Love's Portrait (3 page)

“Actually I have a personal chef who prepares all my meals, and I’m afraid Henri refuses to share his secrets.” He deliberately paused and offered her a secretive smile. “Even with me.”

“What a pity.” She took another bite of her dinner, and his gut tightened as he watched her mouth and suddenly wished they were alone. Her throat flexed slightly as she swallowed. “This salmon is a dish I could eat quite often.”

“Then come back for dinner again, next week,” he said as he leaned toward her, his voice dropping a level so that his invitation reached only her ears. The startled expression on her face made him smile, and he saw her hand tremble as she quickly laid down her fork.

“I think that would be unwise. One should never mix business with pleasure.”

He bit down on the inside of his mouth at having his own rule thrown back in his face. She was right, but it was too late to go back now.

“Perhaps.” He reclined back into his chair and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Although I’m sure it would be quite—pleasurable.”

She immediately took another drink of her wine, this time more a gulp than a sip. If possible, her confusion made her even more beautiful. What would she be like tipsy? Relaxed and uninhibited with no barriers between them. He liked the idea.

“I’m glad to see that my Bordeaux is to your liking.” He grinned as a pink flush crested in her cheeks. She shot him a baleful look, which only made him chuckle as he lowered his voice even more. “You blush quite charmingly, Julia.”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to call me by my given name.” Her back ramrod straight, she attempted to stare him down with a haughty expression. It did little good, and he flashed another wicked smile in her direction.

“No? Forgive me, I thought you had.”

There was nothing remotely apologetic in his response, and they both knew it. She toyed with the necklace at the base of her throat before she tightened her mouth and met his gaze directly.

“Well, I didn’t, and I prefer to keep our relationship strictly a business one.”

“And if
I
don’t?” he challenged with a smile.

∫

Julia swallowed hard at the way the man almost purred the words. Sweet mother of God, the man’s reputation was well earned. His gaze was a sensual caress as he scanned her features before moving downward to her bodice. The warmth of a flush filled her cheeks at the blatant stare of interest. No, not interest—insolence, that’s what it was. He was being insolent.

He’d been far from happy with her demand to observe his shipping operations. Even the suggestions she’d made for improving different processes in his offices had been met with little more than a dark frown or grunt of irritation. She’d been a thorn in his side for the past few weeks, and now she was paying the price for daring to challenge the great St. Claire.

His gaze held hers as he reached for his wine glass, and the knot in her throat thickened at the way his fingers stroked the stem of the crystal goblet. Taking his time, Morgan drank from the glass, and all the while, his movements kept her mesmerized. A secretive smile curved his mouth and he arched an eyebrow at her.

Flustered and embarrassed that she’d been staring, she jerked her gaze back to her plate and resumed eating. With her head bent she didn’t see him lean forward, but she felt him and drew in a quick breath. Dark and spicy, his male scent tickled her nose. An unfamiliar sensation streaked across her skin and sent her heart skidding out of control. Irritated she was acting like all the other women who’d fallen for St. Claire’s charms, she clenched her jaw. Fixing a neutral expression on her face, she met his mocking gaze with her steady one.

“As I said,
Mr. St. Claire
, I prefer that we keep our relationship on a firm business footing.”

“You’re far too exquisite for any man to think of you as simply a business associate,
Julia
.”

The honeyed tone of his voice made her feel as if she were the only woman he’d ever found beautiful. She gave a slight shake of her head. That was ridiculous. This was Morgan St. Claire, the man who gave away his handkerchief whenever he parted company with a lover.

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. St. Claire?”

“Would you like me to?” There was a dark note in his voice, and she shivered.

“No.”

“As you wish.”

The enigmatic smile on his lips evolved into one of dry amusement as he sat back in his chair. She tried to avoid drawing blood as she bit the inside of her mouth. God, he was an arrogant bastard. Did he really think he had but to crook his finger and a woman would come running? Of course he did. And the terrifying thing was, a small part of her wanted to do just that.

