Love's Portrait (7 page)

Jerking free of Morgan’s hand, she knelt to clean up the pieces of broken china, while using the last of the cloths to soak up the spilled water. To hell with the man’s headache, he could reuse the cloth he’d been using. He was deliberately tormenting her, keeping her on pins and needles as she waited for him to demand she make good on their wager. But he had no intention of telling her when, he simply enjoyed making her stew and wait until he surprised her with his demand for payment. If there was one thing she hated, it was surprises.

Oscar had always taken great pleasure in surprising her, but they’d always been unpleasant events. Never anything pleasurable.

Using one of the cloths from the nightstand, she swept it across the floor to wipe up the water. The sudden sharp edge of a broken piece of porcelain she’d missed cut into her finger and she yelped. She climbed to her feet to examine the wound under the light of the candle.

“Let me see.”

His harsh command grated each and every one of her nerve endings. She wouldn’t have cut herself if it hadn’t been for his pig-headed behavior. With a shake of her head, she tossed him a disdainful glance over her shoulder before studying the small cut in the light of the candle.

“I’m fine. It’s a small cut.”

“Let me see your finger, Julia.” The soft words contained a warning note, and she glared at him again before thrusting her hand toward him.

“As I said, it’s an insignificant cut.”

He studied her finger for a moment then released her hand. His mouth tightened into a firm line as he turned his head away from her. Scowling at him in frustration, she stalked away from his bedside to where she’d dropped her gloves. With quick, jerky movements, she tugged on first one glove and then the other.

Blast the man and his arrogance. The sooner she escaped this den of decadence, the better. It was disturbing enough to know she would return in the future, and not solely of her own volition, but because of her foolish tongue.

As she reached the door, his voice made her pause. “I shall call on you in two days, Julia.”

“I’m afraid I have plans.” She threw a glance over her shoulder to see him lying still on the bed, his eyes closed.

“Two days, Julia.”

There was no need for him to say anything else. She knew exactly what he meant without any further explanation on his part. If she didn’t make herself available to him in two days time, he would extract a price she would not find pleasant. No, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was she might find the punishment Morgan St. Claire decreed suitable as being far too much to her liking. Not about to answer his autocratic command, she left the room.

∫

Head bent over her needlepoint, Julia stiffened as the sound of voices in the foyer drifted up the stairs and into the salon. It was easy to distinguish Morgan’s voice from that of her butler, Calvert. A tremor shot through her as she heard heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. What to do? Greet him as though he were expected? No, far better to make it appear that his visit was of little consequence.

Once more, she returned her attention to the complex bird of paradise pattern in her hands. She punched the needle through the material just as he entered the parlor. Slowly, she turned her attention toward him in an attempt to illustrate her indifference. There was a smile of amusement on his face, almost as if he could read her mind.

“Good afternoon, Mr. St. Claire. I trust you’re feeling better?”

“Exceedingly so.”

Glancing back down at her work, she tied off her thread, surprised by the small silence filling the room. She darted a look in his direction to find him studying her with narrowed eyes. He looked every inch the gentleman in his dark blue suit coat with gray vest and trousers. Still, even dressed in the height of fashion, there was a dangerous edge about him. Determined not to lose her composure, she arched an eyebrow as she met his gaze.

“Would you care for a cup of tea? My cook was preparing some scones earlier, I’m certain they’re done by now.”

“I think a cup of tea would suit me well.”

Setting her work on the half-oval shaped table next to her wing-backed chair, she rose to her feet. Unnerved by his presence more than she cared to admit, she pressed one hand against the jade silk of her afternoon gown as she moved to ring for tea. The white lace on the sleeve tickled her wrist, reminding her of how he’d stroked her skin the other day. Disturbed by the memory, she tugged on the bell cord a trifle harder than she should have.

A sudden movement flashed just on the edge of her vision, and she jumped slightly before turning to face him. He’d moved to stand in front of the brass fire screen, his gaze focused on the small fire burning in the grate. There was tension in his jaw line and she tipped her head to one side.

