Passion Wears Pearls (24 page)

He could hear her voice, so innocent and unashamed—and so anxious for affection. He’d been a breath away from every wretched cliché about wicked and wanton artists seducing their heavenly subjects.

But his honor had held.

Barely, but he’d decided to treat it like a solid victory.

All his promises and proclamations of higher morals
tasted like ashes in his mouth. He’d sent her a message via courier that she should wait at the Grove and that he would summon her soon. He’d meant to avert any more misunderstandings, but he wasn’t sure how to reassure her when he wasn’t sure of any solution that would rein in his feelings. Every time he closed his eyes, she was there, and in his dreams, she was an erotic queen demanding that he experience and survey every colorful inch of her body for all the paintings to come.

Each time he awoke, he’d had to talk himself back into exile. Because he knew if he saw her again, he’d forfeit everything to have her.

Amidst all of his angst, the painting held true. What he couldn’t touch in reality, he could create on canvas. Josiah was like a man teetering on the brink of madness. The hours bled away, and the portrait had taken on a life of its own. He’d worked around the fleeting black spots and shadows that crowded into his vision, and worshipped her the only way he knew how—by immortalizing her. For hours, he stood in front of her image and painted, freed by his inner vision from having to perch like a humble supplicant on the floor.

Escher knocked on the doorframe to announce his arrival. “She’s come, sir.”

“What?” Josiah threw a cloth over the canvas to cover it, unwilling to let some stranger see it. “Who’s come?”

“Miss Beckett, of course. She’s on her way up the stairs, and bein’ that you’ve been a bit … insistent on not being disturbed, I thought you’d want to know.”

Eleanor’s here. Impossible!

He hadn’t sent the carriage, but Josiah realized it was foolish to think the woman couldn’t come of her own volition if she wished to. Somehow, he’d been so distracted and lost in his own fog, it had never occurred to him before this moment that she would arrive on her own. After all, the rules of good etiquette forbid an unmarried woman to make such calls or even send correspondence. And if Eleanor Beckett was anything, she was a firm believer in adhering to the rules.

“Thank you, Escher.”

“Shall I bring up lunch for you both, sir?” Escher offered. “Rita’s most unhappy that you’re still not eating.”

“No, but thank her for the worry.” Josiah ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll ring if I need anything.”

“As you wish.” The older man retreated, and Josiah was left to face the disarray of his studio and the state of his clothing.

“So much for cleaning up and making a better impression. …”

“And who would you be trying to impress, Mr. Hastings?” Eleanor asked from the doorway, still wearing her coat and bonnet dusted with snow.

“I wasn’t expecting you, Miss Beckett.”

“No,” she answered him softly. “But I have decided not to always do what I am expected to do.”

“Have you?” Josiah thought his heart might pound out of his chest as he came toward her. “I’m not the right man to argue against a good smattering of rebellion, Eleanor. As we’ve established, I fear I’m a terrible influence on you, Miss Beckett.”

She held out an object for him, like an offering in her gloved hands. “I bought you something—a small token.”

He took it from her and opened the oblong wooden box as carefully as if it were glass. “What is it?”

“You should look and see.”

Josiah lifted the object, his brow furrowed in confusion. “You brought me a spyglass?”

“It’s a kaleidoscope. See?” She held it up, directing one end of the small telescope-looking object to the windows to maximize the light. “Won’t you please look?”

He held it up to one eye and gasped. “Oh my!”

“It’s what I imagine the colors of India would be. I saw a water-colored print in the window at Able’s and Black’s Bookshop of a palace garden in Bombay. You … said you missed that spectrum.” Eleanor waited for his reaction, hoping she’d invoked the happier moments of that day before it had been spoiled by her demands for his kisses.

“I did say that. And I can’t believe you remembered it.” He put the kaleidoscope back into the box reverently. “It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received. Thank you, Eleanor.”

“Mr. Hastings?”

“Yes.”

