Seduction in Mind (7 page)

In short order, they were seated side by side in Sam's carriage while the driver navigated the crowded road from Ascot. The viscount was in superb good humor with the object of his pursuit in proximity. Alex was more conflicted, her emotions in flux, and even as she experienced intoxicating desire, she still debated whether she would act on it.

The viscount, more focused, only contemplated the logistics of time and his nearby race box. "Do you actually want to go to the exhibition?" Well bred and courteous, he could have been asking her to partner him in croquet.

She didn't answer at first, struggling against her perception of the viscount and his profligacies, wondering how many times he'd done this before, chiding herself for caring, reminding herself she was a liberated woman unconcerned with prudish propriety. Was she not capable of making a decision based on her own wishes and needs?

"If you're unsure… about—" Sam started to ask.

"Going to bed with you?"

His brows rose. "I was going to say about the exhibition hours."

"The show's open until nine."

"Ah… plenty of time, then," he said affably.

"For what, my lord?"

"Don't get prickly, darling. For whatever you wish."

"I'm not your darling. You already have dozens of those. And I don't do this as a rule and I'm uncertain if I will now, and Lord almighty, Ranelagh, I don't know what I'm doing here. I just met you yesterday."

"If it's any consolation, I told myself the same thing when I couldn't sleep last night—" Her piercing glance stopped him.

"Don't bamboozle me; I didn't keep you from anything last night."

"
Au contraire
, Miss Ionides. It was a matter of saving face. And I shouldn't have gone."

"Really." Leaning into the corner of the seat, she pursed her mouth and contemplated the folly of believing she'd disturbed Ranelagh's debauch. Even for a night.

Sprawling in the opposite corner, he stretched out his long legs, offered her a surly look, and said, "Really. And I'm wondering why I'm even admitting to such foolishness. I don't know you."

"It's lust, I suppose."

He shook his head. "Lust I know. This isn't precisely it. And that's the problem."

"Does it have to be a problem? Surely, we're both adults."

"So a fuck is a fuck," he said gruffly.

She smiled. "Am I supposed to be shocked?"

He smiled back. "Later maybe."

She acknowledged his remark with a faint lift of her brows. "So our problems are swept aside?"

"I can do so if you can."

"Actually, I'm not sure I'm so cavalier. I've had much less practice."

"Any woman who poses nude for the world to see is beyond cavalier, Miss Ionides. I'd say you're capable of dealing with most anything."

"Including you?"

"I certainly hope so," he answered. "Now, are we going to the exhibition first or afterward?"

"Will there be time… afterward?" Her voice was calm despite the provocation in her query.

"Not if I can help it." He smiled. "I was being tactful."

Her gaze was examining. "Are you really as good as they say?"

"If you're ready, why don't we see? You have my permission to grade me."

"I don't need your permission."

"But you need something else I have."

His grin was infuriatingly cheeky. "Damn you, yes, and I wish I didn't."

He shrugged. "I dislike the intensity of my feelings as well."

She suddenly laughed at their mutual equivocation of everything save desire. "This should be interesting at least."

"I promise to do better than interesting." His voice was exquisitely soft.

"That will be for me to decide," she said lightly.

"If we weren't almost to my race box, I'd show you right now and you could let me know."

She shook her head. "I prefer my studio."

"I don't think so."

"What if I insist?"

His smile was pure seduction. "Insist away."

"Because I'll capitulate to your allure in the end."

"Because we're almost to Fair Grange, and I'll make love to you now instead of an hour from now."

"How convincing you can be." She enjoyed the game, noting how astonishingly beautiful he was at close range.

"You look like a practical woman."

"Or one in heat."

He grinned. "I'm on my best behavior, Miss Ionides. I hope you appreciate it."

"And I hope that good behavior continues once we're in bed. I'm selfish of my pleasure."

His gaze was insolent. "I haven't had any complaints."

"Then I won't be wasting my time."

"I hardly think so. I have more experience than priests or young boys."

Her brows rose. "Are you monitoring my acquaintances, my lord?"

"Lovers, I think, is the proper word."

"I doubt I'd have time to list all of yours, and with that thought in mind, I'm going to insist we go to my studio."

"You like to be in control?"

"Generally."

"That must be why you concentrate on inexperienced men."

"If you'd like to begin comparing the qualities of our sex partners, might I point out you were friendly with Countess Marley and Lady Walker, I believe. And several more in their style."

"Touché." The ladies all had been stereotypically beautiful but simple.

"So if you'd be so kind as to give your driver my address…"

Tipping his head faintly, he conceded, and conveyed Alex's direction to his driver.