It made Morgan St. Claire a dangerous man. Even men gave way to his persuasive charm. She’d observed him conducting business enough over the past few weeks to realize that. And if the man thought Julia Westgard was going to succumb to his sensual charms just like everyone else, he was wrong. She wasn’t about to let any man control her again, no matter how devastating he was to her senses.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for her wine glass again then stopped. She’d had enough to drink already, and she needed to keep her wits about her. The sooner she secured the item she’d come for, the sooner she could leave.

Without waiting for him to speak again, she turned to the man on her left and started a conversation. Anything to avoid conversing further with Morgan St. Claire. Although she couldn’t see him watching her, the blast of heat warming her skin told her the man’s gaze was still pinned on her.

The effect of St. Claire’s intent gaze was nerve wracking, and she barely managed to focus on her conversation with the man next to her. Being only one of two women investors in the small party of twelve was enough to strain even her own daring. And she found herself wishing Lady Falkenhouse was not at the opposite end of the table.

For the first time she wondered why St. Claire had placed her on his left. She frowned at the thought. That would imply he’d deliberately chosen her seat. No, she was reading too much into the seating arrangements.

With the meal complete, she and Lady Falkenhouse left the gentlemen to their port. As she left the dining room, the warmth on the back of her neck told her that St. Claire was watching her leave. Immediately, it felt as if hundreds of butterflies milled in her stomach.

Lady Falkenhouse smiled mischievously at her as they entered the sitting room that was part of Morgan’s extensive suite of rooms at the Clarendon Hotel.

“I think you’ve captured St. Claire’s attention, my dear Mrs. Westgard,” Lady Falkenhouse said with amusement.

“He was being polite.” Julia’s stomach lurched at the thought of others seeing St. Claire might be interested in her. Might be? The man had made it quite clear he was.

“Bah, the man is besotted with you. He could barely keep his eyes off you all evening”

“I’m sure he was simply being polite,” Julia murmured before she sought to make her escape. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Falkenhouse, I would like to freshen up.”

Julia didn’t give the woman a chance to invite herself along and turned to hurry out of the sitting room into the hall that connected all the rooms of the St. Claire’s suite. Once in the corridor, she saw a young girl waiting at one end. Aware that the moment of truth had arrived, Julia hurried forward.

“Please hurry, ma’am,” the girl whispered as Julia reached her. “I don’t want to get caught.”

“Neither do I,” Julia replied and pulled a pound note from her reticule. The girl glanced furtively over Julia’s shoulder before taking the money then pointed to the door behind her.

“I’ll watch the door for as long as I can, ma’am, but I mustn’t be gone from the kitchen long. Henri will wonder where I am.”

With a silent nod, Julia quickly slipped through the doorway into a darkened room. The first thing she saw was a painting of the Calcutta, one of St. Claire’s prized ships. She paused to admire the framed artwork. If there was one thing she liked about the man, it was the pride he took in his company and fleet of ships. He might be a seducer, but she knew he had integrity as well. He always dealt fairly with his customers and his staff. She frowned. She wasn’t here to consider Morgan St. Claire’s good qualities. She had a handkerchief to find.

Closing the door behind her, she exhaled the pent up emotions that had been building inside her since she’d left the dining room. For all her bravado, she idea of being caught in St. Claire’s bedroom was a terrifying thought. There would be too much explaining to do, and she didn’t think Morgan St. Claire would find her explanations amusing. Despite her trepidation, she experienced the familiar rush of exhilaration that always flowed through her just before she was about to take a risk. It was still quite a new sensation, and she relished it.

Blood pumped its way madly through her veins as she stared about the masculine room. It was as sensual in nature as the man who slept here. Heavy drapes framed the large canopied bed, and it was difficult to tell if they were navy blue or black. Gold tasseled cords held back the material, and a spread that matched the curtains covered the bed. The overall impression was an elegant decadence, if it were possible to describe debauchery in such a way.

A small pinprick of guilt made her hesitate. Perhaps she was being unfair to the man. His flirtation with her might be unsettling, but he’d given her no reason to believe he was anything but an honorable man. With a shake of her head, she grimaced. She was wasting time. Dragging her eyes away from the bed, she glanced around for the wardrobe. The large chest was across the room, and with swift steps she crossed the floor to open the doors.

