Love's Portrait (4 page)

“As much as I hate to admit it, you’re correct Mr. St. Claire. I erred in my risk calculation. I apologize for intruding. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll rejoin the others.”

In a quick movement, she tried to skirt him, but he was faster. Once more, he blocked her way, but this time his body was mere inches away from hers. Heat radiated from his hard, lean body, and it created a frisson across her skin that alarmed her. She swallowed her dismay as she met his penetrating gaze.

“You’ve yet to explain why you need one of my handkerchiefs, Julia.”

The way he said her name sent dozens of butterflies fluttering about in her stomach. There was a possessive sound to it, and she wasn’t quite certain what it meant. Worse, she didn’t like the delicious sensation that skimmed down her spine. One thing was perfectly clear to her. The resolute line of his lips said she wouldn’t leave the room until she’d given him an explanation for her behavior. She clenched her jaw in frustration.

“If you must know, I wish to auction off the silk at a luncheon for the Society for Lost Angels. We’re trying to raise money for a new orphanage.”

“And you think my handkerchief would draw a large sum?” He frowned with skeptical puzzlement.

“Yes, I do,” she said with indignation. “Unfortunately, there are a number of women who think it romantic that you offer an abandoned lover a handkerchief with which to dry their tears.”

He studied her with that mesmerizing gaze of his for a long moment before he smiled. It was a smile of dangerous charm, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the power it held over her.

“And you don’t subscribe to the idea that it’s romantic.”

“No, I do not.”

“Interesting, although I’m still not convinced any of your Society’s members will buy this small trifle.”

She trembled as his fingers glided along the side of her forearm before flicking the silk square she held tightly in her hand. Even through her evening gloves, his fingertips singed her skin. The amused skepticism in his eyes infuriated her. The man knew little about the women in the Society. The handkerchief she held would bring a tidy sum to the orphanage fund.

“Shall we make a wager on that, Mr. St. Claire?” she said through clenched teeth. His gaze narrowed at her biting tone

“Hmm, an interesting notion. What do you propose we wager?”

A shiver of trepidation skated down the length of her spine. God in heaven, she was a reckless as Catherine said she was. But she was in the pond now. There was nothing for it, but to swim for shore with what little decorum she had left.

“If I sell the handkerchief, you must offer up an equal sum for the orphanage fund.”

Folding his arms, he arched an eyebrow. “An intriguing wager. So if you sell this handkerchief I’m to offer up the same amount.”

“Correct.” For the first time since their conversation began, she relaxed. She would still escape with the means to increase the orphanage finances.

“Very well, since you’ve laid the foundation for this wager, I think it only fair that I be allowed to name my terms if I should win.”

“Of course.” She smiled at him with a touch of self-satisfaction as she waited to hear his condition of the bet.

“Very well. My terms regard a portrait I saw quite recently. I’ve not been able to forget the woman in the painting, and I want to see her reclined in my bed, a willing participant in a night of passion.”

The soft edge in his voice raised the hair on the nape of her neck. The glint of triumph in his blue gaze held a hint of something else that made her struggle to swallow the trepidation beginning to squeeze her throat closed.

“I don’t understand. What portrait are you referring to?”

“It was an exquisite portrait, erotic almost. In fact, just looking at it made my cock spring to attention.”

The shocking words made her gasp, but words of protest failed her. She could only stare at him with a sinking feeling of horror as he offered her a wicked smile.

“Let me see if I can describe the woman in the portrait. She was quite beautiful. Her hips were softly curved and voluptuous. Her full mouth was parted in a seductive pout. And her breasts were full and succulent looking.”

“Oh my God.”

“Then there was her hair—it’s a beautiful color. Not quite red, not quite brown, even the nest of curls between her legs is the same delectable color.”

He was describing her portrait. How had he seen it? Isaac Peebles had given his word he wouldn’t show the painting to anyone. But how else could St. Claire know about the portrait. A shudder shot through her, and she clenched her fists as she struggled to maintain a dignified composure.

