His Mistress (39 page)

Julia stalked across the room to the painting and replaced the cloth that had covered it earlier. If she’d wanted an unfavorable assessment of her behavior, she only had to listen to Oscar’s voice in her head for that. It wasn’t as if she’d gone without a chaperone, she’d taken her maid with her to each and every sitting.

Sitting for Isaac Peebles had offered her a freedom she’d never experienced before. The portrait sittings had been a way of freeing herself of the yoke Oscar had settled on her from the day they were married. She had been the one in control, no one else. With a final adjustment to the cloth she’d laid over the painting, she turned to face her friends.

“I’m sorry you find it in poor taste.”

“You misunderstand me, Julia. It’s exquisite work.” Catherine shook her head and frowned. “I merely pointed out that if it were known among the Set that you…all I meant was that I would not like to see the portrait bring scandal down upon your head.”

“There won’t be a scandal, because I never had any intention of showing it to anyone else,” Julia said in a stilted tone. Of all the people she knew, Catherine was the one person she’d thought would understand why she’d commissioned the portrait. She’d even thought sweet, inexperienced Alva would at least recognize Julia’s desire to be reckless even if only in private. Left at the altar years ago, Alva had rejected every suitor since then and seemed content with her life, but there were moments when Julia thought her friend longed for something more.

“He did manage to get your hair color right, that’s not easy to do. Even in the more…” Alva blushed deeply. “…the more intimate places.”

The quiet statement hung in the air as Julia stared at her friend in stunned silence. Was Alva actually teasing her about the portrait? She shot a glance over toward her cousin. Catherine’s expression was equally astonished. Indignation tilted Alva’s pointed chin upward.

“Well, I can be outrageous sometimes too,” she huffed, sending them both a sheepish glance as the room exploded with laughter. Julia shook her head as amusement continued to bubble out of her.

Julia faced the two women seated before her. Her best friends. The only two people she could count on to love her no matter how reckless she was. And of late, she’d been as rash as Catherine had said. Oscar’s family had viewed her purchase of shares in St. Claire Shipping as not only excessive, but foolhardy. Her brother-in-law, Albert, had even been bold enough to visit her lawyer and suggest Julia was incompetent.

Fortunately, Mr. Baxter had been the one to suggest she invest in a number of different endeavors, and had quickly sent her brother-in-law on his way. A fact she’d been heartily grateful for as Albert was becoming increasingly annoying in his attempts to influence her decisions. It was her own fault really. She’d leaned on him far too much in the year after Oscar’s death.

She’d stayed in mourning for the requisite time period, but when she’d emerged, it had taken her several more months to find the courage to defy Albert’s attempt to control her as Oscar had done. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d finally managed to convince Albert that she had no intention of following his guidance in business or anything else. Julia intended to live her life as she wanted without a man to dictate to her.

It was her silent shout against the oppressive life she’d endured with Oscar. Her first attempt to reject the narrow confines of her life was the portrait. The adventure had only made her determined to take more risks and live a life free of someone else’s dictates or disapproval.

She was the one in control now—no one else. She inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. The question now was whether her friends would support her in this new adventure she had devised. It was for a good cause, and that it was even more reckless and daring than having herself painted in the nude made her plan even more enticing.

“If you think the portrait is outrageous, then I’m afraid of what you’ll say when you hear what I intend to contribute to the Society’s next fundraiser.” She turned to her cousin. “Shall we tell her, Catherine?”

“Oh, there’s no
we
in this idea at all.” Catherine carefully removed the hat from her head, meticulously pushing the hatpin into the peacock feather plumes that trailed down the back of the accessory. Sweeping the short train of her dark green gown to one side, her cousin took a seat next to Alva to eye Julia with a look of disapproval.

“We’re—” She paused as Catherine arched a threatening brow at her. “
I’m
going to acquire a silk handkerchief from Morgan St. Claire and auction it off at the Society for Lost Angels to raise money for the new orphanage.”

Alva tipped her head to one side, her expression puzzled. “Well that doesn’t sound all that daring. I’m sure Mr. St. Claire will be happy to part with a piece of silk for the children.”