“I owe you an apology. I was too forward when we saw each other last. For all my talk of propriety, I’ve discovered that I am … less restrained than I thought. Perhaps it’s my impending freedom that’s given birth to an impetuous nature.” Her voice trembled, but she’d come too far not to give her heart the full rein it demanded. “Why haven’t you sent for me?”

“Because I don’t think I trust myself with you anymore. Not alone. It’s gone beyond … I don’t think I’ll be satisfied just looking at you, Miss Beckett.”

“But the painting—!”

“The work’s far enough along that you don’t have to risk pneumonia to ensure the painting’s completion.” He leaned against the table, his hands gripping the edge. “You never need to apologize to me, Miss Beckett, and you were not too forward. But you should go.”

“And if I want to be here?”

He released the table, a tiger stepping out from the shadows, and Eleanor shivered at the latent power that emanated from him. “Miss Beckett. If I may speak freely and demonstrate what the word
forward
is. I’m going to tumble you right here if you don’t turn around and go back to the Grove.”

“T-tumble?” she asked in a whisper.

“By tumble,” he said softly, one hand reaching out to capture the edge of the ribbon trailing off the wrap at her throat, “I mean I’m going to kiss you out of your clothes, Eleanor. I’m going to bare every inch of you so that I can taste you with my mouth and feel your skin with my hands until there is no part of you that isn’t known to me and open to me. I’ll do everything in my power to get you to beg me to spoil you, and when you do, I won’t hesitate for a single
second to take your maidenhead, Eleanor. Do you understand?”

“Oh!”

“I love the way you politely request kisses, but there is very little that will qualify as polite once I touch you again. No rules, no restraint, and above all, there can be no regrets, Eleanor. So, there you have it. Run, Miss Beckett. Run while you can, my prim and proper muse, and I’ll send for you when my blood has cooled. Otherwise, surrender, Eleanor, and give yourself to me.”

Surrender. No rules, no restraint, and no regrets.

She nodded, and made no move to flee.

The ribbon caught in his fingers, and he slowly pulled the wrap free from her shoulders to allow it to fall to the floor. “I need to hear you say it, Miss Beckett. I’d not have any misunderstanding between us.”

She nodded again, her voice temporarily failing her.

“Say it, Eleanor.”

“Yes.”

“And what of respectability?” he asked as he began to gently tug off her leather gloves, slowly pulling them off to bare her hands.

“I’ll have a lifetime of respectability, Mr. Hastings. A lifetime to reassure me that everything is in its proper place—but for now, I don’t want to be proper.”

“Don’t you?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be reckless. I want, just this once, to forget every rule and discover what it is that I’ve been so afraid of sitting over there, staring at you day after day.”

“Aren’t you afraid now?” He dropped her gloves onto the floor next to her wrap.

She shook her head firmly. “No. I’m nervous, but I expect that that is perfectly normal, Mr. Hastings, when one is attempting to convince a man to … seduce you.”

He smiled. “I’d say you’re the one actively seducing me, Miss Beckett.”

She froze, but a new fire lit her eyes, and Josiah knew he’d hit on the key. The lady liked to hold the reins.

“I’m—no temptress, sir.” Her eyes were clear and untroubled as she reached up to remove her bonnet and drop it carelessly to the floor. It wasn’t the practiced move of a courtesan, but the maidenly grace of the gesture made every muscle in his body blaze with a flare of heat and desire all the same.

“Like hell, you’re not,” he whispered. “You’re no milk-toast-bland creature to make a quiet bid for a kiss and then lay back.”

“And this troubles you?” she asked.

“Not in the slightest, Miss Beckett. I’d not want you if you were any other way.”

“Good.” She sighed, then blushed. “Mr. Hastings, may we keep one rule as we proceed?”

“One rule. Let’s have it.” Josiah watched the delicious play of color across her cheeks, but also marveled at the way her impossibly green eyes sparked when she was roused, their shimmer mesmerizing enough to make emeralds seem pale by comparison.

