Courting Claudia (4 page)

“Yes, madam.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “You may leave us.”

Jacobs stood for a moment as if unsure if he actually could leave them, then he nodded and returned inside.

Today she wore no hat, so her honey-blond curls glistened in the sunlight. With her eyes wide and her smile bright, she looked surprised to see him. Pleasantly so. He took a step forward.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to see you.”

“I apologize, that must have sounded rude. It's a surprise to see you.” Her brow furrowed. “Is there a change in the assignment?”

“No.”

Her simple lilac gown was devoid of any ruffles, bows, or other ornamentation. The clean lines of the bodice cupped her breasts, then hugged the rest of her torso, hinting at a narrow waist and nice round hips.

As if she could read his thoughts, her hand moved to her abdomen. Her head tilted to the right, and her features scrunched. “Then why are you here?”

“I already answered that.”

She chewed her lip and thought for a moment. “To see me?” She smiled.

“Yes.”

“I wasn't expecting guests.” She motioned to her gown. “Or I would have dressed more appropriately.”

“I see nothing inappropriate about your clothes, but I do apologize for interrupting. I could come back.”

“No. Now is fine.”

“What are you working on?” He came to stand behind her at the easel to view her painting up close. It was a typical watercolor, the kind of painting appropriate for a young woman. The tingle of peppermint teased his nose—he had noticed it when they danced, but wasn't sure it was she. He leaned in slightly and sniffed her hair. How fitting—subtle yet refreshing and energetic all at the same time.

“A watercolor. I'm working on shadows.” She took a step back and stepped right on his boot.

“Gracious. Did I hurt you?” She looked truly concerned.

He had to laugh. “No, you didn't hurt me. You paint well, but your drawings are much better.” He took her hand—it was warm within his, her small round fingers tipped with short-cropped nails.

She gazed up at him with her huge blue eyes, and he nearly forgot everything. Why he was here. Why he needed to court her. Everything but how deep and blue her eyes were and how he wanted to get lost in them and see what else Claudia Prattley could make him forget.

He led her to the garden bench, and once they were seated, she pulled her hand away and set it in her lap. Her movement broke the spell—it was a damned good thing. He didn't need to be getting lost in anyone's eyes. He'd done that once before and been played the fool. He wouldn't be that careless again.

Courting Claudia was a business move and nothing more. It didn't matter how blue her eyes were or how kissable those lips of hers looked.

He needed to focus on the task at hand. “Do you have any illustrations you can show me?”

She looked down at her feet as if inspecting the ground for something. “I've sketched a few ideas but haven't started on the wood.”

“May I see them? The sketches?”

“No. They're not ready yet.”

“Do you always start with paper?”

“Yes, I often need to draw a few ideas before I'm sure of which one is the best. So I use the paper to work until I feel I have the right image. Then I work on the wood for the final drawing.”

Her mouth was fascinating as she talked. Her perfect, pink lips wrapped around each syllable in a caress. Damnation. He sounded like a fool.

“I've never seen one of my illustrator's preliminary works. Let me take a peek. I will not pass judgment.”

She chewed at her lip. Such full lips, it was a shame only she nibbled at them.

“I'd rather not. I should have the finished product soon, and I can send that to you.”

“I shall have to wait, then.” This was going dreadfully. How could he save matters? “I intend to court you.”
Charming
. He had to force himself not to wince. He certainly wouldn't knock her off her feet with that kind of clumsiness.

“I beg your pardon?”

Damnation, he'd never courted a proper lady before. He'd never courted any kind of lady before. He and Julia hadn't even had an official courtship, just a few tumbles, a sudden pregnancy, and a hasty marriage. Ever since then, his relations with women had been confined to the bedroom—simple, no complications, no emotions, just touching. So why was he so bloody nervous now?

Uncharted territory, that was all. Nothing about Miss Prattley should make him feel insecure in his intentions. If Richard was her only suitor, then she
didn't have much to compare him to, so he needn't worry. And surely he could do better than Richard.
Be courteous and romantic
. That's how men courted proper ladies.