More than a dozen suits filled the massive storage, and she shifted her gaze to the drawers that lined one side of furniture’s interior. The first drawer revealed nothing but cuff links and watch fobs. Closing it, she moved on to the next drawer.

When it didn’t offer up the treasure she sought, she uttered a noise of frustration. She went through two more drawers before she found the prize she hunted. Triumph sailed through her as she pulled one of Morgan St. Claire’s monogrammed handkerchiefs from the drawer.

“It appears you’ve found one of my handkerchiefs.”

The softly spoken observation made her cry out in surprise. Whirling about she saw her host watching her with a narrowed gaze. Arms folded across his chest he studied her in silence. The quiet thickened and weighed down the air in the room until it was difficult to breathe, let alone manage to speak. She swallowed the fear threatening to close her throat. Dear Lord, how was she going to explain what she was doing?

“I…I’m sure this must look terrible to you, Mr. St. Claire. But it’s not what it seems, I can assure you.”

“I’m listening.”

He was listening. Of course he was. The question though was what to tell him. The truth. She could tell him the truth. No, he’d never believe her. If she were him,
she
wouldn’t believe her story. Stealing a handkerchief to auction off at the Society for Lost Angels would sound too fantastic, and he would immediately label it a falsehood.

“I…I was curious…I mean I wanted to know…umm…I wanted to have one of your handkerchiefs.” Her response made him arch an eyebrow, while his expression was filled with skepticism.

“I see.”

When he didn’t move, she sucked in a quick breath suddenly conscious of the fact she was trembling. At least he hadn’t asked her to return the silk material she held in her hand. The best thing to do was flee. That is if she could make her feet move. She took only a step before he blocked her way.

She’d never seen a man move so fast or so silently before. It was disturbing. He not only barred her path, but he was inches away from her. Having him stand so close set her pulse pounding even faster than it had when he’d surprised her only moments before. Dear Lord, what if he took her appearance in his bedroom as a sign she was interested in him. No. She’d made it clear that a liaison between them was out of the question. She bit her lip at the realization that her current circumstances did little to help support her position. Her fingers twisted the handkerchief in her hand as she struggled to keep her wits about her.

“Surely, you’re not leaving so soon.” His voice was as smooth as the silk she held in her hand.

“I…I’ve been terribly rude and ungracious in the face of your hospitality, Mr. St. Claire. I am deeply sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Julia.”

“Thank you. I am deeply sorry for the intrusion, and if you’ll step aside, I’ll rejoin your other guests.” It was a struggle, but she experienced a moment of satisfaction that she’d managed to regain her composure.

“And leave me to fend for myself?” The suggestive remark sent heat flooding into her cheeks. Despite his slight smile of amusement, she knew he wasn’t happy to find her in his bedroom.

“You’re forgetting your guests.”

“I’m certain they’re managing quite nicely without us.”

“Without us?” she exclaimed. Dear lord, she’d forgotten that as one of only two women her absence would not go unnoticed.

“I explained that an important business matter required my immediate attention, and that I would return momentarily. Eventually they’ll realize we’re both missing and come to the conclusion that we’re both occupied with the same business matter.” His voice softened as he spoke and he eyed her in the same manner a wolf does its supper.

“Unfinished business?” She frowned for a brief second before her stomach lurched violently. “But everyone will think—”

Appalled, she struggled to suppress the panic rising up into her throat. His gaze unreadable, he folded his arms across his chest.

“I’m not in the habit of caring what others think.”

“Naturally. But at the moment, it’s not your reputation in jeopardy,” she snapped.

“Perhaps you should have considered the risks more carefully before visiting my room.”

She winced at the hint of steel in his voice. He was right. She’d been so certain it would be an easy task to steal a simple handkerchief. She’d been wrong, and it was incredibly irritating to have to admit that he was right. Well, there was little she could do about having been caught. What mattered now was extracting herself from the current situation.