“Is something wrong?”

Immediately his expression changed as he turned to look at her, his smile filled with breathtaking charm. “Not at all, being in your company is exceptionally pleasant.”

“Please save your flattery for someone more susceptible to your charms, St. Claire.”

“You seem to enjoy challenging me. The question is what will you do when I accept?” There was a hint of seduction in his voice that sent a shiver down her back.

“It was not my intent to challenge.” She moved toward the center of the room and drew in a sigh of relief at the sight of Calvert entering with a tray of tea and scones. The butler set his burden on the low table in front of the burgundy velvet couch.

“When you rang, Cook thought you would want tea brought up to the salon, madame.”

“That was most thoughtful of her. Please thank her for me, Calvert.”

The short, stocky servant smiled, then bowed and left the room. To her dismay, he closed the door behind him. Why on earth hadn’t she thought to tell him to leave it open. It was bad enough St. Claire was here at all, let alone taking tea with her in such intimate conditions. It might make the servants think the man was courting her. After all, Oscar had been dead for sometime and it wasn’t unheard of for widows to marry again.

Marriage. No. Almost ten years of torment was more than enough for a lifetime. She could still see Oscar sitting in the chair at the fireplace, berating her for speaking to the wrong person at a social gathering. The first time she’d protested, he’d slapped her. The sting of his abuse tingled its way over her skin once more, and she automatically lifted a hand to her cheek. It infuriated him when she would try to explain. She’d learned to tread carefully from that point forward.

Oscar had manipulated her like a puppet at his command. There had been no love or affection. And her worst offense had been her failure to offer him an heir. He’d blamed her for being cold and unresponsive in bed, punishing her by tying her hands to the bed while he rutted on top of her. She flinched at the memory.

She’d fought against believing Oscar’s words. Fought desperately. But all the years of mental anguish had taken their toll. Now she was free, and she intended to remain that way. Never again would any man control her as Oscar had.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment to gather her wits before turning back to face her visitor. He smiled at her as he met her gaze. It was a smile filled with charm and her heart slammed into her chest as the impact of his amused smile affected her senses.

“Your servants are quite efficient,” he teased lightly. The sound ignited her senses with awareness. “One would think you’d been expecting company.”

“I always have tea at this time of the day—visitors or not.” She sent him a cool look before moving to the sofa. Sitting on the edge of the loveseat, she leaned forward and lifted the dainty rose-covered teapot to pour him a cup of tea. As he sat down next to her, the warmth of him engulfed her. With a quick hitch of her breath, she offered him the cup.

It pleased her that her hand remained steady as she handed him the tea, although inside she was shuddering with reaction to his nearness. It was difficult not to be affected by his overpowering presence and the devastating impact he had on her senses. The size of him was emphasized by the way his hand swallowed the teacup she’d offered him. What would it be like to have his hands cup her, tease her skin. Heavens, what was the matter with her?

Jerking her gaze away from him, she quickly poured herself a cup of tea and took a sip of the scalding beverage. The heat of the tea burned her tongue and she grimaced. An appropriate punishment for her wicked thoughts. The sudden warmth of Morgan’s body sank into hers as he set his cup on the table then leaned into her side.

His male scent flooded her senses as he pulled her cup from her numb fingers. Sweet heaven, why didn’t she even offer up a protest? Instead, she was simply allowing him to do as he pleased with her. A hard hand cupped the back of her neck, while his thumb pressed against the pulse beating rapidly on the side of her neck.

“I can always tell when you’re nervous or excited. Your pulse flutters wildly, right here.” The pad of his thumb caressed the side of her neck in a sensual movement. It teased her skin, causing her heartbeat to increase its pace. “Ah, you see, it skipped again.”

“You’re imaging things.”

“I don’t think so, my sweet.” His endearment sent a wave of pleasure through her until she reminded herself that the man was well versed in the seduction of women.

“You are far too full of yourself, St. Claire.”

