“Stop frowning. You’re supposed to be triumphant.”
At her voice, he moved his gaze to find her hand with the paintbrush on her hip and her gaze on his face. “What are you thinking that you scowl so?”
His last thought had been about how his tenants were making it through the winter, which brought to mind his temporary financial difficulties, not something he wished to discuss quite yet. He’d save that for after they were betrothed, so he could explain in detail what his situation was. “I’m thinking about too much, obviously.” He cast about for something that would make him frown. “Last night, when I thought you would be forced into marriage with Harewood, is definitely worth frowning about.”
She lifted the paintbrush and waved it back and forth. “That was never a possibility. First, I was suspicious of Lady Garmoyle saying Lady Enderly wanted me to examine a damaged painting when my expertise is in painting or authenticating. The woman always consults me when it comes to art. So I checked the library as soon as I entered to see if anyone was there, and I found my father. He often sneaks away when attending a ball there.”
Pleased that she had good instincts, he wanted to know more. “So what were you and Harewood discussing when we all walked in?”
She grinned. “We were deducing that Lady Garmoyle had planned for us to be trapped into marriage in order for her revenge to be complete against Harewood. My only question was if it was luck or planned that I be involved in an effort to hurt you too.”
He shook his head. “No, she never knew I visited you.”
“Never? Does that mean she has left?”
“Yes. I did not leave Sunnydale until after her carriage was out of sight. We had to wait for the hail to cease before she was willing to travel. Though I will say no one was pleased about her delay except Lady Rose. She did not understand that Lady Garmoyle’s friendship was only a ruse to reside close enough to exact revenge upon Harewood and myself.”
Amelia shook her head even as she moved back behind the painting. “Poor Lady Rose. She is such a sweet woman, but I fear her mother has not taught her nearly enough. I wish Joanna could convince Lady Enderly to send Lady Rose to her school.”
Surprised by Amelia’s comment, he had to ask, though he knew she wouldn’t want him to move now that she was back to painting. “Your sister runs a school?”
She poked her head out from behind the easel. “That’s a secret. Please do not tell anyone. She wants to see if it can be successful first.”
“I promise not to say a word.” Though why a ladies’ finishing school would be a secret, he wasn’t sure. As his mind wandered to other things, he was able to be still and quiet for almost an hour, but eventually his thoughts returned to Amelia. Questions like, would one of their children have her talent came to mind. He hoped so. Would she like living at Lyonsmere? It had a similar Greek inspired temple on the grounds, but much closer to the house. Would she like him to turn that into her studio? Or would she prefer a room in the house? He’d prefer she was closer, so he could interrupt when he wished. Would she enjoy being his wife and those wifely duties?
From her responses to his touch at their last rendezvous, she might. Her skin was so soft and her breasts the perfect size. Not only was her scent enchanting, but the taste of her had him craving her far beyond what was acceptable in their current relationship. He wanted her to be his. Now.
At the sound of her clearing her throat, he moved his head to look at her.
She pointed with her paintbrush, an amused smile tilting her lips upward. “You’re growing again.”
Blast, he’d forgotten. “I can’t help it. I was thinking of you.”
“I’m not sure if that’s good.” She set her brush on her palette and put it on the table, her hand reaching behind her to rub her back.
He relaxed his stance. “It’s very good. It means I find you tempting.”
She let her gaze flow over his body, making him harder. “I find you tempting as well. I’m glad that I don’t have a body part that makes it so obvious.” Her amused smile was back in place.
Was she laughing at the state of men? Her ignorance was a reminder that he would be her only lover and that just caused him to want her more. “Since we are resting at the moment, you are welcome to touch me if you wish.”
Her smile faltered, but she didn’t shake her head. Instead, she moved closer. “Anywhere?”
Damnation, his balls tightened at the insinuation in her voice. He swallowed hard to clear his throat. “I told you once before you can touch me anywhere you like.”
The mischief in her gaze had him wondering if he should rescind his invitation, but he couldn’t back down now. He wanted her to be comfortable with him.
She sashayed toward him like a much more experienced woman than what he knew her to be. Her tongue came out and she licked her lips. “And can I touch you how you touched me last we painted?”
His groin reacted even as his heart pounded in his chest. The woman was a natural vixen. “Is that what you want to do?” His voice came out raspy, and he cleared his throat.
She scanned his body again as if deciding where to touch first. “Yes, that’s what I want to do.” She spoke to his chest, not his face.
He swallowed hard as he thought back on how he’d touched her. At least his hands had never travelled up her skirts. He stilled as he remembered they actually had, but only to cup her perfect buttocks. Would she remember? “Then you are welcome to do so.”
At his answer, she lifted her gaze to him, and a sly smile formed on her lips. The look alone sent his blood racing. Blast, how did he get himself into such a situation, standing naked in a room alone with his intended, allowing her to touch him as she wished?
Her hands lifted and settled on his shoulders. Like any true artist, she explored his shoulders with each hand, pressing, smoothing, lightly touching as if she were blind and learning what he looked like. She ran her fingertips across his collar bone, just as he had done to her before her hands found his chest muscles. As her finger tips brushed his nipples, he sucked in his breath. It was as if she remembered every movement he made.