She wouldn’t go through with it. She’d return the bloody handkerchief and leave his room with at least her reputation intact. No. That was impossible. If she backed out of the bet now, he’d be insufferable.

It would be unbearable dealing with the man when it came to her financial investment. No, she had to see it through. He might have seen the portrait, but it was in her possession. She had nothing to fear in that area. More importantly, he couldn’t win this wager. She’d make sure Catherine or Alva would bid on the silk. After all, as long as one of the ladies in the Society of Lost Angels bought the handkerchief, she’d win.

“This woman in the portrait, do I know her?” She tilted her chin at a proud angle, hoping to convince him she didn’t have an inkling as to what picture he was describing.

His hands grasped her arms and he pulled her against his hard body. A small squeak of surprise escaped her. Heat enveloped her and made her heart race with excitement even though she tried to slow the mad pace of its beat.

A strong arm curved around her waist, binding her close. His mouth was so close to hers she could smell the expensive wine on his breath. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what it would be like to taste that liquor on his tongue. Shocked by the traitorous way her body was behaving, she braced her hands on his chest and tried to push away from him.

“Surely you’re not going to deny that you have the most delicious looking mocha nipples, Julia. I haven’t been able to stop imagining what it would be like to suck on them.”

His fingers skimmed her exposed skin at the lower edge of her bodice. The touch made her mouth go dry at the sudden longing that gripped her. What would it be like to be Morgan’s lover? Immediately, her mind careened to a halt. Sweet heaven, she needed to keep her wits about her where this man was concerned. She needed to close this wager and flee with what little dignity she still possessed.

“I don’t deny anything, sir. But if you think you can win this wager I dare you to accept.”

“So you agree that if I win you’ll recline yourself on my bed.” The look of satisfaction sounded alarm bells in her head, but she was in too deep to stop now.

“It is easy to gamble when the outcome is certain to be in one’s favor, sir.”

“Then let us seal the agreement.”

The sudden possession of his mouth took her by surprise. The warmth of his firm lips covering hers made her stomach flip with excitement. It was like being engulfed by fire. As his tongue swept into her mouth, she relaxed into him, unable to prevent the wild reaction of her body. Hands rough with calluses scraped over her sensitive skin as he cupped her face. It was a kiss of seduction, possession and mastery all in one.

Her body reveled in the experience, all the while her head was scrambling for clear thought. Rough fingers trailed down to the base of her neck, where a long finger slid under the edge of her bodice. A wave of sensation swept over her at the touch, and her nipples grew hard as her breasts swelled and tried to push their way out of her corset.

Sweet heaven, no wonder women fell at the man’s feet. His touch was like a drug. As he deepen their kiss, it drowned out everything but the need for him not to stop. She found herself clinging to him with abandon, while strong, rough fingers undid several buttons at the back of her dress. In protest, she tried to push away, but her gown slipped off one shoulder before she could free herself.

One tapered finger slid its way between her skin and corset, and she gasped as he gently eased her breast up so her nipple popped over the edge of the snug fitting garment. An instant later, he lowered his head and flicked his tongue over the taut bud. The action singed her skin and she uttered a soft cry of delight the moment his teeth gently clamped on her and tugged at the nipple in a playful manner. The world shifted beneath her feet.

“Please…” Her voice evaporated as he began to suckle her breast. The pleasure spiraling through her veins was indescribable. Moist heat gathered at the apex of her thighs. A moment later, she wondered what it would feel like for his hand to touch her intimately. The picture shimmering in her head shocked her.

Wrenching herself out of his arms, she backed away from him. He looked completely unfazed by their embrace, and she was certain she looked disheveled and disconcerted. In the back of her mind, she knew all too well that the only reason she was free was because he’d been willing to release her.

Embarrassed, she adjusted her clothing with great speed all the while fully aware of his dark eyes watching her. It was disturbing. Even more so because deep inside, she liked the way he watched her. The way he’d touched her.

