Passion Wears Pearls (20 page)

“So, it’s
you
who tries to look out for him, then … and not always the other way around?”

“Hardly! Rutherford’s a bear! Trying to do a favor for that man can be dangerous, but I knew I’d be safe enough with Mrs. Clay’s talent for finding a man’s soft underbelly and taming him with pastries.”

They walked on, and the stroll became like a pleasant dream to him. Her measured steps next to him and the warmth of her presence dismissed the cold, and Josiah would have sworn the sun was fighting to come out.

God, it feels so good. I’m the king of my own little world, with a prim beauty on my arm, and who’s to say that all things aren’t possible? And now I’m a kindhearted philanthropist in her eyes, and who cares? Nothing matters but
—

His boot caught the edge of an uneven flagstone, and without warning, he lost his balance. He had to let go of her to prevent himself from dragging her down with him as he landed on his hands and knees, furious at the unseen ripple in the path and the horror of falling like a toddler onto his
hands. The stinging pain of his skinned knees and palms was the least of it. Josiah closed his eyes at the humiliation and rage that washed over him.

“Mr. Hastings! Are you all right?” She was there at his elbow, kneeling in the mud and snow. “My goodness!”

“I’m fine.” He bit off the words, leaning back to start to brush off his pants and try to recover what dignity he could before—

“Mr. Hastings! There’s a tumble! My God, you’re a sight, sir! Here, let me help you up, then.” Escher was a force of nature that wasn’t about to be dissuaded by Josiah’s usual growls and protests.

“I’m fine!” Josiah wrenched his elbow out of Escher’s grasp, and stood unaided. “Damn it, Escher! Stop hovering over me like I’m in swaddling clothes!”

“Hmm,” Escher grunted, clearly unfazed by his employer’s outburst. “I will if you stop bellowing like you are. Why not let me get you a carriage? No need to limp back all the way, and I’m sure Miss Beckett wouldn’t mind a nice ride, would you, miss?”

“Goddamn it, I’m not an invalid, Escher! The factory’s just there and we’re steps from home, so enough! I’m embarrassed as it is!”

Escher sniffed in hurt disapproval. “Well, I’ll just walk ahead then and get Rita to warm up some cider.” He turned and stomped off, leaving the pair in awkward silence.

“Well …” Josiah sighed, facing a now solemn Eleanor. “So much for impressing you with my calm, even temper.”

“Or retaining a chaperone for appearance sake,” she added, a small smile giving him hope that all wasn’t lost.

“I’m … clumsy these days. It makes for miserable outbursts, so I apologize. Not that I should be trying to impress you in the first place.”

Her smile widened, a mischievous light coming into her eyes. “Thank goodness. It would be extremely improper of you, Mr. Hastings, as my employer.”

But nothing of propriety applied, and when he looked at her, the last of his distress and anxiety for looking foolish
in front of her began to dissipate.
What if I kissed her, here and now? Such a public place but who would know us? Who would pay any attention?

He gathered her small hands into his, marveling at how diminutive they appeared. She trembled a little but didn’t withdraw from his attentions, and suddenly, the craving to touch her was more than he could manage. He slid two of his fingers inside one of her gloves to caress the palm of her hand, cradling it like a bird. It was intimate and deliberate, and he loved the way she swayed against him as the power of this simple caress worked its magic.

“You shouldn’t.”

She said the words with great reluctance, and Josiah was amazed to realize that she couldn’t locate the willpower to pull her hand from his.

Mine. Damn it. Tell me that you don’t care, Eleanor, who is watching.

He looked into her eyes, and the last tendrils of the world relinquished their grip. There was only Eleanor in his field of vision as he held her in place with the heat of his gaze and the warmth radiating from his frame. All his fears vanished and Josiah reveled in the sensations she evoked inside of him.

“I love your hands. They are so small and soft.”

“Not as soft as a lady’s hands should be, Mr. Hastings.”

“You must learn to accept compliments without argument, Miss Beckett.”

“Are ladies used to compliments?”

He nodded. “They expect and demand them, in my experience.”

