Sinful Deeds (6 page)

“Only
three days. Julian has gone into the coffee business—you may recall me
mentioning it.”

She
nodded. It was how Julian had met his wife. Josephine remembered Dante
declaring his brother must be a sadistic bastard to go through a fourth
marriage. She never really understood Dante’s aversion to marriage. Julian’s
other marriages had ended because of awful luck and horrible circumstances. She
knew his parent’s marriage was not so pleasant...but really, was that enough to
make a man hate the idea so much?

“And
you are assisting him?”

“Yes.”
He snatched the bundle of papers near her arm. “At the moment, we have an
arrangement with Viola’s father, but we’re still negotiating with the shipping
companies. Julian isn’t the only man interested in coffee but some aren’t as savvy
as my brother. Several hoped they could drive up the price on him and he
wouldn’t notice.”

“I
suppose they didn’t wager on dealing with you.”

Dante
released a wry smile. “I’d wager none thought dealing with me would be any
harder than with my brother. I’m not sure I understood precisely what I was
doing, but so far I have two very firm and competitive offers to look over.”
Josephine couldn’t help laughing. He looked a little affronted. “Is that so
hard to believe?”

“That
you would land on your feet in the very first job you’ve ever done? No, not at
all. It is very like you.” She took a lengthy sip of tea in case her smile
offended him further. She didn’t want to diminish this accomplishment he seemed
so proud of. Dante had never really had much of which to feel proud, she
guessed. “And you’re enjoying being a working man?”

“I am
not wholly changed.” He lifted both eyebrows in a manner that told her his dark
and devilish side would never vanish under the pressure of hard work. “But I am
enjoying feeling useful, I shall admit that much.”

Finishing
her tea, she placed the cup and saucer back on the tray and tried not to marvel
at the change in him. To have seen him only a few weeks ago, utterly foxed from
too much alcohol to this. Why she could even consider—No, he hadn’t changed
that much. And had she not declared she wouldn’t want him to change? Not for
her at least. She had always enjoyed his fun side, his outrageous behaviour. It
allowed her to let loose and be someone other than the sweet Mrs Josephine Beaumont.

Was
this part of some scheme to get her back?

A burst
of excitement threatened to engulf her chest. As much as her pride loved the
idea of him going to such measures, she must not fall foul of it. That would be
a foolish thing indeed.

“Are
you ready to head home now?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“Yes,
yes, of course.”

He
offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. In spite of wearing gloves, a
warm prickle danced about her fingers. They stood in front of each other for
endless moments while he stroked his fingers over her digits—up and down, up
and down. The twinkle in his eye told her that the change had only been minor.
The old Dante resided behind the business-like attire. She wavered, feeling
like a small boat caught in the current, powerless to do anything but follow
it. He needed only to tug lightly on her fingers to draw her close.

They
ended up body to body, chest to chest. He pressed a curl behind her ear and let
his fingers linger on her cheek. He gazed down at her with all the adoration of
a man on his wedding day. It should have been enough to make her break away.

It
wasn’t.

All she
could do was remember how their bodies had once moved together. How strong his
arms had been around her. How he had never failed to give her the most
pleasurable moments of her life.

He
sighed. “Why must you deny me?”

Was she
denying him? Considering they were as close as two people could come with
clothes on, she wasn’t so sure. And she did not know how to answer. Her mind
reasoned that she must deny him. It wasn’t fair to either of them to give into
the pull that would likely forever exist between them. Her heart, however,
throbbed in a painful reminder that she might never stop loving him.

After
suffering so long without his touch, she felt like a starved woman. She craved
him, desired him, loved him. It was quite the pickle to be in and every bold
notion of independence seemed to have withered away.

Dante
kissed her. A swift, sharp peck on the lips. She hadn’t been expecting that.
Where was the passionate claiming of her mouth? He did it again, pressing hard
before dropping back. The balloon of disappointment in her chest threatened to
swallow her.

Josephine
swiped her hands down her skirts in an unladylike gesture and tried to gather
her wits.

“Time
to return home,” he declared, offering her his arm.

If he
really was toying with her, he was doing a fine job of it. She was more
confused than ever.

Not taking things further with Josephine
had been the hardest thing Dante had ever done. The desire to throw up her
skirts and plunge his fingers deep into her to remind her of how good they were
still fired through his veins.

