“I’m an exceptional actress, remember?”

How could he forget?

“It’s too risky to leave together. Wait five minutes after I leave to follow me.”

They returned to the ballroom separately just as the footmen were making their rounds with trays of champagne. Guests gathered around Pickens and the viscountess with their glasses raised in celebration.

“A toast to my lovely, wife!” Pickens called out.

The guests cheered and the orchestra immediately began playing a lively tune.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Mrs. Somerton,” a feminine voice said at her side.

Eliza turned to see Lady Kinsdale approach. The widow looked stunning in a gown of silver tissue with a shockingly low bodice. Her golden hair was artfully arranged with wisps of curls accentuating her blue eyes and heart-shaped face.

“You learned my name, then?” Eliza said.

“It wasn’t hard to discover. I aided Lady Pickens with last minute additions to the guest list. I was surprised to learn you are acquainted with Lord Pickens as well. I know he takes a fancy to anyone in the art world, even proprietors of small, inconsequential print shops.”

Eliza’s smile was strained as she turned her attention toward the dance floor. She refused to give the woman any satisfaction by responding.

“Are you looking for Lord Huntingdon?” Lady Kinsdale asked.

“No.”

Lady Kinsdale shrugged a dainty shoulder. “No sense lying to me. You fancy yourself in love with Huntingdon, don’t you?”

“Pardon?” Eliza turned.

“There’s no need to be coy. You’re in love with him.” The statement was delivered with haughty rebuke and an arch of well-plucked brows.

“I don’t see how that is—”

“I would not have thought you such a fool. He’ll never offer you marriage. Don’t you know that you are just a bit of bed sport to him?”

Eliza’s lips thinned. “We are not lovers.”

She laughed, a brittle, harsh sound. “I’m not a fool. Regardless, you are a commoner,
a merchant
,” she said the word as if it offended her. “You are completely out of his realm despite your presence here tonight and the fine gown you are wearing that he undoubtedly purchased for you.”

Eliza started as the guests clapped suddenly and cheered for Lady Pickens. The noise seemed to reverberate in her head. A heavy feeling settled in her stomach. The lady may be cruel, but her words rang true.

Eliza had known it all along, hadn’t she? She was just playing a part, a temporary role for the time being.

She struggled to remain impassive, to not respond to the hurtful barbs.

Five minutes.

She only had five minutes and then Grayson would search the art gallery without her.

Pasting a smile on her face, she turned to Lady Kinsdale. “I may be a temporary diversion for Lord Huntingdon, but from what I’ve seen you are no longer a diversion to him of any kind.”

Lady Kinsdale’s mouth gaped slightly, and her eyes narrowed. “How dare you,” she hissed.

“I dare, my lady. Now pardon me.” Eliza turned and strode away.

…

Grayson was waiting for her at the bottom of the servants’ staircase leading to the mansion’s second floor. Her delicate features appeared pale save for two bright spots on her cheeks.

“You’re late. Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He wondered if she were nervous to conduct a clandestine search of the viscount’s home. “Give me your hand.”

She slipped her hand into his grasp. “We have to be quick,” he said as he hurried up the stairs with her beside him.

She rushed to keep pace with him. “How do you know where you’re going?”

“I was here before, years ago.”

“I thought you never had liaisons with married women?”

He shot her a sideways glance. “I don’t. But Lady Pickens lured me upstairs under pretense of viewing a painting.”

“Was it worth it?”

He grinned. “The painting, yes. The lady’s wrath, no.”

They reached the top of the stairs and stepped into a long hallway. Grayson counted the closed doors as they crept past. The servants were busy attending to the guests below stairs and no one was in sight.
Four, five, six…
He stopped at the next door. Reaching for the handle, he wasn’t surprised to find it locked.

Eliza’s eyes widened as he withdrew lock picks from his coat pocket. “And to think I called you a boring aristocrat.”

“Are you retracting the statement?”

“It depends on whether you are successful in opening the door, my lord.”

He grinned as he inserted two steel rods into the lock and began to manipulate the mechanism.