A Most Unconventional Match (22 page)

‘Never hurt you either,' he murmured.

Her heart pounding ferociously, Elizabeth gave him a minute nod, afraid if she moved too quickly the dizziness in her head and the scintillating vortex of sensation in her body might make her fall right off the couch.

Once again, every tingling nerve had urged her to lean into the arms Hal looked as if he would have willingly wrapped around her.

Except this time, that desire was even more intense. Only terror over what she might have done next, with David no longer present to forestall her madness, had given her the strength to pull her hand back and move away.

Her nerves still afire and her mind fogged by the battle between desire and sanity, she struggled to focus on what Hal was saying.

‘Borrow sketches. Show to select gentlemen? When ready to begin, demand for your work.'

Sketches. Work. They'd been talking about her painting. Perhaps beginning art lessons or even discreetly exploring commissions.

‘Yes, I'll…I'll gather some to send you.'

‘Good.'

The mantel clock struck the hour and—as disorientated and befuddled as she?—Hal jumped. With a regretful glance toward the clock, he drained his cup and rose. ‘Another meeting. Must go. Thanks for tea. And forgiving me.'

He was grateful for her forgiveness, when the fault was all hers? What a truly noble gentleman he was!

‘You did nothing for which you need ask pardon. 'Twas I who was hasty, quick tempered and in error. Thank you for your forbearance with my foolishness. And again, for watching out for both David and me.'

He bowed. ‘Pleasure.'

She rose to escort him to the door. Now that she'd become so attuned to him physically, she didn't seem to be able to turn off the awareness. As she followed him, her eyes drifted to the crisp curl of red-gold hair at his collar, the broad width of his back, the muscles of his arms and shoulders under the snug-fitting jacket.

And when he turned back to face her…oh, my, how wicked was the knitted cloth of his breeches, moulding as it did so closely over his thighs, against the flatness of his belly, the impressive ridge at the junction of his legs…

Her cheeks flaming anew, she jerked her gaze back up to his face, hoping the disjointed farewell she uttered made some sense. As he bowed and walked away, she watched him stride out, trying to get a peek at the contour of his derrière beneath the tails of his coat.

She plopped back on the sofa, reached for her cup and gulped down some tea. Maybe the tepid brew would help cool her overheated thoughts.

What had come over her? She'd surmised the first time she experienced a strong physical reaction to Hal Waterman, before and during their trip to Astley's, that her long-dormant physical urges must be awakening. But the power of the desire that consumed her for Hal far exceeded what she'd ever experienced before.

If maturity increased one's passion, she had best not grow much older! She wasn't sure she could survive a greater intensity without fainting dead away.

A danger that might well concern her, for she had best acknowledge the truth. Unless distracted by some crisis, whenever she looked at Hal Waterman…she desired him.

What would it be like to strip the coat from that powerful frame, run her fingers along the muscles of his arms and shoulders? Nuzzle the red-gold hair adorning his chest down to the waistband of his breeches, licking and stroking…

What would it be like to pleasure him, to let him pleasure her?

Her skin grew hot and damp while a heated sensation surged in her belly.

Elizabeth brought unsteady hands up to fan her fevered cheeks. Goodness! If Hal could affect her thoughts this strongly, she couldn't imagine how intense the reaction would be if he were to actually caress her.

Dizzy at the thought, she tried to steady herself. She must stop this! Transfer the passion Hal seemed to rouse in her to her painting. Perhaps resume the walks in the park she used to take with David and Everitt, which might dissipate some of the nervous energy sparking within her.

Much as she wished she had someone to ask about the frightening, exhilarating sensations her body had suddenly begun producing, even were Sarah in London, Elizabeth wasn't sure she'd be able to talk to her about them. Somehow, she was going to have to manage on her own to bottle up her desire and behave in a proper, genteel manner around Mr Waterman.

At least for the present. Once her period of mourning was over, once she was freed from constraint and convention, if Hal Waterman were willing, Elizabeth meant to give herself free rein to follow her emotions and desires wherever they might lead.

H
is heart and body still aflame after his meeting with Elizabeth the previous afternoon, Hal turned his curricle once again toward Green Street. He'd driven halfway to his meeting with the investors yesterday before he realised he'd forgotten to inform her about his imminent journey north. Now that a warm rapport—oh, my, how warm!—had been re-established between them, he wished mightily that he hadn't agreed to go. But he always supervised a project's beginning, the engineer and foreman were expecting him, so there was no question of cancelling.

Go he must. But in the time remaining before he must depart, he intended to visit Elizabeth as often as possible. So before meeting this morning with the bankers to arrange for the last of the drafts, he'd sent her a note telling her he'd call in the afternoon.

He even had a special treat to propose. After his investment meeting yesterday, he'd visited several dealers, investigating the possibility of selling some of Lowery's art collection. At one of them, he'd discovered something he thought she'd like very much. Hoping she might be free to accompany him, he'd arranged with the proprietor for them to meet in a private showroom where no one in the
ton
in pursuit of new art acquisitions might chance to see them and generate gossip that could reach the ears of the gamesters at White's—or his mother.

