Love's Portrait (16 page)

Chapter 11

The Lyceum Theater was hot and noisy as Julia took her seat next to Catherine in the Westgard box. Mrs. Langtry was performing in Antony and Cleopatra tonight, and the theater was more crowded than usual. With a flick of her wrist, she opened her fan and stirred the air in front of her.

Peacock feathers brushed across her nose as she leaned forward to see if Prince Edward was in the Royal Box. She chided herself. It wasn’t the Prince she was hoping to see. She knew Morgan had a box at the theater, but she wasn’t certain where. It had been little more than a week since that terrible scene in her salon.

At the time, she’d not been able to separate Morgan’s behavior from her experiences when Oscar had been alive. But in the days that followed, she’d come to realize how pained Morgan had been at having caused her distress. As if he understood how upset she’d been, he’d made no effort to contact her until this morning when a large arrangement of hyacinths had arrived.

The meaning of the purple flowers were not lost on her, and that Morgan recognized how his desire had triggered unpleasant memories made her wish that she had the courage to accept his proposal of marriage. His declaration of love had made her hesitate when she’d refused him, but it was the one thing she kept coming back to over the past few days.

Was it possible he really did love her? She dismissed the question. It wouldn’t change her thoughts on marriage. It wasn’t a risk she was willing to take, no matter how much she loved him. Sinking back into her chair she sighed softly.

“You’ve been quite the hermit this past week.” Catherine sent her a look of curiosity. “Is there something wrong?”

“Not at all.” She forced a serene smile to her lips.

“I see. Then perhaps you could explain why St. Claire is watching you from across the way with such pained hunger.”

Startled, she stared at her cousin for a moment before Julia followed the other woman’s gaze to the boxes on the opposite wall of the theatre. Morgan sat almost directly across from her, his eyes watching her every move. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his handsome face. Even from this distance, she saw the tension in his body. He looked tired. Sweet heaven had he had another migraine episode? She hated the thought of him suffering.

Her gaze met his, and the intensity of his look warmed her body in a brief second. A flood of emotion surged through her, and she hastily turned her head away. How she wanted to give in to impulse and go to him.

“Well?” A gentle concern darkened Catherine’s eyes. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on between the two of you?”

“There’s nothing between St. Claire and me. I’m simply an investor in his company.”

“Really, my dear, you can try convincing yourself of that fact, but I saw the look you just gave him. You’re in love with the man.”

Stunned, she stared at Catherine in horrified amazement. If her cousin could see she was in love with Morgan, would he be able to tell as well? A layer of ice skimmed over her skin. It had been difficult enough to send him away, but if he knew she loved him, he would be relentless in his pursuit.

“You’re mistaken. I am not in love with Morgan St. Claire.” Even to her ears, the words sounded hollow.

Catherine studied her for a long moment, her eyes sympathetic. “He’s not Oscar, dearest.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned her head away and fanned herself a trifle too quickly before she realized how it might appear and slowed her hand movement to maintain her stance of indifference.

“Morgan St. Claire is a good, honorable man, Julia. He’s far and away a better man than your husband ever was.”

“That may be true, but I refuse to let him, or any man, dominate me again. The humiliation of it…” She closed her eyes at the painful memories swirling in her head.

“Oh, Julia, you cannot allow Oscar’s beastly behavior deny you the chance for some happiness. That monster turned a young, vibrant girl into a reserved woman who’s afraid to live, but I’ve seen glimpses of that girl since his death.”

“I am not afraid to live. I’ve been quite adventurous of late—scandalous, in fact.” There was a note of bravado in her words that made her cousin send her an arched look.

“Having an affair is not the same thing as living,” Catherine said quietly.

Silence filled the theatre box as she met her cousin’s sympathetic gaze. She swallowed her embarrassment as she tried to find her voice. “How did…who else knows?”

“There’s been a small amount of talk, speculation really. I wasn’t even certain myself until just a few moments ago when I saw the way the two of you looked at each other.”