Sam brought up the subject of painting on the journey into the City because he was intent on being well behaved and thought it prudent to discuss something of interest to the lady. She obviously wasn't inclined to wanton conduct, or at least not in the carriage, so he gallantly asked questions about her work and listened politely to her answers. He didn't mention the Gérôme painting of her he owned, in case she would take issue with the reasons he owned it.

And maybe Lillie was right. Maybe Miss Ionides could afford to be different. Certainly, she was unconventional, a quality rare in the females of his class. She had almost a mannish independence, a characteristic both intriguing and disconcerting. But any reservations he might have of her unorthodox nature were more than offset by her glorious sensuality.

She shouldn't be so shallow as to fall under the spell of Ranelagh's quintessential charm and dark handsomeness, Alex thought, trying not to stare at him. If she chose to bed him, it should be for reasons other than mere physical attraction. She'd always considered herself an intelligent woman, unmoved by the superficiality of the beau monde, and now she was allowing herself to be charmed by the most profligate libertine in London because she found him overwhelmingly attractive. Such a response didn't bear close scrutiny, and she deliberately set aside her unsettling thoughts.

Hadn't she always prided herself on living her life as she chose?

Hadn't she railed against the binding strictures that limited female options?

So she was physically attracted. What was the harm in that? She found herself relaxing at the obviousness of the answer, and when she said "You can't really care much about painting, Ranelagh; why don't you tell me instead of your racers," her smile was open and warm.

"Feeling better, are we?"

"I've put all my demons to rest. I don't suppose you have any."

"Honestly, no. And I
enjoy
hearing of your work. I've never known a woman painter before. Does your family approve?"

"As much as I require. They're rather more traditional than I. Does your family approve of you?"

His mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. "They gave up any thought of approval long ago. They're conservative in their ways, so I suppose we've agreed to disagree."

She knew an uncle's legacy had made him a wealthy man, so he wasn't subject to his family's whims. "You don't see much of your family, then?"

"My brother and I are close. The best of friends, actually, and he has children, should I not remarry."

Without thinking, she said, "The death of your wife must have been a shock."

His gaze narrowed and a chill invaded his eyes. "Would you like condolences on the deaths of your husbands?"

Instantly recalling the scandalous events of his marriage, she apologized. "Forgive me. I spoke out of turn."

"As did I." He'd regained his composure, the sudden coolness gone. "I'm sure the deaths of your husbands were a great sorrow."

"Yes, they were. Both were men of character."

"My wife was handpicked by my parents." He grimaced slightly. "Another reason we don't get along."

"Surely you weren't forced."

"Let's just say I gave in to the ten-thousandth lecture on family duty." His expression went utterly blank for a moment, and then he slowly exhaled, and glancing out the window, noted, "We're almost there."

He was tellingly quiet as the carriage came to rest, and when he helped her alight, she could feel his constraint. After speaking briefly to his driver, he returned to her side.

"He'll wait if you don't object to my carriage at your curb."

"No, not at all," she replied, wondering if he'd changed his mind, if her gauche remark concerning his wife had terminated his interest. "The neighbors keep their distance."

He glanced to the left and right, taking in the sizable property surrounding her studio. "Have you been here long?"

"Two years. Would you like to see the studio?" And she waited with a degree of apprehension for his answer.

"Very much, and I apologize for my surliness. I must be tired."

She smiled. "And now I'll be surly about the cause of your tiredness—without reason, of course."

He laughed. "I'm constantly amazed by my reaction to you."

"While I want you and don't want you in equal measure."

"Our principles will be tested, then. I dislike intense emotion of any kind."

"In amour, you mean."

While he hesitated over how to answer so pointed a question, she took his hand and drew him toward the ornate gate.

"You needn't reply, Ranelagh." His silence had been answer enough, but she wasn't a moonstruck young maid with unrealistic expectations.

"I find myself apologizing again." He'd found it uncomfortable to lie when normally dissimilation in these matters was second nature.

"No need. I prefer honesty to glib phrases. And who knows, we may find we don't suit at all."

Reaching out, he unlatched the gate and pushed it open. "Not likely." He leaned forward to kiss her gently.

She'd not expected such tenderness, nor had she expected the rush of heat that delicate kiss could generate. It was no more than a butterfly kiss, courteous and restrained, one a brother might bestow on a sister, or a cousin on a cousin, but the aftermath shimmered through her body with a flooding warmth, and she wondered how she would respond to his love-making when so simple a gesture shook her.

"How do you do it, Ranelagh?"

"I was about to ask the same of you." Kisses were generally too tame to bring him to instant rut.

She glanced down at his blatant erection stretching his trousers. "We seem to be in accord."