Her
fingers rested lightly on his forearm as he guided her home. He could only
blame the moment of madness—not taking her then and there that was, rather than
the kiss itself—on his resolution to prove to her they could have a respectable
relationship without marriage. She didn’t need to feel like a mistress, there
for his pleasure and nothing else. The truth was, even while their desire
burned bright, she had always been more than a mistress to him. They had been
friends, confidantes, and lastly, lovers. It was only in the recent months had
he not had time to see her for more than a quick bedding.

He
scowled at himself. Why was that exactly? It was heading into summer so his
social life inevitably became busier. But still...

He
really had been quite an ass.

When
they arrived at her house, he slowed his pace. A tall gentleman stood at her
door. He cut an elegant figure with buff trousers and a long jacket.

“Are
you expecting a visitor?” he asked lightly.

“Oh,
it’s Robbie.”

The way
her voice trilled with excitement set him on edge. He gritted his teeth and
talked himself out of clamping her arm firmly to his side or turning around and
dragging her back to the office so he could do what he really wanted to do with
her.

He
certainly didn’t want to see
Robbie
, whoever the heck he was.

This
Robbie turned when he spotted them and gave Josephine a wave. Dante loathed the
man on sight. Who did he think he was, waiting at Josephine’s door, looking
dapper and handsome? The man drew off his hat and pushed his hands through
sandy hair. Every part of him said
refined
and
elegant.

Respectable.

“I
wasn’t sure I’d catch you,” he said to Josephine. “I was about to take a stroll
to see if you were gathering inspiration.”

She
tilted her head in a manner that was all too charming. The sandy-haired
fellow’s eyes seem to glint in appreciation. Dante had to draw in a long,
calming breath. It was bad enough that Josephine had nearly become the victim
of a mugging but now this...

Who was
this chap?

“Mr
Allen, this is Lord Dante Cynfell.”

Mr
Allen, Mr Allen... now why did that...? Oh yes, something to do with art. Damn
it. Not only was he handsome and affable, but was knowledgeable about art. How
was Dante meant to compete with that?

“Dante,
this is Mr Robert Allen. He works at the National Gallery.”

“I just
came by to see how the latest masterpiece was coming along,” Mr Allen
explained.

“Masterpiece?”

She
unlatched her arm from his and pressed her hands together. “Yes, my latest
painting. There has been some interest in my older pieces and Robbie believes I
could make quite a name for myself.”

He
snorted inwardly. It was more likely Robbie was interested in spending more
time with a beautiful woman than viewing her artwork. Josephine was talented,
he’d never doubted that, but there were thousands of talented artists out there
and very few of them were women. A man of his standing would know that it would
be hard to sell a woman’s work.

Josephine
fished in her handbag for the house key and offered Dante a smile. “Thank you
for earlier, I don’t know...”

He
waved away her thanks and her dismissal of him. She wouldn’t cast him away that
easily. “I’d love to see the painting,” he said with a smile.

Her
lips parted and a tiny furrow appeared between her brows before she responded.
“Oh, yes, of course. Won’t you both come in?”

“After
you,” Mr Allen offered genially as they followed her in.

Dante
tried not to grind his teeth.

Josephine
led them into a small room at the rear of the house where the light streamed in
through the windows.

“Good
lighting,” he commented, feeling wise indeed.

She
offered him a bemused look and nodded. Mr Allen stepped forward and peered at
the canvas. As far as Dante could see, it was a lot of dark splodges and not a
lot else.

“Wonderful
brushwork,” the man commented, and Dante bit back a curse of frustration.

He
peered at it but couldn’t make head or tail of it. Josephine must have seen his
confusion. “It’s a study of the living conditions of the working man,” she
explained.

No, he
still didn’t understand it. Did people even want to buy such things? Who would
want to see poor people on their walls? He was used to lavish portraits and
generous landscapes. Now there had to be money in portraits. Perhaps he could
encourage her in that direction. If she continued painting poor people, she’d
be one of them before long.

Still,
he supposed she might come dashing back to him then.

Except
that wasn’t what he wanted. Their arrangement might have begun because she needed
looking after, but their passion had driven it to last as long as it had. He
wanted her to come back to him because she wanted him, not because she needed
him.