“You called me Morgan the other day.” She breathed in a trace of sandalwood and spice. It was a fragrant aroma. Heady almost. Her pulse lashed out a frantic beat through her body.

“Did I? I don’t recall doing so.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps you were too angry with me.”

“Only with your stubbornness. I find it quite annoying. In fact, it’s the most irritating thing about you.”

“So you admit I’m not a hopeless cause after all.” There it was again, that teasing note that sent her senses reeling.

“Everyone has a saving grace, even a man such as you.”

“Then tell me what my saving graces are, Julia.” His mouth caressed her earlobe as he whispered his command into her ear. A shudder rippled through her.

“I cannot….cannot think of them at the moment.”

“Not even one?” The warmth of his mouth grazed the point of her jaw line. It shot a volcanic rush of heat through her limbs, leaving behind a languid tranquility in her body.

“No,” she breathed. Oh God, she wanted his kiss. She actually craved it. Insane. She had to be insane. It was the only explanation for why she was experiencing these traitorous emotions. The man was a libertine and she didn’t want to be labeled his woman.

“You have a lovely mouth.”

His soft words made her gasp. Inside her head, an alarm screamed shrilly for her to take care or she’d be a St. Claire woman in no time at all. No, that wouldn’t happen. She’d see to that, but would it hurt to indulge her senses just a little? No man had ever made her want to break all the rules the way this one did.

How it happened, she wasn’t certain, but she was no longer sitting upright. Instead, she was reclining back into the couch with a warm body hovering over hers. Dark blue eyes glittered in his handsome face as a smile of satisfaction curled his lips. There was another emotion there as well. It was passion, rich and earthy in its honesty. It struck a chord in her. Excited her.

Every part of her body tingled with sensation as her gaze remained locked with his. God, but he was mesmerizing. Wetting her dry lips, she trembled at the low growl that rumbled in his chest. He lowered his head and grazed her cheek with his mouth. It was a feathery caress, but it made her blood sing with fire.

In the next moment, his mouth tasted hers. It was a light touch, but it stole her breath away. Oblivious to anything else but his kiss, she sighed softly then kissed him back. He immediately pressed his lean, hard body against hers, while her fingers splayed across his chest until she could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat. A lethargic warmth oozed its way into every inch of her body, and she breathed in the delicious heat of his scent.

Her fingers spiked through his hair, the softness of it caressing her skin like silk. He tasted heavenly. Hot and male on her tongue as it danced with his. She’d never realized how a woman’s breasts could grow so heavy with desire. The room’s cool air brushed across her leg before a warm hand caressed her calf.

Starting with surprise, she murmured a protest. He raised his head, and stared down into her face. If she had been cold, his heated gaze would have been enough to warm her. His hand stroked her lightly as he studied her.

“That beautiful mouth can deny it, but your body tells me you’re on fire.”

The confidence in his voice barely registered as his hand slid up to stroke the skin above her garter. She swallowed hard. This was far more than just an indulgence of her senses. It was a veritable gate to irresistible decadence. She inhaled a sharp breath as his fingers trailed a path over her inner thigh.

“Have you fantasized about me, Julia?”

A fiery heat crested over her cheeks as her gaze darted away from his. While it was true she’d imagined him touching her like this, it had only been in her dreams. She’d not even dared to think of it during the waking hours.

“
No
.”

“Such a charming liar,” he said with a disbelieving laugh at her breathless reply. “Well I’ve had fantasies about you, sweetheart, and in them you’re always hot and wet for me.”

The wicked words made her look up at him aghast. Speechless, she tried to stop the shiver of anticipation that skimmed across her skin the moment his hand brushed across the apex of her thighs. Her mouth went dry at the dark emotions flashing in his gaze as his finger parted her folds to trace a light circle over the nub hidden inside.

“You’re hot and wet now.”

The moment his thumb pressed and circled the sensitive area, she shuddered. Excruciating need shot from her belly into the nether regions of her body. God, she loved the way he was touching her. A heated rush twisted her insides and she uttered a small cry as his fingers dipped into her.