Passion Wears Pearls (28 page)

She smiled up at the ceiling as a new mischievous thought occurred to her.

“What are you thinking, Miss Beckett?”

“I’m thinking you’ll recall the last time you went in that study now, Mr. Hastings.”

She was rewarded with his laughter, an uncontrolled burst that made her realize how rarely he’d done so in her presence. And Eleanor marveled that victory could be this sweet and come with a simple jest.

I’ll win his heart, yet.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Rita’s offer was delivered in her usual curt tone as Eleanor dressed to leave, but she was all smiles when their eyes met in the vanity’s reflection. Eleanor yielded her fight with her buttons, grateful for the woman’s intervention. “You headin’ back to the Grove, then?”

“Yes.”

“A lot of wasted time, if you ask me, all this back and forth the last few days,” Rita said.

“Wasted time?” Eleanor nervously adjusted the ruffles of her shirtfront. “Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Escher?”

“I ain’t as young as I once was, miss, but I know enough. There’s never enough time to be happy, if you ask me. Mind, I’m no fool. There’s always a crowd ready to judge, but they’d do that even if you walked about with a prayer book on your head and never stepped a toe out of line, wouldn’t they?”

It was all Eleanor could do to nod mutely in shock.
So much for our secret!

Rita finished with the last button. “Not that it’s my business! Mind, I’m just pleased he’s eating!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Escher. I’m—I’m not comfortable staying … I’m struggling with my conscience, and as silly as it seems, I have to keep my own rooms.”

“Right enough!” Rita stood back, hands at her hips. “Suit yourself. It’s all art and mystery around here and I can’t keep track of it. I’m no gossip, so you mustn’t worry on that account. Mind, I’ve never been one to exchange banter while I’m haggling over the price of eels. What a bunch of bothersome biddies at that market!”

Eleanor struggled not to imagine what kind of gossip could be heard in a fish market, but kept her curiosity to herself. “I’m grateful to you, Mrs. Escher.”

Rita laughed, a rough music that made it clear she wasn’t generally a merry person. “I never thought to see a woman take him in hand, what with him holed up like a hermit and avoiding the world all these long months. But I’m sure as much I never dreamt I’d care one sniff for any wench that did. But here you are, all the same! I like you, miss.”

“Oh.” Eleanor stood to smooth back her hair nervously. “I don’t think I—no one is taking anyone in hand, Mrs. Escher. I wouldn’t presume to—”

“That’s what I like about you.” Rita sobered slightly as she located Eleanor’s gloves and bonnet. “A tyrant wouldn’t suit, and a weak little thing would just grind on the nerves. Love’s not a trinket, and you’re clever enough to hold your ground, I’m guessing. So there you are and I can’t find fault.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Escher. I’m grateful for your confidence.” Eleanor took her gloves and hat, hating the heat that flooded her cheeks after such a strange and unexpected assessment. “But it isn’t what it appears—”

“It’s none of my concern,” Rita interrupted her easily. “Naming a cat doesn’t make him any less of a cat, miss, but if you prefer to stay mum, I’m your gal. I won’t mention it again, mind, and Samuel’s as dense as a tree and happy to be left by the fireplace all day. I just wanted you to know
that while I ain’t no ladies’ maid, I’m happy to know you, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Eleanor said breathlessly, touched and horrified in the same instant. “I’m … happy to know you, too, Mrs. Escher.”

Eleanor held her things a little tighter and hurried from the room, wondering if her feelings for Josiah and current predicament were evident for all the world to see or if Mrs. Escher was simply more perceptive than most.

God, am I so transparent?

Her desire for him increased with every encounter, heightened with each passing day. Nothing was dulled by familiarity, but rather sharpened to a razor’s edge that cut into her every waking thought. Eleanor wasn’t sure how any woman of sense managed to carry herself calmly in the public eye with a storm of want raging inside of her. She feared that her problem was unique since it was hard to imagine the matrons she’d known losing themselves in erotic daydreams or craving a man’s touch until there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him.

He was waiting for her on the landing to walk her down the stairs to the carriage. Eleanor studied him in an unguarded moment as he habitually pressed his fingers against his eyes. He was leaning against the banister, the very image of masculine strength and beauty, but there was something about him that made her think of a lost boy.

“Josiah, are you … unwell?” she asked quietly, praying he would trust her to tell her the truth.

He lifted his head, dropping his hand with a dismissing wave. “Just a headache. I’ll have Rita make one of her concoctions and set me right.”

“Rita made it clear that she knows about us.”

“Did she approve?” he asked with a mischievous smile.

“Wholeheartedly, Mr. Hastings.” Eleanor smiled as a curl of fire snaked through her at his playfulness. “It was one of the most startling conversations I’ve ever been privy to. She thinks I should stay.”

It was a bold thing to say, and she knew it. It was a subtle
bid for him to agree and to ask her to stay. Eleanor held her breath and waited for him to speak, prepared to cheerfully complete her fall from grace.

“I told you that she was as sweet as a kitten.” He pulled her forward, tipping her head back gently. “You could melt the heart of anyone, my dearest muse.”

