Passion Wears Pearls (35 page)

His eyes lit with pleasure at her words. “You’re too generous!”

Eleanor laughed. “I’m a practical creature, Mr. Keller. I decided long ago that a temper tantrum about matters beyond my control was likely to gain me nothing. Not to say that I wasn’t seconds away from kicking you in the shins when Mrs. Wall introduced us.”

“My shins and I are grateful for your mercy, Miss Beckett.”

“I am relieved not to have to brawl and embarrass my hosts.”

He finally smiled, and she could see that he was not accustomed to it. Thomas looked around the room. “I was miserable to be out this evening, but had promised a family friend that I would make an effort to be social after I unexpectedly received the invitation. I have no interest in art, but … it is a lovely painting, Miss Beckett.”

“You should tell the artist your opinions, Mr. Keller. I’m sure he would love to hear that even a man with no love of paintings managed a compliment.”

There was an awkward silence before Thomas changed the subject. “May I get you a glass of warm cider, Miss Beckett? Or another refreshment if you prefer?”

“Thank you. I would love something, if only to have something to hold so that I won’t worry about where my hands are.” She smoothed out her skirts. “It is my imagination, of course, but I swear everyone is staring.”

Josiah appeared between them, masterfully towering over Thomas and stepping up to enter the conversation without any preamble. “They are staring because you’re far more beautiful than your portrait betrays, and if they’re not
staring, it’s because they’re too busy speculating on who you are. Don’t you agree?” he asked Mr. Keller.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” It was more of a statement than a request for an introduction, and Eleanor had to bite the inside of her cheek at the frosty looks the men were exchanging.

“Josiah Hastings, artist.” Josiah held out his hand. “And you are?”

“Thomas Keller.”

“As in, Keller’s Gentle Smelling Salts?” The question dripped acid, and Eleanor instinctively put a hand on Josiah’s arm to keep him in check.

“The very same,” Thomas replied coldly. “Miss Beckett generously passed on the opportunity to set my coat on fire, but if you’d like to strike me, sir, we could—”

“No one is striking anyone!” Eleanor squeaked out, all too aware at the misunderstanding about to take place. “Thomas’s father did business with mine, and—gentlemen, you are drawing far too much attention! I beg you, mind your manners!”

Josiah’s fingers covered hers, a possessive gesture that made him marvel at how quickly his simple plans could go awry. He’d meant to allow her to bask in a bit of social glow, and if things went well, hear praise of her beauty and feel some assurances that the artistic exercise between them had been worth the effort. He’d wanted to take pride in the painting and sweeten the experience by having Eleanor at his side.

Instead, she’d been whisked off by their hosts and Josiah had realized that no amount of praise from party-goers was going to improve his mood. Every complimentary word was tempered with insinuations about Eleanor and wicked questions about his “new muse.” Their interest in the Lady in Red made him wonder if he hadn’t made a terrible mistake and underestimated the worst in people’s natures.

Fifteen thousand pounds wasn’t enough. Hell, I don’t know what amount would be enough to buy back her honor. … I’m such a fool!

Worst of all, his vision had started playing tricks and he’d stumbled into no less than three other guests and two tables in less than fifteen minutes of their arrival. Without the subtle guidance of Eleanor by his side, he was a man adrift in a crowd of blurred faces. Humiliation and fury were a terrible mix in the merry atmosphere of the Walls’ party, and Josiah had to accept that they would all assume he’d been drinking heavily.

Not that my reputation was stellar to begin with, but I swear, I should have known better than to come out like this.

He’d been working his way through the crowd to retrieve her so that they could leave when he’d spotted her in conversation with a handsome block of a man. Even fighting the poor contrast his vision provided in candlelight, it had appeared like a cozy exchange, and Josiah was sure Eleanor needed a rescue. And then realized it was Keller.

In a crowded salon, he’d effectively made them the center of attention in a strange triangle—and if he punched Keller now, he’d cast himself in the role of jealous lover for all time.

Damn it! In for a penny, in for a pound. …

“I’ll mind mine,” Josiah offered, striving to keep his voice low. “Artistic temperaments being so volatile, I can’t make any promises though.”

Eleanor gasped at the veiled threat, but Josiah was past caring.