He pulled up his carriage before her door, the now-familiar surge of excitement and anticipation filling him. Tossing his reins to a waiting groom, he leapt down, almost running up the front steps in his eagerness, too expansive of spirit to be bothered by the chill greeting Sands extended before escorting Hal to the parlor.

He found Elizabeth already seated on the sofa when he entered. Joy fizzled in his veins at the brilliance of the smile she gave him as she rose to curtsy to his bow.

‘Good day, Mr Waterman! I hope the important business that brings you here today is more pleasant than the last.'

At her oblique reference to his warning about Sir Gregory, Hal grimaced. ‘Much more pleasant. Would like you to ride out, visit dealer. Interested in purchasing some of husband's collection. Brief visit, not take long.'

‘If you think it useful. I don't know enough of prices to ascertain its value, but I could describe the individual pieces,' she replied. ‘Let me collect my pelisse and cloak and I'll rejoin you shortly.'

‘Could bring sketchbook also?'

She halted in mid-step, her face colouring. ‘You…you would have a dealer look at my sketches?'

‘Give him idea of talent. Good appraisal of potential clients too.'

She stood irresolute for a moment, nervously clasping her hands. ‘I'm not sure I'm ready for this.'

‘Won't commit you to anything,' he assured her. ‘Dealer not know it's your work. Describe sketches as part of husband's collection.'

‘I suppose that would be a rather painless way to receive an impartial expert's evaluation,' she said thoughtfully. ‘Very well, I shall do it.'

A few moments later, after ordering a hackney which Hal thought would prove more discreet than driving her through Mayfair in his open curricle, they set out, Elizabeth clasping her sketchbook nervously.

‘If possible, like to take some sketches with me,' Hal said, pointing to the book. ‘See prospective clients while in north.'

Did he only imagine the flash of dismay that passed over her countenance? ‘You are going away?' she asked.

‘Soon,' he confirmed, certain, to his immense gratification, that he had indeed detected a note of concern in her voice. ‘New canal project beginning. Must oversee.'

‘David and I will certainly miss you. But with your work on Everitt's papers complete, I suppose we could not hope to monopolise your attention for ever. Will you be gone…long?'

Did she sound wistful? Hal wondered. ‘Fortnight or less.'

‘I hope you won't desert us completely upon your return. After all, thanks to your kind offices, some of David's inheritance will be invested in this new project and I shall wish an accounting of it!' she said, waving a finger at him with mock severity.

She would miss him. She wanted to see him upon his return. Hal felt his spirit soar as if the hackney were rolling on clouds rather than cobblestones. ‘Give proper accounting upon return,' he agreed. ‘May have new venture to propose.'

‘And what would that be?'

Too effervescent with happiness to be sure he could read her level of interest accurately, Hal asked, ‘Truly wish to know?'

‘Yes. If it intrigues you, it must be both innovative and lucrative. For too long, I've been painfully ignorant about management and finance. If I am to be a good guide to David—and to myself—I need to know more. Besides, the new machines that have driven the building of canals, the draining of marshes, the mining of coal—you see, I have begun reading about it—sound so intricate and fascinating. Rather like a painting, begun with a sketch and built up with layer upon layer of pigment until a whole emerges that is both unique from, yet part of, the many individual brush strokes which make it up.'

Though Hal's mathematical mind had never conceived of the construction of a coal engine or mechanical loom as similar to the creation of artwork, he was struck by her observation. ‘Suppose it is similar! Latest possibility intriguing—might replace canals in moving goods. Been using engines on rails to move coal from mines. Now George Stephenson invented better engine. Can move itself, pull cars anywhere iron track is laid. Cheaper than digging canals.'

‘This new system could supplement canals, then?'

Hal nodded. ‘Go over uneven ground where canals impractical. From port landing cotton right to mill, then carry finished cloth to market. Coal, too. Stockton and Darlington Railway preparing bill for Parliament to convey coal from collieries to port. Maybe passengers later.'

‘So one might ride upon an engine of steel rather than gallop upon a fiery steed? Wouldn't David just love that! What bold vision you possess, Mr Waterman! If you judge that investing our money in such a venture is sound, by all means do so.'

She thought him bold and forward-thinking. No longer questioning her sincerity, he simply revelled in the unaccustomed praise, giddy bubbles of delight rising to his head as if he'd been drinking fine champagne. She'd also referred to ‘our' money…how Hal loved the sound of that!

Of course, she meant capital belonging to herself and her son. But the idea of her wanting to invest in the emerging enterprises that so fascinated him created a new sense of camaraderie between them, reinforcing the connection he'd always felt to her.

Having learned years ago not to expose himself to his mother's scorn by discussing technological developments in her presence, Hal seldom introduced the topic to anyone beyond a small circle of similarly committed investors. Not even with Sally had he thought to find someone with real curiosity about the vast changes in commerce and technology he believed would soon overtake English society. Imagine discovering such an interest in a sheltered society beauty like Elizabeth Lowery! Her unexpected enthusiasm about the ventures in which he was so deeply embroiled both surprised and delighted him.

Still, he'd better curb his exuberance before he started nattering on like Ned with his farming. In any event, the hackney was pulling up before the art dealer's establishment. Time to shift the focus of conversation from his great passion to hers.