And what of your heart?

His fingers caressed her cheek, and the faint smell of linseed oil evoked a nostalgic urge to lead him back up the studio and make love yet again. “Kiss me, Josiah.”

It was a gentle command that didn’t require repeating.

His mouth touched hers in a whisper-light caress, teasing her by dragging the silk of his lips against hers. He hovered there, their breath mingling in a kiss of souls that liquefied her core and made her heart race. Eleanor pushed up onto her toes to silently end the prelude and achieve the kisses she desired.

She couldn’t get enough of the warm velvet of his tongue, taking control to sample and explore the magic of his mouth to hers and the paradox of endless satisfaction that only fueled a growing hunger to have more of him. Slowly, she leisurely surveyed the power of his kisses, reaching up to run her hands up his chest and absorb the beating of his heart through her fingertips.

It was meant to be a kiss of farewell, but Eleanor conceded that there was very little inside of her that wished to go.

Each kiss began to grow in momentum, and Eleanor recognized the familiar flare of desire that snaked down her spine and made her thighs damp. It was paradise to touch him, and she would have asked for more, but Josiah gently broke away and set her back on her heels with a playful nuzzle against her neck and ears.

“Now, let’s get you downstairs before Mrs. Clay sends out the police in search of her new favorite tenant.” He nipped at the shell of her ear and then stepped back to straighten her coat collar. “Did you have a scarf, Eleanor?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll—be warm enough.”

It was a bittersweet moment when she accepted that there would be no declaration or change in their illicit agreement. They would be together until the painting was completed and then …

Eleanor couldn’t even imagine what might come next.

Josiah limped back up to his studio, his blood raging with arousal and his cock so stiff it bordered on pain. He locked the door and then leaned against it with both hands. He’d come within a hair’s breadth of forfeiting all his vows for independence and begging Miss Eleanor Beckett of Orchard Street to never leave his side.

Rita had meant well, he was sure, but the hopeful look in Eleanor’s eyes had made her departure almost impossible—and had threatened to unman him.

He walked over to the easel and uncovered the painting.

It was nearly done.

Whether he liked it or not, the decision for her to go or to stay was about to be taken out of his hands.

“You look worn out, miss,” Mrs. Clay exclaimed as she helped Eleanor with her coat. “He’s a tyrant to keep you so late!”

“No,” Eleanor protested quietly as she removed her gloves. “I … enjoy the time, Mrs. Clay. It’s going by so quickly and I’ll—miss it.”

“Of course you will!” Mrs. Clay sighed. “He is charming enough to make an old bird like myself remember the thrill of a good man’s company. Not that I’d trade in a single day of my dear Mr. Clay’s presence, rest his soul, but I can admire the view out my window, can’t I?”

Eleanor halfheartedly pretended to be shocked, but she prayed that her dear landlady wasn’t about to repeat Rita’s endorsement of illicit affairs with handsome painters. The illusion of propriety was a shield she wasn’t ready to entirely drop, not without Josiah at her back. “Mrs. Clay!”

Mrs. Clay laughed, then sobered with a flush. “I’m sorry,
Miss Beckett. I misspoke and forgot myself. It’s good you’re sitting for him, but I didn’t mean to sully your ears with a widow’s rambling.”

“No, please don’t apologize!” Eleanor protested in a guilty rush. “It’s all—I love to hear you jest. And there isn’t a malicious bone in your body, Mrs. Clay, for all your care and kindness! I’m simply tired, I think.”

“Would you like me to send up a hot bath after dinner, Miss Beckett?” Mrs. Clay said.

Her first instinct was to refuse the offer, but she knew better. It was not in Mrs. Clay’s nature to “not be troubled” when it came to her tenants’ creature comforts. And tonight, Eleanor didn’t have the strength to fight off her own longing for the luxury of a warm soak and a bit of solitude.

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Clay, that would be a delight.”

Eleanor headed up the stairs, and at the sight of her door ajar, felt no alarm. Tally’s workbox was propped against the wall, and the smell of brass polish and lemon wax hinted at his efforts to make her room perfect. Peering inside, she spotted her diminutive friend finishing up and stirring coals in the grate to invigorate their glow.

She walked across to kneel next to him, and was greeted with one of his sweetest smiles. “Good evening, sir.”

He nodded, then moved to sweep the last bit of dust from the hearth.

“I’m in love with him, Tally.” She spoke aloud, amazed at how good it felt to speak her innermost secrets. “It’s all a sordid mess and I should be more ashamed, really, but I’ve never been happier than the moments I have with him. It’s just—not going to last. He doesn’t trust me, Tally. He desires me, but not enough.”

Tally sat back and put a small decorative screen back in place against the wall, and then looked up into her eyes as if offering his sympathies. He gestured with his hands, but Eleanor was at a loss to understand him.

“Mrs. Escher seems to think I have the helm, Tally. But
I feel like I’m at the mercy of winds I can’t even fathom. Have you ever felt like that?” she continued sadly.

He tipped his head to the side as if contemplating her question and then reached out to pat her hand, his manner a perfect imitation of his adopted mother’s.