An Artful Seduction Read online

  Grayson looked out the window and was alarmed to see the snow was falling heavily now. His need to see Eliza escalated. He was concerned, damn it. They had been in the shop for a half hour now and she had not returned. She would be chilled to the bone.

  “Hasn’t it been a while since your sister departed?” His tone was harsher than he’d intended.

  Amelia glanced up. “She should be back shortly. If you have business elsewhere, I will advise her of your visit.”

  “No. We’ll wait.”

  He had finished his cup of tea when the store’s bell chimed and the door opened.

  Grayson was instantly on his feet.

  Eliza rushed in shaking off snow from her cloak. She clutched a dark bottle in her right hand. Grayson noticed her thin gloves were soaked. Her fingers would be numb.

  “I’ve returned with the tonic, Chloe!” Eliza called out.

  She stopped suddenly as she spotted the men, her green eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

  It wasn’t the greeting he’d hoped for. But what did he expect? “I came to speak with you, Mrs. Somerton.”

  Brandon stepped forth and bowed. “As Grayson has forgotten his manners, may I introduce myself. Lord Brandon Vale.”

  Just then, Chloe started down the stairs, clutching a robe to her chest. Her face was pale and her nose red. She coughed and halted halfway down the stairs when she spotted the crowd. “What have I missed?”

  Grayson turned to Eliza. “Is there a place we may speak in private?”

  Eliza was clearly taken by surprise. Her eyes darted to the back room, but one glance from Amelia and she’d changed her mind.

  “Chloe, have some tea.” Eliza handed Amelia the bottle. “Amelia, please give Chloe her tonic.”

  Eliza then turned to him. “We can speak privately upstairs, my lord.” She headed for the stairs, and Grayson followed.

  Chapter Six

  Eliza was aware of Lord Huntington’s every step behind her as she climbed the stairs. She had been freezing, rushing through the snow-covered streets to the apothecary. She had hurried back with the medicine only to find Lord Huntingdon waiting for her.

  Her first thought had been shock, followed by the odd flutter of excitement she felt low in her belly. He’d looked so masculine standing in the shop. Then she’d studied him more closely. He’d appeared tired, and fine lines had carved furrows between his brows. Why? Had something transpired?

  Their living quarters were modest, with a tiny kitchen and adjoining bedroom. He came forward and she motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table. She was conscious of his gaze as he scanned the space. It wasn’t his luxurious Mayfair mansion, but it was their home and it wasn’t inherited or given to them. She’d worked hard for what they had and it was a far cry from the poorhouse.

  Huntington sat and crossed his legs. He seemed far too large and masculine for the table.

  “It’s chilly in here,” he said.

  She detected a hint of censure in his tone, and her lips thinned with irritation. “Is that what you came to tell me?”

  “You cease adding coal to the fire after business hours.”

  “Coal costs money; we must conserve.” Her fingers twisted in her skirts.

  “What’s wrong with Chloe?”

  She was startled by the change of subject. “She has a cough.”

  “Maybe if there were heat in the place she wouldn’t be sick,” he said.

  She stiffened, pride rising to her defense. “Don’t you think I’ve thought the same thing? What would you have us do? Spend all our money on heat and then be out on the street a week later? Would that be better for Chloe?”

  “I’m duly reprimanded, Mrs. Somerton.”

  “Why are you here? Dorian Reed will not be back in town until—”

  “It has nothing to do with Reed. I came to apologize. I handled Mr. Cain badly yesterday. When I saw him touch you, I didn’t think. I just reacted.”

  She was truly shocked now. “I…I…”

  He pulled out a sheet of foolscap from his jacket pocket. “I’ve many contacts in the art world. This is a list of reputable merchants who will sell you art supplies and anything else you may need for your shop. They are to deal with you on credit with the understanding that if you do not pay, I will. You need never return to Mr. Cain’s warehouse again.”

  She stared at the paper, afraid to take it and even more afraid not to. “Why? Why would you do this?”

  He leaned forward in his chair. “Because I didn’t like the way he touched you.”