“I was about to escort Miss Beckett home.” He kept his hold on her hand to underline his intentions. “A pleasure meeting you, Keller.”

“We only just arrived!” Eleanor started to protest but was far too sensitive of the social dangers to put up a fuss. “A-although, I am sure Mr. Hastings is far more experienced in … these social matters.”

“You’ll not stay for the toast to your success, Mr. Hastings?” Keller asked.

“Miss Beckett does not partake, and I find I have a headache. Why don’t you make our excuses to the Walls?”
Josiah stepped away without even a nod in Keller’s direction, forcing Eleanor to mind her skirts and forgo a polite farewell to her newest friend.

The dim room worked against his determination to make a smooth departure, and Josiah had to swallow curses as he awkwardly navigated the furniture and guests in the grand salon. Conversations hushed around them as they moved, and he was wary of the ripples and eddies in their gossip. Still, the damage was done, and he was consumed by the desire to reach the sanctuary of the carriage and home.

In his hurry, he did his best not to pull her arm or make it seem as if he were dragging her out of the house, but it was nothing short of catastrophic when he rushed into one of the servants with a tray of champagne glasses. The sound of shattering crystal echoed off the marble floors, and Josiah groaned at the futility of it.

“Mr. Hastings! You cannot be going!” Gus came forward, signaling for more champagne and ordering the musicians to earn their keep to distract the other guests from the fray. “Only kings will be able to afford this painting if you go now!”

“Gus, please.” Josiah took their coats from the footman.

“It’s too mysterious! Clever of you, but come, Hastings! Show mercy! By the time you close that door, there’ll be a feeding frenzy of delicious gossip, and you know how Mrs. Wall loathes gossip.” Mr. Wall managed the lie with a straight face, and Josiah knew he spoke from affection.

“I’m too clumsy tonight, Gus, and not myself. If I stay, I shall only end up setting the drapery on fire. Besides, why deny them their pleasure? Let them talk, Gus. Hell, you can even tell them I mumbled something about being inspired and needing to rush back to my studio to work, very well?”

“That does sound promising!” Gus conceded, shaking Josiah’s hand. “And you must come back without your tyrant of a chaperone, Miss Beckett! You must grace my home with your beauty since the foul beast won’t sell your likeness!”

“You are too kind, Mr. Wall.” Eleanor’s voice was far too quiet, and Josiah knew a storm was coming. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

Once he’d helped her back up into the same carriage he had less than an hour before had to coax her to abandon, Josiah sat on the seat next to her and tried to take one last deep breath to steady his nerves. “I am sorry, Eleanor, for spoiling the outing.”

“And yet you did. Why?” she asked.

Josiah closed his eyes. “I … would rather not say.”

Eleanor reached across the carriage and tugged at his coat sleeve. “Josiah! You were the one that insisted I go, that I wear this dress, that there was nothing to fear. I did all to please you, and yet we just left as if the house were on fire!”

“Were you enjoying yourself?”

“Were you?” she countered.

“No!” he snapped, wishing there were a way to explain everything without revealing the worst. “I should think you’d be grateful to escape after running into Keller.”

“What just happened? We were just talking and you—nearly punched him?”

“I have an inkling of his villainy from what you’ve shared. He’s the son of the vulture that stole your family’s fortunes, and by the looks of him, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“By the looks of him?” she asked in astonishment. “Are you mad? I was in the midst of a perfectly civil conversation, when you rattled over like a complete barbarian. Do you know Mr. Keller personally, then? Have you some previous dispute with him besides your prejudice on my behalf?”

“Apparently, I’m the only one to dispute the man! I’ve never seen a woman act so magnanimously in my life! Was he so charming, then, that upon your first meeting you’ve forgiven him for growing fat while you starved and for cheerfully spending money that isn’t rightfully his?”

“He is not fat! You are positively pouting over there,
Josiah Hastings! Pouting! Are you aware of it? Of how ridiculous this conversation is?”

“I am a grown man and I am most certainly
not
pouting!” He was furious because, of course, the woman was right. Hell, there was nothing about his actions that he could safely defend, and he knew it. “Can’t a man express a bit of righteous indignation if he wishes?”

