Passion Wears Pearls (21 page)

He suckled her tongue, the rough velvet of it making her knees buckle. Eleanor opened her mouth wider, greedy for more, yielding to him and the lightning storm inside of her his touch evoked. A curious fire poured down her spine and across her skin, and when his teeth grazed the sensitive swollen peak of her lower lip, Eleanor trembled at the searing flash of lust that whipped through her frame, and waited for the guilt that never came.

She felt light and hollow, and when his arms encircled her to lift her against the warm wall of his body, Eleanor nearly wept at the delicious ache between her thighs. She had a fleeting thought that no matter who had initiated this embrace, she was lost in it now.

It was only when she realized that her feet had left the ground to cling to him like a desperate vine that her eyes opened in surprise.

A lady wouldn’t … forget herself. … My goodness, I’ve nearly … in a public park!

She turned her face away from his to try to gather her wits, and pushed against his chest to kick out with her feet and recover her balance.

He disengaged reluctantly, forcing himself to release her. His mouth hovered over hers, their breath comingling, and Josiah knew that whatever natural curiosity or innocent impulse had driven her to make her request—she would not appreciate him mauling her like a ravenous beast in a public park.

Josiah looked down at her, waiting until her eyelashes
fluttered open and the Eleanor he knew returned to her senses even while his body throbbed in protest at the sudden change in plans.

“O-oh my!” She sighed, openly startled. “That was …”

“Unexpected.” He finished her sentence, unwilling to hear her express her regret at the act. “We should get back, Miss Beckett, and see what we can make of the rest of the day. I should be mixing paints and finishing the preparations.”

She stepped back, nervously tucking a stray curl back up into her bonnet. “Mr. Hastings, have I ruined all between us?”

He shook his head. “No, Miss Beckett. But I vowed to behave, remember? Not to trespass or take advantage? So, you’ll have to be patient with me, for I’m not sure how far honor extends or where the limits of my self-discipline will fall away. You are unharmed and I wouldn’t apologize for that kiss for an emperor’s ransom. But, Eleanor …”

“Yes?”

“How did Mrs. Dunleigh know I was a painter?” he asked, deliberately provoking Eleanor’s laughter and easing the tension between them.

“You have paint on your shirt collar, Mr. Hastings.”

He glanced down, opening his coat to inspect the linen of his cravat. “A few splatters, but it’s a work shirt, so there’s no harm.”

A few splatters?

Eleanor reached out to touch his coat sleeve, holding up what could only be described as a ruined elbow of scarlet and black. “Josiah …”

He reacted to his name as if there’d been a gunshot, his brown eyes instantly blazing with an emotion she didn’t recognize. He pulled his arm away and took a step back. “That’s enough for today, I think. Let’s get back and I’ll get Escher to send for the carriage to get you home.”

“I’ve offended you.”

“No, God, no. You could never overstep, Miss Beckett.” He took a deep breath. “But I’m not fit company for a lady
today. I’m—we’ll start work again tomorrow if the light allows. Please. Be merciful and let’s end the day while I have a bit of self-control left, yes?”

“Yes, Mr. Hastings.” She’d nodded and shyly allowed him to lead her back to the house. A quiet overcame them both until the carriage arrived and he was left alone in his studio with his demons.

Holy mother of bleeding fools …

She said my name and I nearly unmanned myself.

Hell, when was the last time a woman said my name and I felt like that?

Answer: never.

Not once.

Not even with the witch who broke me so many years ago.

He was determined to put the kiss behind him and reassure her that he was a man of his word. But there was more than that behind his retreat. That kiss had proven to him that his emotions were far from his control and that the danger of losing his heart was immediate and very real. The obvious tragedy ahead loomed, and Josiah wasn’t sure he had the strength to weather more loss.

Lose your sight but keep your heart, Hastings. Hell, I can’t think of anything more pitiful than a heartbroken blind man shambling about and mumbling over a woman he can’t have. Use your head, man! Borrowing trouble is a fool’s game.

“I’ve taken my last leisurely stroll outside of the house.” He leaned over the table and put his head into his hands, then had to groan at the miserable irony of realizing he’d just smeared paint into his hair.

Damn! What a day to keep a man humble! Between scraping my knees and this—I’d say it’s a lesson learned. I’m as fit for romance and suited for seduction as a bell-capped jester!

Josiah sighed, straightened his back, then finished sealing up his pigment jars for the next day’s work. He rang the bell for Escher to try to warn the man that he’d need help
drawing a hot bath downstairs, and left the studio without looking back.

“Ah, there you are Miss Beckett!” Mrs. Clay greeted her with her usual enthusiasm. “Was it a shorter day, miss?”

Eleanor removed her bonnet. “I cannot complain, Mrs. Clay.” She could feel the heat flooding her face as the memory of her first kiss washed through her. Luckily, the cold had already colored her cheeks apple red so there would be no telltale signal for her concerned landlady to see.

“Will you eat in the common room tonight or—”

“Not tonight, Mrs. Clay. I think I’ll just … read quietly and stay warm by the fire, if I can.”