Mister Christie, the proprietor, quickly ushered them into a showroom out of view of the main display area. For several minutes, the dealer listened with rapt interest as Elizabeth described her husband's extensive collection of Roman sculpture and Italian Renaissance paintings, occasionally mentioning connoisseurs whom he would contact concerning specific works. Finally he looked inquiringly at the sketchbook Elizabeth kept tucked under her arm.

‘Do you have unframed works you wished me to see?' Mr Christie asked.

Panic flaring in her eyes, hands clenched on her sketchbook, Elizabeth hesitated. Possessing no doubt whatsoever about the exceptional skill of her drawings, Hal sent her a reassuring look before turning to the dealer. ‘Yes. Also some works in oil based on sketches.'

‘I don't normally handle sketches, but if some represent finished works, I should be happy to look over them.'

‘View other items while you do?' Hal asked.

‘Of course. I've hung the watercolours you requested on the far wall. Please enjoy them while I review these in my office.'

‘Don't worry,' Hal reassured her as she stared after the retreating figure of the dealer, her expression as dismayed as if she'd sent her child off with a stranger. ‘Will love work. But now—best for last.'

Nerves humming with anticipation at offering her what he hoped would be a welcome surprise, he led her away.

‘You wanted me to see some—ooh!' Elizabeth stopped short, her query ending in a gasp as she caught sight of the grouping of watercolours Hal had ordered.

‘More works by Mr Turner, artist admired at Royal Academy,' Hal explained. ‘Does oils, but especially noted for watercolours like these. Rivers, cities, castles, landscapes, ships at sea.'

As she had at the Royal Academy, for several long moments Elizabeth said nothing. Standing in rapt contemplation, her eyes darted from one to another as she took in composition, colour, theme. ‘They are magnificent!' she pronounced at last.

Hal had hoped she would enjoy seeing more examples of the artist's work. Gratified to have been proven correct, he focused his gaze not on the extraordinary paintings of Mr Turner, but on the lady examining them.

How he loved seeing that joyous smile on her face, the glow of enthusiasm that made her already striking beauty even more luminous. ‘Glad you admire them,' he said.

‘How could anyone with a shred of sensibility not admire them?' she demanded. ‘See this one—the calm water, boats bobbing at anchor beneath the gold of the mountains and the soaring, swirling clouds of the sky! One almost expects the vapour to float off the image on to one's hand! And this—the town, glowing with light, towering over the placid river, all of it overlooked by a restless, wind-driven sky. And the last—the group of workmen carrying their burdens in the foreground, the city in the distance so mysterious, veiled in mist and smoke. Extraordinary!'

No, you are extraordinary, Hal thought, smiling at her enthusiasm.

‘Thank you so much for bringing me! I've never been tempted by gowns or bonnets, but I must admit I'm regretting that we came here to sell rather than buy art. For the first time I can appreciate the fervour that drove Everitt to collect.'

‘You like the Turners, Mrs Lowery?' Mr Christie's voice interrupted them. So intent had she been on studying the art and Hal on studying her, they'd not noticed the dealer's return.

‘Very much.'

‘Your late husband was a most astute investor. I shall have no trouble placing those pieces with which you are willing to part. Or if you would care to arrange a trade…' He gestured to the Turner watercolours.

Elizabeth sighed. ‘Regretfully, no.'

The dealer nodded. ‘Though he has acquired several patrons, Lord Egremont among them, Mr Turner is a prolific artist. Perhaps another time.'

She nodded. ‘Perhaps.'

‘By the way, the sketches you brought were quite well done, particularly the portraits and the delightful drawings of dogs. If the paintings based on them are of similar quality, I shall have no trouble finding purchasers.'

Hal looked at her and raised his eyebrows, an ‘I-told-you-so' expression on his face. ‘Appreciate your time,' Hal told Mr Christie. ‘Contact you soon.'

The art dealer bowed. ‘I shall be at your disposal. Mrs Lowery, a pleasure.'

A few minutes later they re-entered the waiting hackney. After they seated themselves, Elizabeth turned to Hal, her face glowing with a look of such happiness and affection that his heart expanded in his chest. ‘Thank you again for today,' she said softly. ‘Even if I can't purchase a Turner landscape, I now have hope I might some day sell my own work.'

‘Told you would recognise your talent.'

‘Well, he hasn't actually seen the oils, so I shall not count my commissions yet,' she replied with a twinkle.

‘Value them when sees them. Possess great talent. Expert confirm it. Have only to decide how wish to utilise it. Still need not show work publicly if choose not to. But now know for sure you have choice.'

Her eyes lit, as if she were realising that fact for the first time. ‘I…I suppose I do. Elizabeth Lowery, artist.' Hugging the sketchbook close, she threw back her head and laughed, the sound joyous and free.

He could almost see a sense of confidence and excitement growing in her as he watched. Tenderness curled in his chest—and pride, that he had been the one who'd led her to discover this new power within.

‘Can keep sketches of David, Max?' he asked. ‘Show investors when travel north. Some hold dogs as dear as children.'