Two Shades of Seduction (55 page)

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The woman in the portrait smiled at her. A self-satisfied, confident smile. Glaring at the painting, Julia turned away from the artwork and started to pace the floor of her bedroom. Why couldn’t she be like that woman? She wanted to, but she didn’t know how. No, that wasn’t true. She’d been that bold, seductive woman in Morgan’s study more than two weeks ago. It still amazed her how audacious she’d been in her efforts to seduce him. But how to be the woman in the portrait wasn’t the problem, what she lacked was the courage to be that woman.

She was a fool. Her refusal to marry Morgan was the worst decision she’d ever made. Choice hadn’t been an issue when she married Oscar. Her mother had seen to that. But Morgan was different, she could have agreed to his marriage proposal if she’d only had the fortitude to do so. He’d said he wanted her trust, and she wanted desperately to give that to him. She simply didn’t know how.

The sound of the doorbell echoed softly through her room. Unable to help herself, she raced out into the upstairs hall. When she reached the top of the steps, she struggled to keep her disappointment from showing as she met Catherine’s arched look.

“Well that’s a fine look to greet me with,” her cousin said with a bite of humor. “I take it you were hoping to see someone else.”

“No, not exactly…I just thought—oh it’s not important.” Julia wait for Catherine to climb the stairs then led the way into the upstairs salon.

“You thought I was Morgan St. Claire.” Catherine’s statement made Julia jerk her head around to eye her cousin.

“I did not.” Ignoring the protest, Catherine swept across the room to the fireplace. As she tugged off her gloves in precise movements, she gave Julia a stern look.

“Do not treat me like I’m an addle–brained halfwit. You were hoping St. Claire was charging up those stairs to whisk you away.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Julia flipped her hand at her cousin in a dismissive gesture.

“No, that would be
your
forte, my dear.” Catherine shook her finger at her. “I thought you had more backbone than this.”

“Even if I found the courage to do something, it’s too late now. He doesn’t want me anymore.” Julia averted her gaze from the disappointment in her cousin’s eyes.

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. Our last parting was far from amicable.” She flinched at the memory of Morgan’s cold anger as he stood at the door of his study telling her to see herself out. The claw marks on her heart still lay open and bleeding from that moment.

“Well, it would seem St. Claire has forgotten about that little misunderstanding.” Catherine sent her a triumphant look. “I saw the man this morning on Rotten Row, and what do you think the first thing out of his mouth was? It was to ask about you.”

The declaration made her heart leap and she turned away from Catherine to hide the hope she knew had to be lighting her face. He’d asked about her. Even despite his anger, he’d inquired as to how she was. Alarm shot through her. Oh God—Catherine was not known for her discretion, but rather for her blunt speech. What had she told him? Whirling back around, she scowled at her cousin.

“What did you tell him? If you told him I was pining away for him, Catherine, I shall…I shall make certain Lord Blakemore finds out about that little tryst you had with Lord Dunham last year.”

“Rubbish,” Catherine half snorted with disgust, “It was hardly a tryst, and I could care less what Lord Blakemore thinks.”

Julia frowned in puzzlement at the blithe statement. Of course Catherine cared what Blakemore thought of her. There was a long history between the two, and her cousin’s cavalier response surprised her. Had something happened between the couple?

“But I thought you and he—”

“Don’t you dare try to change the subject.” Consternation flashed in the other woman’s eyes, but she didn’t give Julia time to interrupt. “This conversation is about you and how you’re going to resolve this matter with St. Claire. It’s high time you go after the man.”

“That’s impossible,” Julia snapped.

“Nothing’s impossible. Go to him.”

“I can’t,” she said with a vehement shake of her head. Catherine crossed the room and wrapped an arm around Julia’s shoulders.

“What is it you’re afraid of, dearest?”

The gentle quiet of her closest confidant’s voice made her swallow a hot knot inside her throat. Closing her eyes, Julia stifled the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“I’m afraid of loving him so much that I’ll lose myself. The person who I am.”

“Is your life now—without him—better than loving him so much you forget where he ends and you begin?” Catherine’s softly worded question tightened the vise around her heart.

Over the past two weeks, she’d suffered more torment and pain than anything Oscar had ever inflicted on her. Her body, mind, and soul cried out for Morgan every waking minute. Life had become bleak and dark. It was as bad, if not worse, than when she was suffering the bedevilment of her late husband. And now, Catherine had reminded her of Morgan’s words. Life was a risk. Without it, there was no reward.

Those words were the key to her happiness. Convincing Morgan she trusted him had to be demonstrated with action. Words would no longer work as he would always question her decision. Maybe not openly, but it would always be between them. There was only one way she could make him understand that no matter what the risk, she was willing to do anything just to be with him. The question was whether or not she had the courage to go through with it. Turning her head, the empathy in Catherine’s eyes reassured her.

“Did Morgan say what his plans were over the next few days?” At the question, Catherine’s mouth curved with a conspiratorial smile and nodded.

“He did, indeed. Shall we formulate your plan of attack?”

Filled with fear, and yet a delicious anticipation, Julia nodded. Soon she would know whether or not her gamble would reap the love and happiness with Morgan she so desperately wanted.

M
organ wearily entered the darkened house, closing the front door behind him. Rolling his head in a half circle, he attempted to relieve some of the tension in his neck. He paused briefly to turn up the gaslight in the foyer then moved on into the study. The small fire in the hearth was the only light illuminating the room. It was a sight he was growing accustomed too.