  She gasped and stared up at him. The current between them was there again, damn him. Every inch of her body responded to his nearness, his medievally possessive words. She nervously licked her bottom lip, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. Then he reached out and stroked the pad of his thumb across her lip. Her breath hitched, and her insides seemed to melt. It was like lightning during a storm, uncontrollable and forceful, and it frightened her just as much as it enthralled her.

  She reached up and touched his wrist. “Don’t, my lord,”

  “It’s Grayson. Call me Grayson.” He didn’t remove his touch on her mouth. For several heartbeats they stayed like that; his thumb grazing her lip, her fingers on his wrist.

  Then he leaned forward in his chair and kissed her. She’d been kissed before, but nothing could compare to Huntingdon’s mastery. He was skilled; it was clear in the stroke of his tongue on the soft fullness of her bottom lip. He was patient and calculating. His warm lips lightly brushed hers, back and forth, in a series of slow, shivery kisses. He did not try to ravish her or grope her in an overzealous fashion. Nor did he use brute force to overpower her. He preferred skill and seduction. He devastated her senses with one touch of his mouth.

  She sat perched on the edge of her chair as his lips grazed hers over and over. He touched her only with his mouth, and yet liquid heat flooded her limbs, and her nipples tightened and chafed against her chemise. The scent of his shaving soap, sandalwood and cloves, filled her senses. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she leaned closer and parted her lips with a sigh. His tongue slid into her mouth, hot and delicate. Her tongue tentatively followed his. He teased her, gently, seductively, until the kiss sang through her veins.

  She fervently wished they weren’t sitting, that she was in his arms and pressed against his broad chest. She was so cold and she longed to feel his strength, his glorious heat…feel him.

  Then he raised his hand and cradled the side of her face like she was made of precious china. The light touch was intimate and nearly her undoing. She moaned, she couldn’t help herself, and her fingers slid over his forearm.

  He stiffened. Her lashes flew up to see the depths of desire in his dark eyes.

  She experienced a shiver of fear and came to her senses. This wasn’t a lover’s tryst, but a dangerous game, a battle of wills between two combatants. If she showed lust, any weakness, he would seize the advantage between them.

  She stood and shook out her skirts in an effort to hide her shaking legs. “This was a mistake. You should leave, my lord.”

  He pushed his chair back and rose. He was much too close to her, and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “How long were you married?”

  She frowned. “Pardon?”

  “How long?”

  “Three years,” she blurted out. She knew exactly what to say as she had rehearsed the story often enough in the past.

  “You kiss like an innocent.”

  Of all the things she expected him to say after their intimate experience, that was not one of them. “Mr. Somerton was older, but we had a satisfying marital relationship.”

  “How satisfying?”

  She must not let him presume or question. “You should leave now,” she said curtly.

  His face hardened. Gone was the man who had kissed her so seductively and gently mere moments ago. The desire was still written on his face, but there was something else, something more in the depths of his gaze.

>   Determination. Possessiveness.

  Picking up the sheet of paper from the table, he thrust it at her. “Take it. Never go back to see Mr. Cain again.”

  She’d forgotten all about his list of reputable merchants eager to do business with her on credit, knowing Lord Huntingdon backed her transactions. Her gaze snapped to his. Oh, how she wished she could rip the paper and throw the pieces at him. But she wanted that list, needed it, and he knew it.

  She took the paper and raised her chin. “I’ll consider it.”

  His nostrils flared at her statement. “Dorian Reed returns in five days. I’ll send my carriage for you.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Lord Vale is very handsome,” Amelia said.

  “Pardon?” After Grayson departed, Eliza had tucked Chloe into bed beneath their warmest wool blanket and joined Amelia for tea. Eliza struggled to remember what they had been talking about. She tried to focus her mind on something other than the passionate kiss she’d shared with Huntingdon.

  Amelia waited expectantly, teacup in hand. “I said Lord Vale is handsome.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “No doubt since you were consumed with Lord Huntingdon.”