“I’m
sure it will be wonderful,” Dante said diplomatically.

“She’s
a splendid talent,” Mr Allen declared. “Though I’m sure you know that, my lord.
Of course, when we met in France I could only guess at how good she would
become. Many people have talent but few have quite the eye that Josephine
does.”

Bitterness
rose up in his throat. Hearing her name on his lips made him want to curl a
fist and ram it into those very same lips so that he would never utter it
again. There he had been proud to note that she had seemed a little impressed
by his venture into the working world, and now he was ready to be that
outrageous rake once more, calling out a man for uttering a woman’s name.

Dark
pink splotches coloured her cheeks. “Coming from you, that is very flattering
indeed.” She glanced his way. “Mr Allen is highly regarded and his paintings
sell for a fortune all over the world.”

“Not
that I paint much these days mind,” the chap said with a grin. “I seldom have
the time now. Though I would love to paint you one day.” He ran his gaze over
Josephine. “We shall have to make time for it.”

“We
shall indeed,” she agreed.

Like
hell
, he was tempted to
declare before recalling he had no say in the matter. He pictured her draped in
some kind of silk sheet, her back bare and her legs curled up beside her while
Allen practically slathered over her as he painted. It took all his restraint
not to grab the man and escort him bodily out of the house.

“Well,
seeing as you have company, I shall bid you a good day, Josephine.” Allen
retrieved his hat from under his arm and gave her brief dip of his head.
“Pleased to meet you, my lord. I hope to see you again soon. Perhaps when our
talented Josephine has her first exhibition?”

“Indeed,
I look forward to it,” Dante managed to press out.

“I’ll
check up on your progress again soon,” the man commented.

“Good
day, Robbie.” Josephine escorted him to the door, giving him a moment to stare
at the brown splodges on the canvas and stew about this Robbie Allen fellow.

It
wasn’t fair or logical for him to be so angry at a man he’d never met. In
truth, he wondered if he was not angrier at himself. He’d never realised her
desire to paint for a living was so strong. He had thought it a charming hobby.
Some mistresses sang, others did needlework. His painted. And how very good she
was at it too. But he’d merely considered it something to keep her occupied.
Now it seemed even this art expert knew more about her than he did.

He’d
have to change that. For Christ sake’s, he’d taken a job, had he not? He could
best this chap too. He certainly wouldn’t let some dandy take Josephine from
him.

With Diana’s arm looped around hers, Josephine
entered the assembly hall. Her stomach churned, and she gripped her friend’s
arm more tightly. She had agreed to come several weeks ago, expecting to attend
with Dante but even then she hadn’t been sure she would accompany him.

“I wish
I had stayed at home,” she muttered to her friend.

Diana,
radiant in blue silk with her pale brown hair coiled high on her head and
scattered with blossoms, gave her arm a squeeze. “You cannot spend all your
days hiding away and painting. Besides, none will speak of Lord Dante. It’s old
gossip now.”

“No one
has said anything to me anyway,” she replied dryly, glancing around at the
splendour.

Glistening
chandeliers caught the light sending shards of fairy-like sparkles around the
room. Feathers bobbed and skirts swished while the odour of a little too much
cologne reached her. Dancing had already begun.

She
spotted several noblemen and women in the mix as well as the odd shipping
magnate and mill owner. This was certainly not your usual casual gathering, and
it never had been. Every summer since it’s opening, the well-to-do flocked
Northumberland Avenue as a means of making connections and arranging business
deals.

Josephine
suspected a few other deals would be arranged tonight too—marriages perhaps and
the odd tryst too.

She
peered around to try to catch sight of Robbie. He’d said he would attend and
introduce her to some important figures in the art world. It was really the
only reason she had agreed to attend. She hardly felt in the mood for dancing.
Her mind was a whirl, much like the dancers cutting paths across the floor.
Painting had become difficult for the first time in her life. When she should
have been gathering inspiration and putting paint to canvas, she found herself
peering out of the front windows in the hopes of catching a glimpse...

She
sighed. Apparently moving on from Dante was going to be harder than she had
hoped.

“I do
hope Mr Lonsdale is here,” Diana said in an aside. “I haven’t seen him in
several months.”

Josephine
forced a smile upon her face. Mr Lonsdale was leading Diana on a merry chase as
far as she could see. Her young friend was in danger of becoming a spinster if
she continued to pine for the man who was as elusive as a bat during the day.