The day after Julia had left the house, he gone to work hoping she’d be there, but she wasn’t. She hadn’t been to the shipping office at all. For the days that followed, his life had taken on a familiar pattern. After a twelve to thirteen-hour day, he came back to an empty house and a cold supper Mrs. Welkins always had ready for him. The remainder of his evening was spent morosely pondering his fate over several glasses of whiskey.

Morgan stoked the fire then walked to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a decanter of whiskey. Why he ever thought work would push Julia out of his head was beyond his comprehension. Despite his best efforts to bury himself in work, thoughts of her continuously filled his head. He should have agreed to keep her as his mistress. At least she’d be with him now. But that hadn’t satisfied him. Instead, he’d pigheadedly demanded more. Asking for more than she could give. Even now, the memory of her touch and scent, made him ache. His cock stiffened and pressed against his stomach.

“Damn it to hell,” he muttered as he splashed a generous portion of liquor into a glass.

The decanter top rattled as he dropped the stopper back into the container’s neck. With a jerk, he tossed the whiskey down his throat in one deep gulp. He welcomed the fire that burned its way to his stomach. It was a reflection of the pain ripping him apart inside.

Eager to occupy his head with something other than thoughts of Julia, he took the decanter and glass over to his desk. With a flick of his wrist, he turned up the flame on the lamp sitting at one corner of the workspace. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tugged his tie off his neck and undid the first few buttons of his shirt.

With a grunt of weariness, he threw himself into his chair. From his seat, he stared at the messages stacked neatly on the desktop. On top of the stack, he recognized a note from Mrs. Welkins. Listlessly, he lifted the folded missive off the top of the stack and opened it.

Mr. St. Claire,

A courier delivered a package for you just before I left. The instructions were to place it in your bedroom, and I have left it there for you. I also left a cold supper for you in the kitchen.

Regards, Mrs. Welkins

He tossed the note to one side and leaned forward to pull the whiskey decanter toward him. Another liberal bout of liquor filled his glass. This time though, he only drank half of what he poured. What sort of package was upstairs in his room? He couldn’t remember ordering anything that required delivery to this mausoleum. Picking up the note again, he studied his housekeeper’s writing as he took another drink from his glass.

With a frown, he got to his feet. If the woman had wanted to pique his interest, she’d done so. He was curious to find out what was in this mysterious package. His glass thudded softly against the top of the desk as he set it down and moved out into the foyer to climb the stairs. Walking down the hall toward his room, he snorted in disgust. He should have brought the whiskey decanter and his glass with him. It was just as easy to get drunk in his room as the study. At least he could have wound up in bed instead of the uncomfortable chair at the fireplace. He pushed open the door to his bedroom and froze.

“Christ Jesus.”

He was dreaming. Nothing else could explain the exquisite picture in front of him. She was the portrait come to life. Reclined against a bed of navy blue pillows trimmed in gold, Julia was a feast for his eyes. The first and only time he’d seen the painting, he’d memorized every little nuance, every colorful detail, but none of what he remembered matched this erotic picture.

Candles filled the room, and their light reflected the auburn tints in her hair. Just as in the painting, her hair draped over one shoulder to cover one breast and leaving the other exposed. God she was beautiful. In the candlelight, her skin possessed a golden hue, and it beckoned him like a siren.

The nipples on her firm breasts were already rigid, ready for his mouth to tease. Her hand rested on her softly rounded belly, and it made him want to touch her there. No, he wanted to touch her everywhere. Bloody hell. He wanted to rut with her until he was exhausted, and then he wanted to do it again.

Even from where he stood, he could smell the tart lemony scent of her. His gaze slid downward to the triangle of wiry curls just below her hand. He suddenly realized it was impossible to swallow when one’s mouth was dry. God almighty. What the hell was she doing here? Was this another way to torture him? If she thought to come in here and tease him simply for her own pleasure, then she could leave before he even touched her.

But God, how he wanted to touch her. His cock hardened and throbbed a desperate signal to him. He ignored it. Folding his arms across his chest, his fingers dug viciously into his biceps. It was a struggle to keep his aroused state under control as he cleared his throat and fought to find his voice.

“What are you doing here, Julia?” Hell, his voice sounded like he was suffering from a sore throat. The small smile curling her mouth upward on one side said she knew just how the sight of her was affecting him.

“You told me once that you wanted to see the woman in the portrait in your bed.”

She stretched out her hand to him as she spoke. With great difficulty, he suppressed the urge to go to her, and his fingers bit even deeper into his arm. Damn it, he wanted to know what game she was playing. She’d done this to him once before, and he wasn’t willing to go through that hell again.

“I seem to recall you telling me the woman in that painting didn’t exist.”

The smile on her lips disappeared, and a shadow darkened her eyes until their hazel color blended into a mossy green. Her expression grew troubled as she sat up straight. The movement sent a lock of hair tumbling down over a shoulder to curl around one nipple. He suppressed an achy groan at the sight.

“I didn’t think she existed either, but you showed me how to be the woman you want.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” The harsh statement made her flinch, but she didn’t retreat.

“I’m here because I love you, Morgan. I’ll be your mistress, I’ll marry you, I’ll do whatever you want, but I can’t live without you.”

§  §  §

There, she’d said the words. Made her declaration. What would he do? Julia sucked in a sharp breath as she watched and waited for him to say something. Anything. He stood still as a statue as he studied her. It was impossible to read his thoughts, and she trembled as she realized he might very well reject her. His eyes narrowed as he arched an eyebrow.

“If you think to make a fool of me a second time, Julia, you’re mistaken.”

“I’m the one who’s been the fool. I don’t blame you for not believing me, but would you at least give me a chance to prove my sincerity?” She searched his expression for some inkling as to his thoughts, but he was closed off from her. Each and every one of her nerve endings was screaming with tension.