“I don’t intend to ask him for the handkerchief. I intend to sneak into his rooms at the Clarendon tomorrow night at the dinner party he’s hosting for his investors.” Julia smiled at the thought.

She was feeling quite pleased with herself about the plans for her latest adventure. To pull one over on Morgan St. Claire would be almost as pleasurable as when she occasionally found errors in his books. More importantly, it would be a gesture of support for all the women the man had dallied with before leaving them with nothing more than a monogrammed handkerchief as a token of their liaison.

“
Oh my heavens, Julia
. What if he catches you?” Alva sent her a horrified look.

“I have no intention of being caught. I’ve already made arrangements for one of the maids on his floor to give me access to his rooms and be my lookout.”

“But couldn’t you just ask him for the handkerchief? He’s such a gentleman, I’m sure he won’t refuse your request.”

“Please, Alva, do
not
give her the opportunity to address Morgan St. Claire’s faults.” Catherine grimaced at the other woman. “We’ll be here all day listening to her rail at the man’s shortcomings.”

“But Mr. St. Claire is said to be most charming,” said Alva in a bewildered tone.

Julia glared at Catherine before she turned back to Alva. “Morgan St. Claire is a scoundrel of the worst kind who thinks nothing of tempting a woman into sin then leaving them heartbroken with nothing but a handkerchief as a memento of the affair.”

She grimaced slightly. That wasn’t completely fair of her. After all, she’d only heard rumors about the man’s behavior. She knew better than to take the stories at face value. But on the other hand, she’d been on the receiving end of St. Claire’s charm when he’d thought to circumvent her determination to review his books. Just yesterday, he’d teased her about wanting to learn everything she could about the shipping business.

“And your antipathy for the man makes me wonder why you chose to invest in his company.” Catherine eyed her mockingly.

“Business should never be guided by emotions. St. Claire Shipping is a sound investment,” Julia replied.

“I see.” Catherine’s ironic tone earned her a look of puzzlement from Alva and a glare from Julia.

St. Claire Shipping had been an excellent investment. Armed with Baxter’s list of candidates, she’d selected four different ventures including the shipping company. If Albert or any of the other Westgards were to discover she was actually reviewing accounting ledgers and conducting business in person with St. Claire, the family would immediately close ranks in an attempt to control her just as her husband had. Perhaps they would have good reason in this instance.

Morgan St. Claire. A shudder rippled through her at the mere thought of the man. He’d been the one drawback to her investing in the company. Although she’d never met St. Claire until investing in his company, she was quite familiar with the man’s reputation.

But it wasn’t until she met him that she understood why so many women fell at his feet. Morgan St. Claire wasn’t just handsome. His sinful dark looks were like a fierce storm threatening to tear her asunder. All the more disturbing were those piercing blue eyes that saw everything yet revealed nothing. There was an air about him that commanded obedience.

And he definitely didn’t like his authority being questioned. Particularly when it came to her examination of his business. Something she’d done quite a bit of over the past few weeks. Even she’d been surprised by her daring when she’d insisted on reviewing the company’s books before she invested her money.

Although she’d trusted Baxter’s recommendations, she’d wanted to learn more about the businesses she’d chosen to invest her monies. Initially, St. Claire been stubborn in his refusal to grant her access to his accounting and clerks, but when she wouldn’t budge on the issue, he’d begrudgingly agreed.

The fact that he’d conceded defeat in the face of her persistence had amazed her. Morgan St. Claire was a man who gave commands. He didn’t take them. And his concession had bolstered her confidence more than anything else she’d done since Oscar’s death. It had helped ease the feelings of worthlessness her husband had cultivated in her. But more importantly, it had given her a confidence she’d lost on her wedding day.

Oscar had controlled her every move during their entire marriage, and that she’d found the wherewithal to stand up to Morgan St. Claire illustrated how far she’d come in such a short time. St. Claire was used to getting his way, but she’d stood her ground with him and won. The small victory had fortified her confidence, and strengthened her resolve never to let any man control her ever again.