Shaken by the knowledge, she struggled to regain her composure. Her gaze flashed toward him only to see him smiling at her, the glow of desire in his eyes. “I shall enjoy having you in my bed, Julia.”

His quiet confidence should have frightened her. Instead, it infuriated her. Her senses restored somewhat by his arrogance, she glared in his direction. “I think not, sir. You forget that I hold the upper hand.”

Sweeping around him, she raced from the room with the sound of his laughter trailing after her. It made her heart lurch with an intense pleasure she didn’t want to feel, but the sensation spread its way through her body like a raging river. It made her want to return to his arms and experience the delight she was certain she’d find there. Sweet heaven, if only she were that daring.

Chapter 3

Today was the day. Morgan threw his walking stick out in front of him with a quick flick of his wrist as he walked, letting the cane briefly touch the ground before it swung outward in another clean stroke. He did it with the same smoothness with which he always pulled on the oars of his boat when rowing on the Thames. Today, Julia Westgard would have to admit defeat when she failed to sell that bloody silk handkerchief of his in her Society’s auction.

His cane hit the sidewalk with a small crack of noise, and he frowned. What the devil was wrong with him? He’d never been this enthralled with a woman before. What was so special about Julia that had him tied up in knots? He grimaced. That was an easy question to answer. It was that damn portrait that had gotten him into this infernal mess.

He could have easily found several other investors to make up for the sizable capital she’d put into the business. Even his solicitor had been surprised by the addition of Julia Westgard’s name to the investor list. Women were rarely allowed to invest in his businesses. And certainly not young attractive ones. He’d had far too many women eye him as marriage material, and he had no intention of falling prey to that condition. He knew all too well what havoc that institution could wreak.

As a child, he’d learned early on that houses were filled with nothing but discord. It was why he chose to live at the Clarendon Hotel rather than purchase a townhome. He had no wish to be reminded of his childhood. Besides, the hotel suited his needs well, while eliminating the possibility of a mistress thinking there was anything permanent in their relationship. And it was exactly why he’d made it his habit never to do business with a woman unless she was well beyond marrying age.

Now he’d broken that unwritten rule, and he was paying for it. He must have been insane to let the woman invest in his company. No, simply blinded by lust. A desire that would have faded eventually if the woman hadn’t walked into his offices on Beckton Road near the docks with an offer to invest in his company. That serene façade of hers had only served to increase his determination to seduce her.

When he’d discovered her in his bedroom fleecing one of his silk handkerchiefs, he’d taken full advantage of the situation. For once, that ridiculous story circulating among the Marlborough Set had yielded something other than his amusement. It would give him Julia, and he would enjoy every minute of her comeuppance. And when he was done with her, she’d be begging for a second silk handkerchief.

Morgan paused at the stoop of Lady Eldred’s town home. Pulling his pocket watch out, he clicked the timepiece open. Excellent, just in time for the auction. Lady Eldred had taken great care to apprise him of the Society’s meeting schedule and had agreed to keep his impending visit a secret. Julia was about to have the surprise of her life. He smiled as he strode up the steps and used the brass knocker.

The door opened immediately, and he handed over his hat, gloves and cane to the butler. From the partially open salon door, he heard Julia’s voice ringing out. It was a melodious sound. But then everything about her was pleasing, right down to the way the pulse on the side of her neck throbbed erratically when she was in his arms.

He slid quietly into the room to take a seat in the chair Lady Eldred had told him she would save for him. Julia’s attention was focused on one of the Society members, and he was pleased his arrival had gone unnoticed. From his seat in the back of the room, he watched and waited.

“So you see, ladies, this handkerchief is available to the highest bidder today. Think of it. This silk square belonged to the notorious Morgan St. Claire, and it was procured under the most harrowing circumstances.”

“Exactly what were these excruciating conditions, Mrs. Westgard?”

“Start the bidding with twenty pounds, Lady Plumton and I’ll tell you.”

He watched the woman in question nod her head in agreement. Julia’s radiant smile made him suck in a sharp breath and his cock stirred in his trousers. Damn, but the woman was an enticing witch.