“It’s something else, isn’t it?” The quiet concern in her voice froze him in place. “Everyone loved the painting, so it cannot be that.”

He squeezed her hand, aching to heal the rift between them. “No. It was … well received.”

“Did I do something to embarrass you?” There was a catch in her throat, and he knew, even with his muddled vision in a dark carriage, that she was on the verge of tears. “Did your friends find me ill-mannered or too coarse for their company?”

“No!” He left his seat and knelt on the narrow space between them, pulling her against his chest. “Never, Eleanor! I could never be embarrassed to be in your company. Not if you’d actually poured a punch bowl over your own head and attempted opera.”

“Then tell me. Tell me what has you so unnerved, Josiah Hastings, that we are here, like fugitives, and you are looking at me as if you have nothing but regrets?”

“I haven’t been out in weeks, months actually, Eleanor. My social skills are fading and I was—jealous and stupid. Staying wouldn’t have improved things and I didn’t see any choice but to retreat.” He caressed her cheek. “Am I forgiven?”

“Almost.” She leaned her face into his hand, pressing into the contact. “Tell me what you want most. Tell me what you need, Josiah.”

“Damn it. Don’t ask me that, Eleanor.” His voice caught, the lump in his throat threatening to break him at last.
Don’t ask me because the answer is you, and I cannot have you, Eleanor. Not forever. I can’t give you forever.

His silence wounded her, but there was nothing more he
could say. He waited for her to strike him, or rail against his cruelty, but instead, she leaned over and kissed him. Gentle at first, the cool blades of her fingers against his cheek soothing as she parted her lips and invited him to taste the sweet confines of her mouth.

But at the first touch of his tongue to hers, Josiah’s world spun out of control, the familiar fire of his raw lust overtaking them both. Fevered passion infected them both equally and Eleanor gave in to the moment with total abandon.

Josiah tried to ignore the wave of guilt that tangled with his need to possess her. He couldn’t love her more—it wasn’t possible. But he was stumbling and ruining what time they had left, and he hated himself for it.

He kissed her harder, as if he could replace the hurt of it with passion, until she could taste how much he needed her. He drank from her lips, as if he’d crossed a desert and she alone could assuage his thirst.

The confined space of the carriage’s enclosed interior added to the force of their embrace. It was Eleanor who took charge, moving to slide her hand inside his shirt and then downward to trace the outline of his hard sex through the cloth of his pants. She unfastened his buttons and freed him, eager to hold him. She wanted to break through the wall he’d placed around his heart, but it was his body that she was allowed to touch.

She stroked him, until his flesh was iron hard and responsive at her slightest touch. Her boldness surprised even her, but the notion that all of London passed by within inches of the cramped, curtained world they occupied provided an unexpected aphrodisiac.

She lifted the heavy velvet of her skirts and silk petticoats to sit astride him, a wanton thing unwilling to relinquish this stolen chance for pleasure. Josiah’s mind painted the image she made, a scarlet rider against his black evening clothes, and his cock jumped and thickened at the first brush of the feverish silk of her slit against it.

Her sex was already dripping with wanting, and Eleanor lowered herself onto him, crying out at the delicious
sensation of being stretched and filled with the raw heat and power of him. He bucked upward, his cock stiffening even more at the delicious grip of her tight channel, her muscles pulsing and squeezing him in rhythm with each thrust. Josiah did his best to let her set the pace but had to close his eyes at the realization that his more immediate concern would be staying close as his body raced and surged ahead of his intellect.

He kept one hand splayed against the small of her back to aid her balance, but the other reached under her skirts to touch her clit, teasing little strokes of his finger, its rhythm adding to the dance. Her thighs rode him, and she gripped the cushions of the seat behind his head, the sounds of her bliss edging him closer and closer to his release. It was like a duel, and neither one of them wished to take more ground than they gave.

“More! Please, Josiah … more …” She sighed into the darkness, and he was enslaved.

Faster and faster, he moved against her clit, until it was a whisper-light stroke he knew would drive her mad. At last, she cried out with her orgasm, arching her back to yield herself to it, and Josiah pulled his hand away, forced to use both hands just to balance her on his lap and prevent her from spilling onto the carriage floor in her abandon.