It wasn’t a landscape. It wasn’t even a portrait. It was much more scandalous than that.
It was the image of a naked woman in the throes of passion. Her head was bent backward, saving the viewer from her identity. The man she was with had his hand on her breast and his backside was fully revealed. It was obvious that this was a painting about making love and Fleur found herself intrigued.
Her fingers trailed the curves of the artist’s brush strokes, the defined muscles of the man’s arms, and her breathing deepened when she imagined his hands moving over her body, sighing as the same brush that had drawn this illicit act gently trailed over her skin, coloring her body as red as the background of the art.
Fleur closed her eyes, thinking about how it would feel if she was the lady in the portrait. Her eyes opened and she felt a strange stab of jealousy. She suddenly had a strong desire to know who this woman was, if she was a courtesan, or perhaps someone important in Mr. Porter’s life. He had surely painted this. Either that, or he had been generous and allowed someone to interfere on his solitude. Not likely.
Unlessshewas the artist behind all these works.
Fleur shook her head and quickly covered the offending portrait. It abruptly disturbed her, although she couldn’t readily say why it had done so.
She certainly had no claim on Mr. Porter. In truth, she was conflicted on whether or not she should be his lover—or if she should try to flee this desolate dungeon of a house that he inhabited. He was like some dark creature of the night, forever cursed to walk through endless empty rooms and never know what it was like for his heart to be touched by love.
Fleur left the room and quickly made her way back to the chamber to either await the master’s return—or to pace the expanse the rest of the night. Either way, she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink until the sun started to rise and she knew that she would be safe from the shadows of doubt that surrounded her, warning her that she might have very well subjected herself to something far worse than the demons of hell.
* * *
Downstairs,Drake leaned his head back against the edge of the copper tub that he’d filled with several trips back and forth from the cistern, and thought of the lady he’d left in his chamber. It had never seemed like his before, but with her in it, he suddenly wanted to lay claim to it. And Miss Davies.
He blew out a puff of smoke from his cheroot and tapped the ashes onto the floor beside him. He could always count on his housekeeper to clean up his messes, and other than ashes trailed all throughout the house, there wasn’t much else for her to do. He couldn’t even remember her name. He only employed her because she looked as though she could use the employment he could provide, and she seemed to be able to retain her gossip. It was a quality that many servants did not have, but considering his past, was quite necessary.
As his thoughts wandered back to Miss Davies, he wondered if she was already asleep or if it was going to be as long a night for her as it would be for him. He had never been comfortable in the dark. Perhaps it was residual trauma from his childhood causing him to be afraid of cramped, dismal spaces, having roamed the streets in all manner of weather and situations. He had always preferred pouring rain so long as it was daytime to anything that caused his vision to falter. Without the ability to see, he didn’t know who might be walking up behind him whether it be human, or one of the numerous rats that liked to roam the city.
He had practiced trying to acclimate himself to dim lighting. He seldom used anything more than a candle when he was alone, something that could easily be extinguished if he felt the hairs starting to stand up on the back of his neck. That instinct had saved his life more than once.
In the end, it was a woman who had nearly cost him everything.
After that, he’d vowed to himself that he would never put himself in the same situation again. Yet, ironically enough, he was allowing one to sleep under the same roof. But that didn’t mean he trusted Miss Davies. He was starting to feel a touch of respect for her determination and steadfast demeanor at the pub but those qualities did not always create an ally. If she acted as Amos and saved his life, he would be more inclined to trust her. Until then, he trusted no one. Amos was given special consideration but Drake still kept his distance if he felt the situation warranted it.
Grinding his cheroot out on the floor, Drake decided he’d wasted enough time in the bath. He stood up, the rivulets of water flowing down his body, he dried off and wondered what Miss Davies would think if she could see more than just his arms and torso. His entire body was proof that he had lived a life that most would not care to duplicate. He had seen the horror on her face but at least it wasn’t disgust. He wasn’t sure it would be that easy to seduce her if she couldn’t stand the sight of him.
However, while scars covered his body, he had always made an attempt at getting enough physical activity that his form more than made up for any faults.
He tucked the linen about his waist and started to head back upstairs. He did have a change of clothes, as he’d told Miss Davies, but he wondered what her reaction might be if he appeared with nearly nothing on instead.
He reached the bedchamber and saw the slight glow of light coming from the other side. He considered giving a light knock of warning before he entered but then that would ruin the surprise.
He boldly entered the room and glanced toward the bed, expecting her to be there. When it was empty, he glanced about the room and saw her silhouette standing by the window. She had opened the pane slightly and he saw her hair blowing gently on the breeze.
Upon his entrance, she turned to him and her hand crept toward her throat. She didn’t say anything or demand that he leave. She just observed as he moved about the room.
He headed for the dresser and removed a pair of smallclothes. He held them up and then ripped the linen off of his hips, letting it fall to the ground. He stood there for a moment, his naked glory piercing the silence, and then he donned the garment.
“Are you hot?”
He saw her mouth fall open and then she seemed to come to her senses when a slight breeze from the open window appeared to wake her from her sudden trance. “Er… I was just needing some fresh air.”
He walked toward her and moved the window up a bit more. “Why stop there?”
Drake was glad to see that, although she tried not to make it obvious that she was inspecting him, her gaze kept dipping downward. “Are you going to bed?”
He saw her cheeks turn pink as soon as the words were out of her mouth. He almost smiled. But not quite. “Is that an invitation?” he murmured.
She lifted her chin. “It is what you paid for, isn’t it? To make me your whore?”
He frowned. “I don’t care for it to be noted in those terms. If I wanted a whore, I wouldn’t have to spend five thousand quid to obtain one.” He took her chin in his grasp so she was forced to look at him. “What I purchased wasyou. I didn’t like the idea that you would be sold to some man who wouldn’t appreciate your worth.”
“How can you judge my worth?” she questioned. “You hardly know me. And considering that I ran away from you in Greenwich I assumed what you really wanted was revenge, to punish me for my actions.”
