An Experienced Mistress (15 page)

“I don’t mind.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a rueful smile, though he still looked contrite. “It is your own fault, you know. For being so easy to talk to. But enough of that. It’s not helping to make your birthday happy.”

“Oh, Will,” she said softly. “You’ve already done so much to make me happy.”

His deep brown eyes held her in a soulful gaze. “Really? You are not just saying that.”

She almost laughed at the absurdity of his question. Did he truly have no idea how he affected her? “Of course, really.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said, unguarded, open. He bowed his head for a moment, and she felt his other hand, large and strong, take hers. “We were talking about being lucky...I’m lucky to have you.”

Genevieve’s hands trembled. “I imagine most people would say it is the other way around.”

“Then most people would be wrong.” He squeezed her hands before releasing them.

Chapter Eleven

“Babbage,” Will called out from the parlor. In a few moments, the butler appeared.

“Sir?”

“I’ll be ready to leave at five for Hertfordshire. Will you tell the coachman, please?”

The butler’s features rearranged themselves in a solicitous frown. “Ah, I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Creighton, I meant to tell you. Parrish isn’t feeling well.”

“Again?” Will paused in the middle of putting on his topcoat.

“Yes, I’m afraid his chills and fever are back.”

“Well, good God, it isn’t serious, is it? Should I send for a doctor?”

“Oh, no, sir, nothing like that. He just needs to rest. But I’m happy to drive you again.”

“You don’t want to do that. I expect it’ll be a very long evening. I’ll hire a driver.”

“Hire a driver, when I’m available? I should think not, sir. I don’t mind however late it is.”

“Babbage—”

“I began at your father’s house as a coachman, sir,” the servant huffed. “I may be getting on in years, but I assure you I am still a fine driver.”

“I have know that you are,” Will said. He hadn’t meant to offend the man. “Very well, Babbage, we shall leave at five.”

“Excellent, sir.

****

With the longer days and the warmer weather, the front walk to Genevieve’s door was now flanked with spires of larkspur and foxglove.

Flory greeted Will at the door. “Miss Genny’s still out in the garden.”

“I didn’t see her.”

“She’s around back, sir. You can go through the side gate to see her, if you like.”

Rose vines climbed up the arch over the gate. He supposed it wouldn’t be long before they were in full bloom. Genevieve stood, her back to him, in the middle of the garden, which was surrounded by fruit trees and a crumbling stone wall.

She wore a broad, plain straw hat and had a handful of weeds in one hand. But she seemed to be daydreaming, staring at the sunset over the fields beyond her property. In the last, long blushing rays of light, he saw the outline of her graceful form through her flowing dress.

She started and looked around. “Oh! Hello.”

He stepped closer, leaned forward to rub a smudge of dirt from her nose, then kissed it.

She gave an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I lost track of the time.”

“No matter. What are you up to?”

“Just weeding. See, they were trying to choke my bleeding heart.”

“Your what?”

“Bleeding heart.” With the toe of her boot, she pointed to the flowers. Bright pink blossoms hung like raindrops from delicate arched stems. “They’re one of my favorites.”

“Mm. Too bad they have such a sad name.”

Will recalled how Mr. and Mrs. Tudbury had tried to get Daisy to take him out to their garden. They had barely stopped short of saying, “Please, Will, help yourself to our daughter.”

Of course, they must have trusted that Will’s sense of honor would prevent him from doing anything too dastardly. Or at least, compel him to make a proposal of marriage, if he did.

Will almost wondered whether the Tudburys hadn’t hoped for the latter scenario. God only knew why they were so eager to marry off their daughter in the first Season, but some families behaved like that.

Will hadn’t been interested in the girl or the flowers. In fact, he’d never been interested in any flowers. But even an indifferent topic seemed interesting when Genevieve discussed it. He asked her now, “What else is growing back here?”