  Eliza’s teacup shook as she placed it on her saucer. “Amelia! I’d hardly call myself consumed.”

  “Oh? What did you two discuss upstairs then?” Amelia challenged.

  Eliza didn’t want to talk about what had occurred. How long had it been since he’d kissed her? An hour at most? Her emotions still rioted within her. Her body still trembled. Not from fear, but from something much worse, something as exciting and dangerous as fire to dry kindling.

  Desire.

  He’d started with a simple kiss, but it had been so easy for him to coax her response. Then his lips and tongue had explored and tasted and she had been hard pressed to stop him. She’d realized for the first time just how potent lust could be and how much power it gave a skilled man.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me?” Amelia prodded.

  Eliza pulled a folded sheet of paper from her skirt pocket and handed it to Amelia. “He gave me this.”

  Amelia’s brow furrowed. “It’s a list of names. What is it for?”

  “He apologized for his behavior with Mr. Cain. Those are names of suppliers who will sell to me on credit with the earl’s financial backing.”

  Amelia dropped the paper in her lap. “This is wonderful! You never have to deal with the likes of Mr. Cain again.”

  Eliza chewed her lower lip. “Huntingdon’s after something.”

  “What? He already has your cooperation. Perhaps he’s a true gentleman.”

  “Ha! You sound like Chloe.”

  Amelia sighed. “Huntingdon’s friend seems like a gentleman.”

  Amelia had a strange dreamy look on her face, one Eliza had never noticed before. Amelia had always been levelheaded and shrewd when it came to men. It was unlike her to overlook social rank and fall prey to a handsome, charming lord.

  “You’re smitten,” Eliza said.

  Amelia stiffened. “I’d hardly call it smitten just because I find a man attractive. And I’m not Chloe. She’s already lost her head and believes she’s in love with Lord Huntingdon. She called him an Adonis.”

  Eliza rolled her eyes. “Lord help us all.”

  Amelia handed the list back to Eliza. “Are you going to use this then?”

  Eliza shrugged. “I haven’t decided. I don’t want to be indebted to Huntingdon. As it stands, I must accompany him to see Dorian Reed next week.”

  Amelia shot her a skeptical look. “I know you, Lizzie. You’re thinking about Father and whether Reed knows his whereabouts.”

  “How can I not?”

  “Don’t go,” Amelia implored. “Sell one of my forgeries. We can leave town.”

  It always amazed Eliza how Amelia had no qualms about selling forged works. She was like their father in that regard; she’d do what was necessary without fully considering the consequences. Eliza, on the other hand, didn’t want to flee London like common criminals.

  Where would they go? How long would the money last?

  Her sisters stood no chance at a respectable marriage if they took that course of action.

  “No, Amelia,” Eliza said forcefully. “I’ll not live a life like Father. He may have escaped a trial and Newgate, but we may not be so fortunate. I’ll not put you and Chloe at risk.”

  Amelia sat forward in her chair, a look of resolve flashing in her blue eyes. “Use Huntingdon’s contacts then. If he hadn’t behaved as he had with Mr. Cain, you wouldn’t need to go elsewhere.”

  Eliza forced her confused emotions into order. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll accept his help just this once. But he’s a dangerous man and I’d be a fool to allow myself to be indebted to him.”

  …

  After departing the Peacock Print Shop, Grayson and Brandon made their way to White’s Club. A porter took their topcoats, gloves, and beaver hats, and they seated themselves in Chippendale chairs at a table in the famous bay window overlooking St. James’s Street. Snow fell heavily, covering the vacant street with a white blanket as a waiter arrived and served them brandy. Coal burned brightly in the grate of the ornate fireplace. Candlelight reflected off the deep burgundy paneling and the gilt framed portraits of former Tory club members.

  Warmth seeped into Grayson’s bones. Such comforts should be satisfying enough, but his thoughts returned to Eliza and her sisters in the cold shop.

  “Quite the charming family, don’t you agree?” Brandon said.

  Grayson turned from the window. “I suppose you could call them charming.”