A tall,
dark-haired figure caught her eye as he moved between the Corinthian columns.
She couldn’t see his face, but she didn’t need to. Her body told her everything
she needed to know. Like a frightened dormouse, aware of the bird of prey
above, every part of her tensed.

Had he
seen her? Would he come her way? If he did, everyone would watch them, curious
as to how they would react to one another.

Before
she could find out, Robbie approached, giving her a little wave. She smiled at
her friend and forced her attention away from the column Dante had seemed to
have vanished behind.

“You
look splendid,” Robbie commented. “As do you, Miss Barlow.”

“And
you, Mr Allen. You do cut a fine figure,” Diana replied.

“I do
try my best,” he said with a smile. “There are several people I’d like you to
meet, Josephine. One in particular, a Lord Whitby—you may have heard of him—is
quite the art buyer. He enjoys investing in new artists and considers himself
at the forefront of the art world.” Robbie’s lips twitched.

They had
discussed before how the backing of a rich lord might help her career. These
men had more money than they knew what to do with and often threw it at even
the most untalented or unusual pieces of artwork. Josephine had been reticent
about hanging her hopes on fickle men but without help, she wouldn’t get far.
She fingered the ruffle on her shoulder and adjusted it a little. If felt a
little too much like her newfound independence had been quashed before it had
started.

“How
very exciting for you, Josephine,” Diana commented. “Do you think she’ll become
very famous, Mr Allen?”

“I am
almost certain. Josephine was one of the more talented artists I met in France
and she has only improved with time. I believe her eye for the unusual will
mark her out from her contemporaries.”

Heat
warmed her cheeks. As a young girl in Europe she’d been in awe of Robert Allen,
who at the time had been teaching and travelling while he painted for some of
the richest families. She had even developed a tiny infatuation with him, but
that had been quickly crushed once she realised he wasn’t at all interested in
her or any other woman.

 “Oh
look, there’s Mr Lonsdale.” Diana nudged her arm. “Do you mind terribly if
I...?”

“No, not
at all.” Josephine had barely uttered the first syllable before Diana bustled
across the ball to accost the tall gentleman.

She
grimaced inwardly. Diana was a fine looking woman, but she didn’t have much
wealth. Her connections to a wealthy aunt might bring her some prospects,
however, it was clear Mr Lonsdale was after a much bigger fish.

“Would
you like to dance?”

She
nodded her thanks. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

It had
been a while since she’d danced. She tried not to recall the last event she had
attended and how it had been on Dante’s arm. Damn him. Too many of her memories
involved him. No wonder it was so hard to let him go. Where was the man anyway?
She had continued to survey the large ballroom in the hopes of at least being
aware of where he was, but he appeared to have vanished.

Robbie
took her into his arms and they slipped in amongst the other dancers. He
whirled her around with such grace that she knew many women would be envious of
them. Perhaps they would think he was her new lover. How wrong they would be.

This
also bothered her. What if people assumed her success was simply down to her
becoming Robbie’s mistress? She tried to ignore the burning frustration
building in her stomach. How hard it was to become successful without a man.
For all the progress they had made as the fairer sex, too many women still
depended on a man to even survive.

 “May I
cut in?”

The tap
to Robbie’s shoulder came near the end of the dance. Josephine hadn’t even
noticed Dante approach, too lost in thought was she.

Robbie
bowed out, ever the gentleman, and smiled. “Of course.”

And
with that, she was handed over to her old lover. Aware of people watching, she
made no protest and found herself firmly ensconced in Dante’s arms. His cologne
surrounded her in a blanket of familiarity whilst his powerful arms and warm
hands sent a thrum of excitement down to her lower body.

“You
look wonderful, Jo-Jo.”

“Thank
you,” she replied huskily.

His
eyes crinkled at the corners while their dark depths searched her face. Would
it always be this way, she wondered. Would he forever affect her like this,
leaving her feeling as though her knees were sponges and her limbs had detached
themselves from her body?

Dante
danced as he always had. With less grace and more recklessness. She remembered
the first time he’d taken her into his arms how thrilled she’d been by it. No
more staid dancing for Mrs Josephine Beaumont. Here was a man with whom she
could indulge in her artistic, outrageous side.