“Of course! Tally’s got you all set for coal and cleaned the grate today. He’s sweet on you, I’m sure of it! I’ll send you up a nice hot tray later and see that you’re not disturbed.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Clay.” Eleanor retreated to her room without looking back and leaned against the closed door for a few minutes, determined to shut the world out. She could see the familiar tome of Lady M’s advice on her bedside table, the sight of it mocking her.

Because today she had accepted that she was not as mindful of her reputation as she’d long believed. Eleanor’s worst fear had been faced and discarded in one single brazen act. All her life, she’d fought so hard to be correct in her behavior and careful of the rules. She’d believed that stepping over the line would lead to some kind of black oblivion.

But kissing Josiah hadn’t been oblivion. It had opened a universe of sensation and desire that she’d never imagined existed. And she didn’t want to retreat from the discovery. Eleanor wanted more.

She wanted Josiah Hastings.

“I am
not
a proper lady,” she said softly, and then waited for lightning to strike.

The next day, Josiah paced the wide, open floors of his studio, anxiously listening for her footsteps on the stairs. Despite reading that losing one sense heightened the others, Josiah didn’t believe his hearing had improved in the slightest—or any of his faculties. Even so, he crossed the floor again, quietly praying that he’d be able to detect her presence on the stairs and have a few seconds to prepare. He wasn’t completely confident that Eleanor would actually return after the previous day’s intimacies, but he’d braced himself for an awkward morning.

He was anxious to use the rituals of work and avoid any further misunderstandings. She’d invited a kiss with the most innocent solicitation he’d ever heard, but Josiah knew what was at stake far better than Eleanor.

Escher had brought in a new box of candles, and Josiah began adding them to the waxen forest as best he could. Gaslight had a steadier glow, but renovations on the house had ceased before he’d added lines to the studio. Before long the smell of beeswax candles all merrily lit and
flickering away permeated the room and made him wonder if he should heed his houseman’s warning about setting his worktable on fire.

“Mr. Creed was almost cheerful this morning!” Eleanor’s voice carried from the doorway as she breezed in, already dressed in her red velvet for the day. “I brought him some of Mrs. Clay’s cheese muffins and I swear the man
almost
smiled.”

His relief at her arrival was so sharp it took his breath away for a moment.

So much for those heightened senses of the blind!

“Did you know he worked in this very building before the fire?” she continued gaily. “He was a woodworker of some kind and helped maintain the milling machines. Poor man!”

Josiah couldn’t remember ever being so on edge around a woman in his lifetime. All he wanted was to finish before his baser nature robbed him of his chance—or destroyed his peace of mind.

“You’re not supposed to distract Roger with tins from Mrs. Clay’s kitchen, Miss Beckett.” Josiah straightened his coat as he came toward her. “The man is a watchdog, not a pampered pet.”

“He is not a canine you’ve tied to a post!” she protested. “Be civil, Mr. Hastings.”

“You are right, of course. But please don’t spoil his surly disposition, Miss Beckett. How can Mr. Creed frighten away intruders if you ruin his wretched demeanor?” Josiah teased.

“Nothing will make Mr. Creed less intimidating short of dressing him in petticoats, so I will ignore you and bring the poor man gingerbread biscuits on the morrow.” She held her ground.

“And none for me?”

“We shall see,” she said in a very good imitation of a headmistress addressing an errant pupil. “We shall see.”

He shook his head, aware that the humorous exchange had undermined all his plans to usher her directly to the
dais without small talk to make a professional start to the day. “Let’s get started, then.” He held out his hand to escort her to the settee.

“Is the light better today?” she asked.

“No, not really, but I’ve mountains of fresh candles and I’m determined not to lose another day.” A growing sense of urgency spurred him on. His vision was better today, and something primal in him needed to paint and put brush to canvas. Josiah was determined to work until he couldn’t stand anymore. He would work by candlelight alone, if need be, and use his imagination to finish what his eyes couldn’t convey.

She settled into position, smoothing out her skirts. “Then I will do my best to be still, Mr. Hastings.”

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward her hair.

She nodded. “As you wish.”

He rearranged a few tendrils, loosening the silken mass at the nape of her neck and then resecuring it with a tortoise comb to recreate the inspiring effect of a woman not quite unbound. “There.”

Josiah accepted that no amount of icy resolve was going to mute the impact his siren had on his senses, but it did hasten him to withdraw to his own position in front of the canvas.

“I am ready, Mr. Hastings,” she said softly.

By God, so am I.

Yesterday’s kiss was like a dream to her.

Eleanor did her best to sit quietly and imagine that the man sitting across from her wasn’t sending spidery waves of heat through her with every studied glance of his intense brown eyes.

She’d begun to love the sharp smell of linseed oil and turpentine, and had long surmised the reason that his clothing always had touches of paint on them. Josiah’s attention was so completely wrapped up in his subject and the immediate sphere of his creation that he apparently never
noticed where his elbows were.
Perhaps he forgets his physical presence and loses himself in those oil paints, a mystical process that the rest of us cannot perceive, like those rainbows and shadows he described seeing as a child.