“I still don’t see why you find it necessary to sneak into the man’s hotel room instead of just asking for a handkerchief.” Alva’s disapproving tone pulled Julia out of her thoughts.

Frustrated, she shook her head. Didn’t either one of her friends understand why she needed to do this? Her actions would have appalled Oscar, and that alone was enough to make her do it. But it also gave her the opportunity to provide the Society for Lost Angels with an item that would fill their coffers. She had no doubt that there was more than one woman willing to pay handsomely to own a St. Claire handkerchief, if only for the notoriety of its original owner.

“Because, Alva, it won’t have as dramatic an impact if I ask him for one. Sneaking into the man’s hotel room and taking a handkerchief without getting caught will cause a stir among the ladies. They’ll want details about his hotel room, which I’ll be happy to elaborate on as long as they bid on the blasted thing.”

“Surely you’re not going to admit to the Society that you entered the man’s room.” Alva looked askance at the idea.

“Of course not.” With a wave of her hand, Julia smiled patiently at her friend. “I’m simply going to explain that the woman who took the handkerchief prefers to remain anonymous. For obvious reasons, of course.”

“Of course.” Catherine coughed her disparagement forcing Julia to glare at the woman.

“I’ll tell everyone the woman took the handkerchief on a dare and agreed to let me share the tale of her nerve wracking adventure.”

“I think it’s far too dangerous, Julia. Surely there has to be some other way to acquire the man’s handkerchief.” Alva frowned in clear disapproval. “Catherine, she’ll listen to you. Tell her it’s a mistake to even attempt this.”

“I’ve already tried,” her cousin said in a disgruntled tone. “I can’t reason with her.”

“Because you’ve not been able to tell me that my plan won’t work.” Julia eyed Catherine with irritation. “I’m taking every precaution, and it’s something I
have
to do.”

She wasn’t altogether sure why this latest scheme of hers was so important. It just was. The only real risk with having Peebles painting her had been trusting him not to show the canvas to anyone. The man had an impeccable reputation for discretion, and she’d paid him well to keep the portrait a secret. As there had been not the slightest hint of rumor regarding her sittings, she was certain the man had kept her confidence.

But the entire time the man was painting her, she’d experienced an exhilaration that had been intoxicating. Maybe that was why her plan to steal St. Claire’s handkerchief was so important to her. She wanted to experience that sensation again. The pleasure of doing something wicked and getting away with it.

The portrait had been a simple adventure. Taking a handkerchief from St. Claire’s room was much more risky. Frighteningly so, but she wanted to test her newfound courage to be even more daring. Of course, she wasn’t sure how courageous it was to undertake what was a rather foolhardy venture. But she’d made up her mind and refused to back down now.

“But how will you prove that it’s really Mr. St. Claire’s handkerchief?” Alva’s brow puckered as she was clearly trying to find holes in Julia’s well-laid plans.

“His monogram. We’ve all heard the story of how he gives a handkerchief to each of his mistresses as a parting gift when he breaks with them.” Julia grimaced at her words. “Supposedly for the woman to dry her eyes.”

She had no idea if the story was true or not, but she wouldn’t put it past the man’s arrogance. The man was a well-known womanizer, and she could see why. As much as she hated to admit it, St. Claire had a dizzying effect on the senses.

“Oh that sounds so romantic.”

“Don’t be a ninny, Alva. It’s not romantic at all.” Catherine turned her glare on Julia. “As for you, cousin, I think you’ve gone mad. You’ll cause a sensation if you’re caught, and there’s the distinct possibility of being ostracized. You know how the Queen is about circumspect behavior. Although as far as Prince Edward is concerned, the man would probably applaud you. Still, polite society won’t overlook an outright indiscretion of this sort.”

Julia waved her cousin’s concerns aside. “I won’t get caught. I have it all planned out. Dinner is being served in St. Claire’s private dining room at the Clarendon tomorrow night. I’ll simply ask to refresh myself then run upstairs and retrieve the handkerchief from the man’s room. I’ll be back at the dinner party before anyone is the wiser.”

“What is that old adage? The best laid plans go astray?” Catherine’s mouth was tight with disapproval, but there was concern in her gaze too.