“How
are you?” he asked, leaning close to be heard over the music and swishing
skirts.

“Very
well.”

“And
your paintings? Have you sold anymore?”

“Yes,
actually. Robbie has arranged the sale of two more. It is his hope that we
might be able to put on a small exhibition at some point.”

“Robbie
has?” His expression hardened. “Of course he has.”

While
his face grew hard, so did his body. Hard and unyielding. He clamped her to him
as though fearful she might stumble and fall, or perhaps even escape him.

“How is
everything going with the coffee business?” she prompted—anything to bring back
the admiring look in his eyes and erase that clouded one.

“Well.”
A smile returned to his face. “You’ll be astonished to know that I have been
putting in a full day’s work every day this week. Julian couldn’t quite believe
it.”

She
shook her head. “No, I’m not astonished. You’ve always worked hard when you’ve
put your mind to it.”

He had
just never had the option, she supposed. It was common for second sons to
become useless wastrels because they had no aim in life. She didn’t count Dante
as a wastrel, however. Just a little lost. Maybe this separation had been good
for both of them. It seemed he might have found his way if the slight
straightening of his posture was anything to go by.

“You’re
proud of yourself, are you not?”

His
grin widened. “How can I not be when I have saved my brother a small fortune?”
he said smugly. “Now my grumpy stick of an older brother will be indebted to
this wastrel of a rake.”

“Dante,”
she exclaimed. “You are a tease. I did not mean it as a bad thing. Pride in
one’s successes is only human and you have much to be proud of.”

“I will
confess to finding a sort of unique thrill in negotiating these contracts. It
is a little like gambling except I’m far more likely to win. Of course—” his
gaze locked onto hers “—I am no stranger to pride.” His fingers stroked her
back ever so lightly. It wasn’t enough for anyone to notice but the tiny hairs
on the back of her neck prickled. “Now, for example, I have the most beautiful
and talented woman in the room in my arms. And—” he leaned closer, his breath
brushing the shell of her ear “—I have tasted every inch of her.”

She
gasped. Those inches had to be bright red by now. The way he held her now no
longer spoke of gentleness or even hard imprisonment. No, it spoke of
possession. His hand to her back, his other curled around her fingers, the
breath across her ear. They all said
mine
. Mine, mine, mine. And, Lord
help her, this sort of possession seemed nothing like that of a man trying to
dictate her life or that of some art connoisseur, hoping to show himself as the
cleverest of men by sponsoring an unknown female artist.

Perhaps,
the distinction was that she wanted him to be hers just as much.
Mine
,
said her fingers on his shoulder.
Mine
said her palm against his.

But he
would never be hers. Not in the way she wanted or needed. Marriage, a stable
life, the opportunity to carve a career for herself without being known as
that
man’s
mistress. Instead she would have to be a mistress to the many men who
would help her. She might not be offering them sex, but she would be offering
her artwork, her charm, and her time.

She let
him whirl her about the dance floor in the hopes of detangling the web of
confusion clouding her mind but it was not to be. Instead, she was more
confused than ever. Her plans had been clear when she’d left him. Gain
independence, become a renowned artist.

None of
that had been as easy as she’d hoped.

When
the dance finished, Dante kept a hold of her. The air thickened between them
and though they were close, the tiny distance felt impassable.

“I miss
you,” he admitted softly, the words shattering the fog dividing them.

At that
moment, she longed to throw her arms around him and let him have her. Let him
keep her and do whatever he would with her. That seemed the easiest option.
Give her heart back to him and be at his will. But, regardless of how hard it
might be to succeed alone or how painful it could be, she knew she had to try.
Without knowing, Josephine would not be doing either of them justice.

“I have
to go,” she said, her voice as thin as a reed.

Sorrow
clogged her throat. She was done dancing around him—or even with him. This had
been drawn out too long, and she was exhausted. She ripped out of his arms and
hurried from the ballroom. He called her name and people turned to watch her
go. For once in her life, she didn’t care. Let them speak of her.

Before
he could catch up with her, she stumbled out into Trafalgar Square and managed
to signal one of the waiting cabs. She allowed herself a glance back as the
cabriolet rattled across the cobbles. Josephine didn’t know whether to be
thrilled or heartbroken that Dante was standing on the steps of the building,
watching her leave.