An Artful Seduction (4 page)

Oh, what she wouldn’t give to wipe the smug grin from his lordly face.

“I’m free this morning,” he said.

She blinked in surprise. “This morning? But Mr. Cain isn’t expecting me.”

“You do business with the man, correct?”

She frowned. “Yes, but still—”

“A businessman’s first interest is in profit.”

She knew what he was thinking, of course. He wanted to take Mr. Cain by surprise. Unnerve the man in the hopes of obtaining information. “Fine,” she snapped waspishly. “If you insist, my lord.”

“I insist. Fetch your cloak.”

Chapter Four

Grayson wasn’t certain what he would find when he had first walked into Eliza Somerton’s print shop. He’d told her he was impressed and it was the truth. The shop offered quality prints as well as original artwork from local artists. Although the art may not be worthy of gracing the Royal Academy, it was skillful and creative. Eliza explained that Mr. Somerton had opened the establishment, but Grayson had an understanding of the art business and knew it took a significant amount of work to maintain and keep the shop profitable.

Yet he suspected Mrs. Somerton had hardships. The chairs and settee needed refurbishing, the blue curtains were faded from the sunlight, and the counter, though polished to a high shine, was nicked and old. The signs were subtle and her customers would be hard-pressed to notice, but they were perceptible to his discerning eye nonetheless.

So how had Eliza and her sisters managed?

He leaned against the counter and waited for Eliza to fetch her cloak. He was tempted to stroll to the back room. He could learn much more about the business from the back. But it was his first time here and he didn’t want to press his advantage just yet.

Eliza was going to introduce him to Mr. Cain, and he wanted to question the man.

The curtain to the workroom parted, and Eliza came forward. She was dressed entirely in gray, complete with a plain gray bonnet. The fabric was cheap, coarse wool and the dress had a high collar. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun that was more suitable for an aging governess than for the striking widow he’d first seen at the Tutton auction. Donning a wool cloak the exact unappealing shade as her gown and tying the strings of a bonnet under her chin, she appeared covered from head to toe.

For some reason, he wanted to tear the coarse wool from her shoulders, toss the bonnet aside, and loosen her ebony hair. Jonathan Miller had been knighted before his disgrace, and his daughters should have dressed in fine silks and satins.

“My carriage is ready out front, Mrs. Somerton,” he said, motioning to the door.

She hesitated and met his eyes. “I beg you to reconsider. I do think it’s best if I go alone.”

There was no way he was letting her question Mr. Cain without him, but his curiosity was piqued. There was an air of apprehension about her that was oddly disconcerting. “Why?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Mr. Cain’s warehouse is near the docks, hardly a location for a lofty lord.”

He arched a dark brow. “Should I take offense? I’ve never been called lofty before. And what about you? Is this warehouse a proper location for a lady?”

“I’m a shopkeeper, not a lady. I am accustomed to Mr. Cain and I frequent his warehouse to buy most of my supplies.”

“Is there something I should know about this Mr. Cain?”

“He’s particular about whom he sells to, my lord. His prices fluctuate depending on who his customers are. As soon as he learns an earl has frequented his warehouse, his greed will show through.”

“I understand your concern, but we are not intending to purchase today.”

Her green eyes widened. “Oh, but we must. Mr. Cain is pleasant only when he makes a sale. I thought to purchase some supplies first and then question him.”

“All right. If my presence results in an inflated price today, then I shall account for the difference. Does that put your mind at ease?”

She bit her full bottom lip. “I suppose so.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he had a maddening urge to kiss her, to lick her delectable bottom lip.

Damnation.
Now was not the time. He needed a clear head and all his wits for their trip to the warehouse.

He assisted her into his carriage and told his coachman the address. A cold rain had started and pattered against the roof of the coach. Eliza sat stiffly across from him, her hands folded in her lap while she looked out the window. She was silent and made no effort to strike up a conversation. Just like at the Tutton auction, he found her easy dismissal of him disturbing. His fingers itched to touch her, to thaw the icy exterior and unleash her passionate nature that he suspected she kept well hidden.

Soon the stench of the London docks permeated the coach, and the masts of tall ships loomed in the distance. The carriage swayed on the cobbled street until the view of the river was blocked by immense warehouses situated close together.

Just then, there was a jingle of harness and the carriage jerked to an abrupt stop. Shouts sounded ahead.

“What in the world?” Eliza said.

“Stay here.” Grayson opened the door and hopped out.