“Oh, lots of things.” She tossed aside the handful of weeds. “I want to see if the strawberries are blooming,” she said, pointing down the shallow hill on her property. “Do you mind being out here a few more minutes?”

“Not at all.” He followed her down the slope. Her loose gown couldn’t completely obscure the unconscious, saucy sway of her hips as she walked. Or was it unconscious? She took off her hat and shook out her hair. The tresses shone like polished copper in the last rays of the sun.

“The air smells wonderful out here.” He’d almost forgotten the smell of spring: the damp earth growing warm again, the mingled green and flowery scents on the breeze.

“Doesn’t it? I don’t know how they stand the air in London.”

“People grow accustomed to it, I suppose.”

“I suppose. Do you know what smells really good? I have a huge patch of lily-of-the-valley over there, underneath the tree.” She pointed. “They’re not in bloom now, though. I love those flowers. My sister Christine had them at her wedding.”

“I didn’t know you had any siblings.”

“Just the sister. She’s a few years younger than me.”

“Does she live close by?”

Genevieve shook her head. “I wish she did. Especially now that she’s got two little boys. And Father doesn’t get to see them as much as he’d like, either. He lives in London, you know, but Christie’s in Bath.”

“Is that so? I have a house near there. My late uncle’s estate in Somerset.”

They reached the strawberry patch, at the bottom of the hill along the fence. Will saw white blooms everywhere despite the gathering dusk.

“An estate in Somerset,” Genevieve said. “Good heavens. Why don’t you live there?”

Will pulled himself up to sit on the fence. “I don’t know. My uncle died right before the war, so I had only just inherited.”

“I am so sorry about your uncle.”

“Thank you. I didn’t know him as well as I might have wished, but he was a kind man.” He shook his head. “At any rate, I suppose I may live out in Somerset eventually.”

“I see.”

He looked up at her subdued tone, then realized the significance of what he said. If he moved to the estate, their weekly trysts would hardly be an option. Damnation. He didn’t want to think about that for a long time yet.

“The truth is I have no definite idea of what I’ll do.” He decided not to discuss the possibility of studying to be a physician. The war had motivated his interest, and he’d burdened her with enough talk about Crimea. “No need to worry about it now.”

She nodded. A pond spread beyond Genevieve’s property, and Will heard the orchestra of tiny frogs tuning up for their nightly performance.

“But you like the place in Somerset.”

“Certainly. Stone house covered with moss...can’t even remember how ancient. And the caretaker’s nearly as ancient. I’m sure the place needs a great deal of improving.”

“It sounds lovely.”

Will shrugged. “The grounds are good. Sixty acres, some forest. Some excellent fishing. My brother Stuart’s jealous of that.”

“So you have a brother.”

“Yes. Younger brother, much younger sister. They live with my parents in Essex. But I was starting to ask you about your family. So your sister’s in Bath...”

“Right. Her husband’s a lawyer, like Papa.”

Strange for Will to realize that Genevieve had a father. He didn’t know why. She had not appeared out of nowhere, like Venus springing from the sea. Perhaps he was simply surprised to hear that her background sounded thoroughly respectable.

“Papa lives in London, as I said. Or at least, he usually does. Right now he’s in America.”

“America? Whatever for?”

“He’s trying to convince them to free their slaves.”

Will gave a low whistle. “Admirable. But how does he hope to do it?”

“Mostly he’s giving speeches. He’s gotten fairly well known for his speeches and booklets on reform.”

It was nearly dark as they went into the back door of Genevieve’s cottage. “I’m glad you got to see the flowers in the light.” She stripped off her garden gloves. “But I have something even prettier to show you.”

He looked her over. “I bet you do.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Come on.”

In her studio she lit several lamps. “Wait just a minute.” The room grew almost as bright as noon. Then she beckoned him over to a canvas. “What do you think?”

“It’s the one you started that one afternoon.” He reached out to touch it and she pushed his hand aside. “Don’t! It’s still wet.”