“It’s over,” she said tersely.

“Is it?” Catherine reached over and touched her arm. “From your reaction, I’d say it was far from over.”

“I cannot and will not allow myself to let any man control me ever again. The price is too high.” She bit her lip at the thought of giving herself up to Morgan’s control, his masterful lovemaking, the safety of his arms. He
was
different from Oscar. Logic told her that. But emotionally, she did not want to face the prospect of giving up command over her own destiny.

“Is that what really frightens you, or are you afraid to risk trusting him
and
yourself?”

Turning her head toward Catherine, she shook her head in disbelief. “Are you suggesting that I open myself up to such a risk?”

“What I’m
suggesting
is that you trust yourself to be with him simply because he makes you happy.

“It’s…it’s impossible.” She snapped her feathered fan closed with an abrupt movement.

“Happiness is never impossible once you choose to accept it.” Catherine smiled at her gently as the house lights dimmed. “It’s the trusting that’s difficult.”

The soft words whispered through her head as the curtain rose and she tried to focus on the performance. Catherine had no idea how difficult it was for her to trust. Once she had been able to trust herself and others, but Oscar had changed all that. She wanted to trust Morgan. It was something she wanted desperately. But trusting him meant believing he would never hurt her. She wasn’t certain she had that much trust within her to give.

But if that were true, then how had she been able to trust him each time he touched her. In her heart, she knew he would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. He was first and foremost a gentleman. Last week, he could have easily taken her by force, but he’d stopped.

A lesser man would have seen her submissive behavior as a signal to do as he liked. Not Morgan, he’d known something was wrong by her lack of response. Time and again, he’d proven how considerate he could be toward her. How attuned he was to her pleasure. Although it had taken several days to recover from the shock of that last encounter, he’d clearly demonstrated his respect for her feelings.

Morgan didn’t want her submissive. He’d said he wanted the woman in the portrait Peebles had painted, and she believed that now. But did she have the ability to be that woman? Did she have the courage to open herself up to him in such a manner? Perhaps Catherine was right. Could it be she needed to choose happiness? Was it as simple as choosing to love him—to be with him? They didn’t need to be married to be happy. And she cared little what society thought of her behavior.

Torn with indecision, her gaze drifted across the width of the theater to find Morgan watching her still. Instantly, the entire world slipped away as they stared at each other. There was nothing but the two of them. He leaned forward just a bit as if he hoped to reach out across the void and touch her. Then he stiffened and reclined back into his seat.

∫

Morgan ached as if he’d been in a street brawl with a group of sailors. He’d never experienced this type of torment before in his life. It was an all-consuming need for a woman, and his treatment of her had done nothing to advance his suit with her. The memory of how she’d retreated from him in her salon last week gnawed at his gut.

In his eagerness to convince her they were meant for each other, he’d dredged up unpleasant memories instead. He should have realized long before she’d come to his bed that Westgard had mistreated her. All the signs had been there, but his lust had blinded him to them.

Christ, to think that son of a bitch had tied her up. He was afraid to think what else the bastard had done to her. The expression on her face that morning was one he would never forget. The woman he’d made love to the night before had vanished. In her place was a woman completely detached from her emotions and from him.

Even now, the thought of what Westgard had done to Julia disgusted him. She had to be one of the most courageous people he’d ever met. Hell, it was amazing she’d even had the courage to give herself to him. Their lovemaking had built a fragile bridge of trust between them, and he’d unwittingly broken that bond.

He needed to do something that would reassure her, rebuild that tenuous connection between them. But what? Closing his eyes, he suppressed a groan of despair. Damn it to hell, he needed to do something. Anything. He looked across the theater again.

To his amazement, she was watching him. As their eyes met across the distance, she abruptly jerked her head back toward the stage. God, she looked beautiful. But vulnerable too. Was that his doing? Had he shattered that ice shell of hers to reach the woman Westgard had tried to destroy?

