Two Shades of Seduction (36 page)

“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.

T
oday 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.

“Thank you, my lady. I have twenty pounds—do I hear forty while I share with Lady Plumton as to how I came by this silk square?” Julia turned back to the first bidder, her mannerism far from the restrained woman he was accustomed to seeing in his shipping office. “First I must tell you that I’m sworn to secrecy not to reveal the identity of the friend who acquired this infamous handkerchief.”

“I bid thirty pounds, Mrs. Westgard.” A matronly woman raised her hand to bid on the item. “How did your friend acquire the handkerchief? Is it from one of St. Claire’s discarded lovers?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fellowes. No, this item was not given freely. It was taken right from underneath the great man’s nose itself. My friend, who shall go nameless, entered the lion’s den, simply to acquire this handkerchief.”

“Good heavens! Do you mean your friend…oh my word.” Mrs. Fellowes went silent.

“I bid fifty pounds if you tell us what lion’s den, Mrs. Westgard,” said a timid looking young woman on the front row.

Julia, hazel eyes shining with mischief, moved to the other side of the room and smiled at the bidder. Folding his arms across his chest, he bit back a grin. The minx was enjoying keeping these women on tenterhooks.

“Thank you for that bid, Miss Alverton. In fact, the lion’s den was no other than…” Julia paused for effect. “Morgan St. Claire’s very own room at the Clarendon.”

The collective gasps in the room merely widened Julia’s smile, and her mischievous pleasure made it difficult for him to restrain his laughter. “Oh no, Mrs. Westgard…surely not.” The woman called Miss Alverton shook her head in horror.

“I’m afraid so, although my friend confessed it was a frightening adventure.”

With a dramatic gesture, she held up his handkerchief for inspection. “As you can see, here are the illustrious initials of the man himself. So which of you lovely ladies dares to own a genuine Morgan St. Claire handkerchief? All without having succumbed to the man’s licentious charms?”

Her blithely spoken words made his muscles tense with annoyance. Licentious. The woman was about to find out just how unrestrained he could be in the bedroom, and he’d make damn sure she was begging for more before he finished with her. Relaxing back into his seat, he studied Julia’s lush, voluptuous figure.

He knew what hid beneath that modest gray dress of hers. His eyes narrowed as he watched her continue to encourage the bidding for the handkerchief. The snug material of her gown clung with seductive longing to her breasts. The pattern slid downward to a pointed vee, just below her waist, before the material covered her hips in a graceful swag to the bustle behind her.

The image of her portrait entered his mind, and he visualized exactly what that vee was pointing to. A nest of reddish-brown curls lay beneath that meek gown, and he had every intention of exploring the velvety folds those curls covered—and soon.

“Do I have any more bids ladies? I have a hundred pounds from Lady Plumton, do I hear a hundred twenty?”

“Two hundred pounds.” He watched as the sound of his voice reached her. The color drained from her face as she finally caught sight of him in the rear of the room. For a long, dramatic moment, the room was fraught with a loud silence that only sheer astonishment could create. Seconds later, a bevy of excited whispers erupted in the room with dozens of eyes fixed on him. He ignored all but one woman in the room and arched his eyebrows at Julia.

“I…Mr. St. Claire…I…I don’t think this auction is open to bidders outside of the Society for Lost Angels.”

“I see. Lady Eldred, I was given to understand that my bid would be welcome today, did I misunderstand?” Slowly rising to his feet, his gaze sought and met Lady Eldred’s mortified expression.

His hostess’s plump face flushed with embarrassment, and he watched the older woman rise to her feet and nod. “Yes, Mr. St. Claire, I did tell you we’d be delighted to have you bid at our auction. I…I failed to mention this to you before the meeting started, Mrs. Westgard. I do apologize, my dear.”

The woman turned toward Julia, whose face resembled a statue. Despite her lack of emotion, the anger in her tight smile was more than evident. He could almost see her brain working on a way to escape the trap into which she’d stumbled.

“Well then, Lady Eldred, Mrs. Westgard, since I’d like to bid on this item, I repeat my bid of two hundred pounds.”

“But you—” She glared at him as he smiled. Sweet Jesus, she was captivating when she was angry. And she wasn’t just angry, she was furious. His smile broadened.

“Two hundred pounds, Mrs. Westgard. Do I hear any other bids?” He glanced around the room, enjoying the looks of shock and curiosity on the faces of the women surrounding him.

“I bid three hundred pounds.” Confidence glowed from Julia’s features again as she tilted her head at a stubborn angle. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth and forced a polite smile to his lips.

“Four hundred.”

“Five.”

“One thousand.” Damn the minx. He’d extract a suitable punishment the moment he had her alone.

“Two thousand.”

A standoff. She was hell bent on saving herself from the wager she’d made. No doubt, she’d continue to outbid him until she was penniless. Her anger was almost tangible as he narrowed his eyes to study her. But he had no intention of letting her win. In fact, he intended to teach her a harsh lesson. No one—
no one
ever stole or cheated Morgan St. Claire.

“Before I make another bid, Mrs. Westgard, I’d like to view the merchandise.”

Without waiting for her agreement, he skirted the chairs in front of him, moving along the side of the room until he reach the front row where Julia was standing. As he drew near, her body was no longer supple and relaxed. Her stance was as rigid as a brick wall. He extended his hand and waited for her to drop the silk square into his palm. Although her face was serene, he saw her fingers tremble as she gave him the auction item. Bending his head, he pretended to study the handkerchief.

“You seem determined to win our wager, Julia, but I have no intention of losing.” He lifted his head to stare into her strained expression as she took in his quietly murmured words. “Shall I continue bidding or do I explain how you really came by this handkerchief.”

The sharp inhale of her breath indicated his words had struck home. He turned toward the waiting members of the Society.

“Ladies, I’m thoroughly convinced this is indeed my handkerchief, and I offer up a bid of five thousand pounds.”

He turned his head to look at Julia. The defeat was evident in her eyes. But it was the look of vulnerability in her hazel gaze that tugged at him. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, but it was most certainly a disturbing one. She drew in a deep breath before forcing a smile to her mouth.

“Sold to Mr. St. Claire for five thousand pounds.”

The moment her words faded in the air, the room filled with the loud buzz of conversation. Watching Julia, he frowned. He should be feeling elated right now. He’d won. She would be in his bed soon. A sharp pang of regret rocked him as he drew in a quick breath at the realization that he wanted Julia to come to him willingly, not bought and paid for like a whore.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

Her eyes and face empty of emotion, she nodded her head at him. “You’ve won our wager, Mr. St. Claire. What time am I to present myself for your disposal?”

The cool mask of detachment angered him even more. The problem was—he wasn’t angry with her. He was furious with himself. When in the hell had he suddenly taken to bedding women who didn’t want anything to do with him? And there was no doubt she didn’t want anything to do with him.