“Promise you won’t laugh at me. If I—make a mistake.” Eleanor’s hands found each other as she nervously navigated the last of the conversation while the desire in his eyes ignited her bones and made her long to have it done with. “My courage may not sustain itself if you … laugh.”

Josiah had to bite the inside of his cheek to make sure he didn’t smile at the amazing sweetness of her request. It revealed so much of her innocence and her fears, but also hinted that if he had the will to gain her trust that there was nothing she wouldn’t yield to him. “You cannot make a mistake, Eleanor. But even if you could, I swear on my life and honor, I will never laugh at you.”

“Very well, then.” She let out a deep breath in relief, a new eagerness entering her countenance. “You should promptly tumble me, Mr. Hastings.”

Thank God.

He instantly closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. This, at least, was familiar territory, and Eleanor marveled at the renewed thrill of anticipating his touch. Throwing off the last constraints of ladylike behavior, Eleanor savored the lack of anxiety she had about the act itself. For despite Lady M’s vague warnings, she had every intention of enjoying every aspect of Josiah Hastings and the fall to come. She tipped her face up toward his and was rewarded with the kisses she craved.

One searing kiss became a dozen, and she was breathless with the wanton speed of the lust that made her heart race to catch it. She’d yearned for him for three days, and now there was nothing beyond him as the world fell away. The sweet friction of his mouth, the taste of him, the smell of his skin and Eleanor was trapped in a blaze of her own passions.

He abandoned her lips for just a moment and looked down at her with an unmistakable desire, so raw and unbridled that something inside of her tightened and ached with a hunger to equal his. Before she could find her voice, her feet suddenly left the ground and she squeaked in surprise as he lifted her up to carry her up to the dais, past the covered easel, and up toward the waiting couch.

“Mr. Hastings!”

“I do love your formality, my dear Miss Beckett.” He set her gently down next to the sofa, then cupped her face in his hands to kiss her again. “I shall never tire of hearing you say my name, woman.”

His fingers dropped to trail down her throat, and her breath caught in her throat as they met with the first of the small plain ivory buttons of her blouse. True to his word, he kissed the firm curve of her jaw, then down the pulse at her throat where her modest collar rested.

I am being kissed out of my clothes!

Eleanor gripped his shoulders, not trusting her legs to hold steady while the magical workings of his mouth against
her skin forged endless ripples of fevered sensation through her. She was caught up in it, wanting him to hurry, desperate for the game to never end.

The buttons of her white cotton blouse yielded easily to his hands, and Eleanor moaned softly as he pushed the cloth down her shoulders and off her arms to drop it to the floor so that he could place hot kisses along her collarbone and gently bite the crest of her shoulders. Her hold on him tightened, and Eleanor instinctively tipped her head back to give him more access as he slowly undressed her.

Josiah tasted her skin, inhaling the faint fragrance of vanilla and white jasmine, and had to rein in his appetite as Eleanor transformed in his arms into a joyous siren, moaning and sighing her ready pleasure and inciting him to take all that she had to offer. She was both eager and sweet, clutching at his shoulders for balance as she swayed against him, her eyes blissfully closed in surrender.

But the real surrender had yet to come, and Josiah intended to savor every glorious moment of it—and see to it that she did as well.

He reached up to touch the silk of her hair, gently removing the turquoise pins she favored, dropping them carelessly on the floor at their feet. Within a few seconds, the wild, unruly copper curls had tumbled free from her tight chignon, and Josiah was rendered speechless at the sight of his muse unbound. Her hair fell like a thick silk curtain behind her, and the candlelight from the side table made it come alive with shimmering gold in a riotous dance of light and color.

With her blouse dispatched, Josiah wrapped one arm around her waist to lean over and kiss the bare curves of the uppermost swell of her breasts, teasing the soft skin there and using his tongue to elicit little mews and sighs of excitement—even as he strategized the best approach to exposing more of her by dealing with the industrial steel cage of the corset she wore.