A brewer’s cart had overturned in the road. Barrels of beer scattered across the cobbled road, blocking the path.

Grayson opened the carriage door and spoke to Eliza. “We have to walk the rest of the way.”

“Can’t we return another time?” she said.

He shook his head. “I can see it from here. It’s not far.”

His footman rushed forth and handed Grayson a large umbrella. Holding the umbrella above their heads, Grayson shielded Eliza from the pelting rain as she alighted from the carriage and they made their way to the warehouse.

The impressions between the cobblestones were full of muddy puddles of water. She had to stay very close to him in order not to get wet. He was aware of her hip grazing his thigh, and the lavender scent of her perfume coiled about him. He grasped her hand as they rushed inside the warehouse.

Mr. Cain came forth and eyed the pair with interest. At the sight of Eliza, his face broke into a smile. He was of average height and build with a round face and dishwater brown hair. But it was the lascivious gleam in his brown eyes as he spotted Eliza that shouted a warning to Grayson.

“Mrs. Somerton! What an unexpected surprise.” Mr. Cain came forward, raised her gloved fingers, and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “My assistant did not tell me you were to visit today.”

“I failed to write in advance, but I’m glad you are present. May I introduce Lord Huntingdon.”

Mr. Cain looked up at Grayson and bowed. “A lord in my warehouse. What can I do for you?”

“The previous frames you sold me were stunning. The artwork in them sold twice as quickly as usual. After visiting my shop, Lord Huntington expressed an interest in purchasing similar frames for his own artwork. Do you perchance have more, Mr. Cain?” Eliza asked.

“Of course! I have a new shipment that will undoubtedly interest you. Please follow me.”

They trailed behind Mr. Cain into the cavernous space of the warehouse. Cain held a lamp and led the way past stacks and stacks of crates. A dozen burly men were busy moving the crates and carrying them into the bowels of the building. Sweat beaded off their brows and the stench of the nearby docks, burning oil, dirt, dust, and perspiring workers pervaded the warehouse. Grayson’s gaze was drawn to the crates that had been pried open, revealing everything from Chinese vases to Armenian carpets, as well as rare spices, all stuffed in packing straw.

Cain turned right, then left, then right again in the dim warehouse until at last he stopped. Crates and trunks were piled in a haphazard manner, and Grayson wondered how the man kept track of his shipments.

Mr. Cain set his lamp down and pushed aside a loose lid of a crate. Reaching inside, he held up an ornately carved gilt frame. The workmanship was beautiful and Grayson could envision it framing a Thomas Gainsborough portrait hanging in the Royal Academy.

“This just arrived from Italy,” Cain said.

Eliza ran her finger down the frame. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a sample. The rest of the crate contains exotic wood that a carpenter can carve and use to frame any painting. Feel free to look, my lord. If Mrs. Somerton will accompany me into my office, I can show her my newest shipment of art supplies.” Cain offered his arm.

A flicker of unease crossed Eliza’s face before a serene smile descended and she placed her hand on Cain’s sleeve. “Pardon us for a moment, my lord. We can discuss our business when I return.”

Grayson’s eyes narrowed as the pair proceeded to the back of the warehouse. The expression on Eliza’s face had been unnerving. He wasn’t fooled by her masked tolerance.

The place was immense and he would be hard pressed to find them once they disappeared from sight. Dropping the frame back into the straw, he made a quick decision. He followed at a discrete distance, careful to hide behind crates and remain out of sight until he spotted the doorway of a small room. Grayson crouched behind a pile of carpets, and peeked inside.

Eliza stood before Cain as he opened a wood box and withdrew cakes of watercolor. Words were exchanged, but Grayson couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Then the pair stepped out of view. A primitive warning sounded in his brain. He drew closer, straining to see and hear.

“I have Asiatic brushes, oil paints, and canvas as well.” Cain’s voice.

“How much?” Eliza asked.

“Alas, I’m afraid prices have risen since last time.”

“The winter has been harsh on business,” Eliza said.

“Oh?” Cain said. “That’s a shame, Mrs. Somerton. I suppose I can make an exception for you seeing we’ve known each other for a while now.” Cain reached out to stroke Eliza’s arm. His eyes roamed her face, then traveled over her form.

Eliza stood rigid, eyes wide, never pushing Cain’s hand aside or objecting. “I will pay as soon as business picks up and I sell more artwork.”

Cain stepped close. “I suppose you seek the same payment terms as before?”

“Yes, just as before.”