  Coarse male laughter sounded from the rear of the club where a few men had ventured out in the weather to engage in a game of hazard. Attendance was sparse tonight, but gamblers could never stay away for long.

  “I had no idea Jonathan Miller’s daughters were so attractive,” Brandon said.

  Grayson sipped his brandy. “Why am I not surprised you noticed?”

  Brandon lowered his glass. “I think you should leave them be.”

  Grayson scowled. “Leave them be? It’s only the eldest I’m interested in. She’s going to lead me to a stolen Rembrandt and her father.”

  Brandon took on a serious expression, obviously displeased. “They have enough hardship in their life without you bringing back their thief of a father who abandoned them. It’s a wonder they’ve kept their household together thus far.”

  Guilt pierced Grayson’s chest. He didn’t want to feel it, but the unwanted emotion was there. His thoughts returned to Eliza and their shared kiss. The sizzling attraction that had been building between them since he’d set eyes on her at the Tutton auction had driven him to kiss her. She’d been tentative at the first touch of their lips, and even stunned by the stroke of his tongue against hers. For all her worldly demeanor as a widow, she’d reacted like it was her first.

  Ludicrous.

  She’d been married for three years. And she was clearly a woman of passion. Her instinctive response to him had been strong, and it had taken all of his willpower not to sweep her into his lap and ravage her mouth. He’d wanted to press his lips to more of her skin—her nape, her shoulders, her magnificent breasts. He didn’t know what was more disturbing, her apparent inexperience or the explosion of lust that had shot straight to his groin.

  He inwardly cursed himself. To want any woman so badly was unwise, let alone his enemy’s daughter.

  He refused to succumb to the temptation.

  “I’m not a bastard. I realize they’re struggling,” Grayson said.

  “The place was freezing. I wouldn’t be surprised if they all came down with colds,” Brandon countered.

  Grayson was again besieged by remorse. “I’ll see that they don’t.”

  “How? She seems too proud to accept your charity.”

  “She is stubborn,” Grayson mumbled. “And too pretty for her own good.” He sipped his drink, and the al
cohol left a bitter taste in his mouth despite the fine quality of the brandy. “And to think all along that her sister is the artist and forger.”

  “Leave Amelia out of this,” Brandon snapped, drawing the attention of an older gentleman enjoying a plate of roast beef a few tables away.

  Grayson’s lips curled in a mocking smile. “Don’t be so fiercely protective. My arrangement is with Eliza. She has no idea that I’m aware Amelia is the artist and I’m going to keep the knowledge to myself for a while.”

  Brandon shifted in his seat. “Good. Because I’d like to see Amelia again.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. You need an heiress, remember? The Duke of Townsend’s daughter waits.”

  Brandon narrowed his eyes. “If I didn’t know better, Grayson, I’d say you’re lusting after Eliza Somerton. How long has it been since your last mistress? Perhaps you need to replace her.”

  Grayson drained his glass in one swallow, remaining silent. He never lusted after a woman. He was always in control of his emotions, in and out of the bedroom. The only wild passion he experienced was when gazing at expertly executed artwork. Even then, he presented a cool facade as the critic. No one could know the inner euphoria he was experiencing. No one knew his opinions or his thoughts until he decided to express them.

  Until I kissed Eliza. He wasn’t in complete control then.

  Perhaps Brandon was right. It had been four months since Grayson had ended his last relationship—not with a mistress, but with a wealthy widow. She was more than eager in the bedroom, a well-practiced lover, but she had a troublesome tendency to want more—more of his time in and out of bed, which was something he was unwilling to give. So he’d ended it.

  Kissing Eliza Somerton in her tiny upstairs kitchen had surprised him. She’d been sweet with simmering passion, and his response had been instant and combustible. She was fresh, exciting…genuine. It was like coming upon a beautiful work by a new artist. His blood would pound and his pulse race with the thrill of discovery.

  But the excitement of the first moment rarely lasted. He would soon be distracted by another fine work uncovered in a visit to an artist’s studio or masterpiece displayed on a gallery wall.