She shook her head, then whispered, “I pray your experience is unique. What woman would require such a reckoning? When all she needs is to look into someone’s eyes and know—”

“Miss Beckett? Is that you?” A woman’s voice echoed across the bleak clearing and Josiah almost groaned aloud with disappointment at the declaration he’d lost.

“I say, Miss Beckett! Is that you?” the woman repeated,
and Eleanor stepped back, involuntarily surrendering the fiery-sweet contact of his flesh to hers.

“M-Mrs. Dunleigh!” Eleanor was astonished to speechlessness. On such a day and in bleak weather, on a private green far beyond the neighborhood she’d once called home, the sight of Mrs. Mabel Dunleigh was as unexpected as seeing a ghost. “Mrs. Dunleigh, what a surprise!”

“Yes, indeed. My friend Mrs. Stroud and I do charity work at a home for women seeking relief from an immoral life on the streets. It is nearby. I was just coming out with the new pamphlets to hand out to any lost souls in the vicinity. This green is often frequented by … prostitutes and questionable characters.” She eyed Mr. Hastings as if she wasn’t entirely sure of him. “And what brings you to this”—Mrs. Dunleigh struggled for a polite phrase before continuing—“industrious part of Town?”

“I …” Eleanor was sure that she’d have chosen a beating over the current conversation. It had all been innocent fun, to walk with Josiah and escape the confines of the studio for a while. She’d lowered her guard and flirted with him shamelessly, craving his touch and attention. But Mabel’s beady eyes gleamed with malicious judgment and Eleanor’s stomach churned in terror. “I was also visiting a friend.”

Oh, God. What to say? I’m just out walking with the man who is paying me to sit on a couch in a red velvet dress?

Josiah bowed slightly, touching the rim of his hat. “Josiah Hastings, at your service. I own a factory building and home here, and Miss Beckett is a family friend.”

“A family friend. I see,” Mrs. Dunleigh said crisply. “I don’t remember hearing your name mentioned by the Becketts.”

“Nor I yours,” he countered. “But what a small world London can be.”

“You are a painter, are you not?” Mrs. Dunleigh sniffed.

“How astute of you, Mrs. Dunleigh.” Josiah shifted his stance, a man completely comfortable in the midst of
confrontation. “Thank you for not mistakenly offering me a pamphlet.”

Eleanor’s face was burning in embarrassment, but his attempt to shield her wasn’t helping. It was all she could do not to burst into tears. “I should … call on you, Mrs. Dunleigh. It’s been so long since—”

Mrs. Dunleigh’s charitable nature didn’t extend that far, and she cut Eleanor off. “My daughter is at an impressionable age, Miss Beckett. I’m afraid I insist on restricting callers at present. As you are unmarried and”—Mrs. Dunleigh’s upper lip curled in distaste—“independent, I think not. Good day, Miss Beckett.”

The woman spared her a single curt nod, and then walked away as briskly as a woman departing a building on fire. Eleanor watched helplessly as the middle-class matron effectively gave her the cut direct and sailed off back to Orchard Street to no doubt spread delicious gossip about the encounter.

“What must she be thinking? I was—letting you hold my hand and …”

“What does it matter what she thinks?” he interjected calmly.

“She thinks I’m your—
mistress
! She was looking at me with pity and disgust as if—”

“Eleanor.”

His use of her first name captured her attention completely.

“Eleanor,” he went on softly. “Was she a dear friend?”

She shook her head slowly. “An acquaintance of my mother’s. We were at her house on a few occasions for tea.”

“Has she corresponded or expressed any concern for your well-being? Ever?”

Once again, she shook her head. “No.”

“She’s nothing, then. You’re standing there trembling and on the verge of tears because a woman of no consequence has crossed your path. Her opinions carry as much weight as a cobweb.”

Eleanor shook her head, unsure of how to convince him
that fear wasn’t a weightless thing; that she was sure it could crush her. “I’m afraid, Mr. Hastings.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid that I’m not nearly as proper as I wish to be. It isn’t Mrs. Dunleigh and her opinions—it’s far more dire.”