“I’m an agreeable businessman. Let me get your supplies for you.” Cain reached up high to remove a box from a shelf, and as he lowered his hand he grazed the side of Eliza’s breast.

Grayson had seen enough. Clenching his teeth, he burst inside the room. “What the hell are you doing?”

Mr. Cain’s jaw dropped. “I was showing her my goods, my lord.”

“By God, I bet you were!”

Grayson grabbed Cain by his shirtfront and shoved the man against the wall. “You perverted blackguard. You were molesting her!”

“I wasn’t doing anything the lady objected to, my lord. Just ask her.”

Eliza’s face was ashen. “He…he’s right, my lord. All is fine, really. There’s no need for your highhanded manner.”

Grayson looked at her in astonishment.
His highhanded manner!
Her face was deathly pale and she gripped the wool cloak tightly about her neck. He couldn’t believe she didn’t put Cain in his place.

Where was her shrewd tongue? Did she sheath it for everyone but him?

Grayson released the man’s shirt, but didn’t step back.

Cain smirked. “Do you still want the supplies, Mrs. Somerton?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Forget the art supplies, dammit,” Grayson growled. “That’s not why we’re here.”

Cain’s eyes sharpened. “Ah, I knew there was a reason behind your presence. It’s not everyday a lord visits my warehouse.”

“You’re right,” Grayson said tersely. “I want information.”

“It’s going to cost you, my lord. I’m foremost a businessman.”

“It’s about my father’s friends, Mr. Cain,” Eliza said.

“Where is Jonathan Miller?” Grayson demanded.

Cain chuckled. “You think I know?”

“You were his friend,” Eliza said.

“I don’t know where Jonathan ran off to, and that’s the truth,” Cain said.

“What about Miller’s acquaintances?” Grayson said. “Someone who sold his forgeries for him. An art dealer of sorts.”

Cain’s eyes glittered with greed. “I can give you a name. For a price, of course.”

A muscle ticked in Grayson’s jaw. Cain had some kind of hold over Eliza Somerton, and Grayson refused to give the man a shilling. “Your price is your freedom,” Grayson said, his tone hard.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cain said.

“I wonder about the ethics of your business practices, Mr. Cain,” Grayson said cynically. “One word from me and your warehouse will be descended upon by a mob of customs officers.”

Cain’s eyes were filled with contempt. “His name is Dorian Reed, my lord. You’ll find him on Filch Street, in the artist’s district. He may even know where Jonathan Miller ran off to.”

Eliza blinked in surprise. “This man may know where my father is?”

Mr. Cain glanced at Eliza, then turned back to glare at Grayson. “He might. But you’ll have to wait to ask him. Reed is out of town until next week. I suggest you take Mrs. Somerton with you. Dorian Reed can smell a trap a mile away.”

Grayson’s face turned grim. “One more thing. Don’t ever touch Mrs. Somerton again.”

“The lady and I have a long-established business relationship. Don’t we, Mrs. Somerton?”

To Grayson’s surprise, Eliza smiled meekly at Cain. “Your frames are beautiful, Mr. Cain. I’ll soon be in need of additional supplies. I shall return another time.”

Mr. Cain bowed mockingly. “I look forward to it.”

Grayson wanted to smash the man in the face. Grasping Eliza’s arm, he hauled her out of the warehouse. It was raining hard now and they hurried down the cobbled street in silence. As soon as they came to his waiting carriage, he thrust her inside.

She waited a full minute until the warehouse was out of view before whirling to confront him. “How dare you threaten Mr. Cain!”

He sat back on the padded bench. “The man was touching you. Don’t tell me you liked it?”

Her green eyes flashed in anger. “To whom I allow liberties is none of your affair. Your behavior may have cost me my business.”

“Your business? Pray tell me how the owner of a warehouse could ruin your print shop?”

“You arrogant swine! You know nothing.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then tell me. What’s Cain’s hold over you?”

“The shop has not always been profitable. He’s the only supplier who permits me to purchase on credit rather than to pay in advance.”

He immediately understood. Buying on credit rather than paying up front existed in business. But for a woman, who most likely had trouble paying in a timely manner in the past, it was probably unheard of. The shrewd Mr. Cain understood this and took every advantage with the lovely Mrs. Somerton.

Still a cynical inner voice cut through his thoughts, and he wondered if she was telling the truth. “I find it hard to believe you cannot buy what you need from another,” Grayson said. “You were willing to pay fifty pounds for the Wildens painting at the Tutton auction.”