He gazed at the canvas. The colors were so different than those in her other paintings. A luscious wine-colored background and drapery of vibrant rose set off the peaches and pinks of the nude figure.

“It’s wonderful,” he murmured. “Is it finished?”

“Almost.”

“I think it might be your best yet.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Actually, it is.”

The head of her Venus tilted back as though in bliss, eyes closed. Her hair streamed down over her back, not dark like the model’s hair, but red-gold. Like Genevieve’s.

In fact...

He looked closer at the enraptured features she’d painted.

“It’s you.”

“What? No, I just changed it a bit from the model. It’s not me.”

“Yes it is. The mouth, the expression...” He pointed, careful not to touch the canvas this time. “Definitely you.”

“That’s absurd.”

But the woman in the picture looked very much like Genevieve did, right after ecstasy. “What exactly is she doing, anyway? Or rather, what did she just do?”

“She’s just resting! It’s called
Venus in Repose
.”

“I see.”

Will wrapped his arms around Genevieve from where he stood behind her. He pulled her back against his chest and rested his chin on her head. “I was just thinking she looked very...happy.”

“Why shouldn’t she be happy?”

“Quite right.” Will appreciated the feel of her round buttocks pressed up against the front of his trousers. The effect was simultaneously cozy and erotic.

Genevieve wriggled a bit against him—maddeningly—but then feigned not to notice the way he was pressed against her. “Of course, now I can’t stop thinking of doing one of Adonis. I’ve wanted to do an Adonis for so long. I even made a few sketches.”

“Adonis?”

“Venus’ lover.” She gave him a mock-critical look over her shoulder. “Weren’t you paying attention in school?”

“Apparently not.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her ear. “Why don’t you paint him next, then?”

She turned around to face him. “I don’t have a model.”

“Ah, I remember. You told me before that no respectable woman artist would paint a male nude.”

“Perhaps I want it for my personal collection.” Genevieve’s lips curved into a smile. “Especially if you are the one modeling.”

He snorted. “Isn’t an Adonis a paragon of physical perfection? I hardly qualify. Certainly not now.” Though he’d never pitied himself for his war injury, he couldn’t deny he was no longer whole.

She pressed her lips together. “My opinion is quite different,” she said softly.

His heart warmed at that, but he said, “At any rate, it’s out of the question.”

“That’s what I feared.” She sighed. “Maybe I shall make discreet inquiries at the art schools. There are usually some young men there who could use a little extra money.”

“Now wait a minute.” Will grew irritated. “You can’t do that.”

She looked at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “Why not?”

“You’re
my
mistress. Cavorting with other men? It isn’t done.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I wouldn’t cavort. I would just paint.”

“It’s too dangerous. You can’t have a stranger in your house.” He realized as soon as he said this that he had been a stranger in her house not so long ago.

“I’ll organize another group painting session,” she said brightly.

“No.”

Her smile dissolved. “I beg your pardon. I don’t think that’s for you to say.”

He knew she was right. He wasn’t her husband, and couldn’t tell her what to do. He imagined that no one would ever be successful in telling Genevieve what to do.

“I just know it would be a good painting,” she said.

“I’ll do it,” he said, before he had a chance to think about it.

Her mouth fell open.

“You’ll pose for me?”

Damn. What was he doing? He must be insane. “You said it would be only for you.”

“Yes, of course! I can’t exhibit it in public, truly.”

“If your friends know I’ve posed for you, it shall be public knowledge in no time.”

“They wouldn’t even imagine it. Besides, I’ll change your hair. It’ll be flowing.” She studied his face. “And I’ll make you clean-shaven. When can we start?”

He smiled at her eagerness. “When would you like to start?”

“Now.”

“Why the hurry?”

“Because I fear you will change your mind.”

In fact, he was on the verge of changing his mind at any moment. A voice in his head warned this was a bad, bad idea.

But it meant so much to her. And it would be an amusing story to tell Coventry and Jack later. Really, what could be the harm?