“Is it?” he asked gently. “Tell me. Tell me, what were you thinking before the old battle-axe came over with her pamphlets and dampened the green in your eyes.”

She took one uneven breath before looking away.
I was glad that Mr. Escher had gone. I was hoping it meant you might ask to kiss me again. Even now, with Mrs. Dunleigh’s looks of disapproval clanging across my nerves, I’m wishing you’d touch my hands as you did before.
“Why do you always ask what I am thinking?”

“Perhaps I’m hoping to hear the voice of reason I suspect is so eloquent in that beautiful head of yours—and praying it will drown out the voice in my head.”

And there it was. He spoke openly of his desire and hers broke free of its prison.

“And what are
you
thinking, Mr. Hastings? What is your inner voice saying right now?”

“That I would be the Devil himself if I kissed you right now, in such a public place, and even so, I’m not sure I won’t.”

She looked back at him, and without so much as a whimper, the voice of reason was silenced. “You won’t. But I, Mr. Hastings, will.”

“Eleanor—”

She moved closer, her head tipping back to hold his gaze. “I’ve never been kissed before. I don’t want to be impolite, Mr. Hastings, so I shall use the word
please
and trust that you’ll oblige me.”

Josiah didn’t hesitate to “oblige” her with a kiss. He lowered his mouth to cover hers, intending to gently taste the soft, ripe sweetness of her lips, satisfy his lustful curiosities, and be done with it. But at the first instant that his mouth met with hers, he knew he’d underestimated his hunger and need for the delectable and prim Miss Eleanor Beckett.

She instinctively yielded to him, inviting him to take all that he wanted, parting her lips to let him feast on the soft honey warmth of her mouth and tongue, feeding on his touch with a hunger of her own that made his joints feel strange. Here wasn’t a proper tight little kiss, but a fiery passionate touch that melted into his and matched every move that he made, holding nothing back in shy reserve.

It was a dance of sensation with a rhythm all its own.
Eleanor’s gloved hands slid up inside his coat against his back as she clung to him, and Josiah discovered that his maidenly Eleanor was a quick study in the ways of pleasure. If he’d half expected a spinsterly display metered out and dutifully followed by a ladylike slap … he was happily disappointed.

Only the knowledge that his hands would feel like ice kept Josiah from giving in to an impulse to touch her throat or explore the hypnotic contours of her face. Instead, he gripped the wool sleeves of her coat, capturing her and holding her in place as every kiss surpassed the kiss before, like a string of perfect pearls.

He left her lips for just a moment to bend over and trace the porcelain arch of her ear with his tongue, and was instantly rewarded.

“Josiah.” She moaned his name, and it was a music he couldn’t ignore.

He pulled her up into his arms, pressing her close until he was sure that she would be able to feel every thrum and pulse of his heart through the layers of winter clothing that separated their bodies. Desire lashed out across his skin, and Josiah’s blood reveled in the fiery heat that surged out from his core, quickening his pulse and tightening his muscles. His cock was instantly rock-hard, and Josiah groaned at the unexpected pleasure and pain of its presence. He’d abstained for months, and Eleanor’s kisses were proving to be unbearably powerful.

To Eleanor, it was a sweet, slow slide into heaven. His lips were hot silk against hers, and her breath caught in her throat at the raw beauty of his touch. It was unnerving. From the vague descriptions in literature suited for young ladies, every hint had made it seem as if she would be transported into an ethereal state. But this—this was transformation of a very physical and grounded nature. This was a new awareness of herself as a fleshly being, and if her spirit was involved, it was only to underline that there was nothing she wouldn’t be willing to happily forfeit in a primal quest for pleasure. For this—this was bliss. Everything
that had defined her before his lips touched hers fell away: etiquette and place, pride and presumptions, ambition and reserve.

It was a freedom she had never known.

Every delicate flutter of nerves newly awakened was followed with a gripping surge of need that jarred her very core. Her fingers dug into his back, contracting with the waves of hunger that shimmered through her body only to pool between her hips. She came alive as never before, and prayed that it would never end.