His fingers dug into his thighs as he struggled to remain seated. All he wanted to do was charge over to her box, scoop her up into his arms and take her home with him. The image of his hotel room filtered its way into his head. It was all wrong for her. Julia needed a place where she could feel safe—in control. His hotel room was the last place she would be able to do that. No, she needed something more stable, more tangible. For the first time he wished he had a house.

Until now, the hotel had served his needs more than adequately. It had also been a suitable deterrent to any mistress attempting to put her own stamp on any house he owned. But he also knew he’d been resistant to a house because of what it represented. Or didn’t represent. A home. If he could give Julia all the safety, comfort, and warmth only a true home could offer, perhaps that would show her how much he loved her. The question was whether or not she’d be willing to share it with him.

Applause sounded in his ears, and as the lights went up in the theater, he realized it was intermission. In the box opposite him, he watched as Julia leaned toward the woman beside her. He had to see her. Hear her voice. Impulse drove him to his feet and out of his box. Despite the crowd surging out into the lobby in search of refreshments, he was able to reach Julia’s box in just a few moments.

Pushing the curtain aside, he found her alone. Uncertain as to what his reception would be like, he cleared his throat. The moment he did so, she turned her head toward him. Pleasure flashed in her eyes before her expression became guarded. She didn’t say anything, and clearing his throat again, he bowed.

“Good evening, Julia.”

“St. Claire.” There was a breathless quality to her voice that stirred the desire he’d been holding in check for days. He’d known she’d needed time and space after what had happened between them.

“Did you receive my flowers?”

“Yes.” She hesitated slightly. “It was…it was thoughtful of you.”

The tension between them edged its way over his skin like a hot knife. He’d not felt this awkward in years. He stood in the box wondering what to say next.

“May I?” Morgan gestured toward the empty chair opposite her.

She hesitated again before she gave him an abrupt nod. Seating himself beside her, he studied her for a long moment. The expression on her face was serene, but the frantic flutter at the side of her neck revealed her nervousness. Her gown was the color of the sea and made her look like a lush water nymph. The material hugged her full curves seductively, and his hands ached to caress her roundness.

“Must you stare?”

“Would you have me do something else?” he asked softly.

Pink color tinged her cheeks as she blew out an exasperated breath. Opening her fan, she waved the feathers in front of her in an agitated fashion. “I…you should not be talking to me like that.”

“Perhaps, but it gives me great pleasure to see you’re not indifferent to me.” He bit back a smile as she slapped her fan closed with an annoyed twist of her lips.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Leaning forward, he slowly stroked the top of her knuckles with his forefinger. She trembled beneath his light touch. “Tell me you feel nothing when I touch you.”

“I…I cannot.” She paled slightly and turned her head away.

“Do you want to know what I feel when I touch you like this?” A rush of exhilaration sailed through him as she jerked her gaze back to his. She didn’t speak, but the slight nod of her head pleased him. “I’m on fire for you.”

A tiny gasp parted her lips and there was a longing in her eyes that gave him hope. Capturing her hand, he turned it over so he could stroke her bare skin through the opening of her evening glove. The sharp breath she drew at his touch sent tension rocking through him.

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you how much I adore you?”

“How could you possibly feel that way? We barely know each other,” she said with breathless exasperation.

“I know enough that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

She didn’t say anything. She just stared at him for a long moment as if debating how to reply. For the briefest of moments, he was certain she wanted to tell him the same thing. But with a sudden shake of her head, she looked away.

“I told you before that I’ll never marry again.” Her quiet words made his jaw tighten with frustration. Westgard had done his work well.

“I’m not going to give up on you, Julia.” Once more, he stroked the skin of her wrist with his finger. “I don’t have a choice. I need you as much as I need air to breathe. Every part of me aches for you. You have no idea how much I want to be kissing every inch of you right now. Touching you until you cry out my name as you flow hot and sweet over my tongue.”