“I do apologize for the abruptness of that. I meant to say it much more…that is to say, I only wanted you to know that I came today to notify you of my intentions. I would like to court you, Claudia.”

She gawked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. She opened her mouth to say something, then promptly shook her head and closed her mouth.

“Do you not have anything to say?” he asked.

“I'm not certain what to say.” She frowned, then the lines in her forehead smoothed and she gave him a little smile—two dimples pierced her cheeks. It was a most becoming smile. Genuine. She really was quite fetching.

“That is quite amusing, Mr. Middleton, but I should think you had better use of your time than teasing a girl like me.”

“I don't follow.”

“Well, since you cannot be serious, it must mean that you are playing a joke on me, and while I'm sure you find it vastly entertaining, I do not share your humor in the situation.” She tilted her chin up ever so slightly. “Were I not the kind of
woman I am, I might have my feelings hurt by your mockery.”

Damn. He hated to lie, but he had no choice. He needed her. For his paper. “I assure you I am not mocking you. I came here to express my honest intentions of courting you. You mentioned a need to marry, and I find you utterly charming.” Well, at least that wasn't a lie—she was charming. “I thought if you would have me, I would like to throw my hat, as it were, into the pile and try to win your hand.”

She released a giggle. The throaty sound played havoc on his nerves. “Into the pile?” she asked.

“Correct.”

“I don't believe there is an actual pile, sir.”

“Richard Foxmore is courting you, is he not?”

She nodded curtly. “He is.”

“And are you engaged?”

“Not officially.”

“Has he ever proposed marriage?”

She smoothed her hands across her skirt. “No, he has not. But I believe he and my father have discussed it.”

Richard was a spineless bastard. He no doubt was dragging his feet, waiting for a better offer elsewhere. All the while, he strung Claudia along. “If he has not proposed to you, then he
lays no claim on you. I am free to court you. Isn't that correct?”

“I suppose that if a girl is not engaged and is not necessarily in love with one suitor, then she is in a position to accept other suitors.”

Interesting. “So you admit that you do not love Richard?”

She visibly bristled. “I did not say that. I was speaking hypothetically. Whether or not I love Richard is, frankly, none of your concern.”

A sharp tongue too. She became more fascinating by the moment. A breeze fluttered a stray curl to rest on her cheek. He fought the urge to reach up and tuck it behind her ear.

“Why is it so hard to believe that I would court you when you have one suitor already?”

Her eyes narrowed, and tiny lines fanned out in the corners. “You and Richard are…different.”

“Aside from our birth positions, how exactly are we different? We are both men who obviously share similar taste in beautiful women.”

She stiffened. “Do not mock me, sir.” Her words came out slow and tight.

He'd hit upon a sore spot. She wasn't beautiful in the fashionable sense—she was shorter and fleshier than most women, but she had a beauty all her own. Her blond curls whispered for a touch,
and her perfect mouth begged for a kiss. And her breasts—he didn't even want to think about what her breasts needed.

What he had to do was convince her she was desirable. Considering his half-aroused state, that shouldn't be too difficult.

“I was not trying to mock you.” He let his words settle a bit before he continued. “So tell me, what is it that Richard does to woo you? How has he won your heart?”

She frowned. “You'd like to know what, precisely?”

“What does Richard do—how does he court you?”

She opened her mouth, then shut it.

“Let me take a guess. I would wager he recites poetry.”

Her head snapped up.

That was so like Richard Foxmore. To ensnare people with words. Not his own, he would guess.

“So he probably quotes poems that mention that your hair is the color of sunlight on a warm day. And that your skin resembles the smoothest of creams. Or perhaps he declares your eyes to be the color of the bluebells growing on the hillside.” Those bluebell eyes widened, but she never looked away. “Your mouth, oh, your sweet mouth—he
would say it was shaped like the most perfect of rosebuds.” Her teeth worried her bottom lip. “Am I getting warmer?”

“He's said some things like that. Only I don't believe I've heard those particular phrases.” Her brow furrowed. “Who wrote them?”

He leaned in closer to her. “No one. I just said them.”

“I see,” she said in a near whisper.

“I cannot court you like that, Miss Prattley. I hope you don't mind. But when I look at your hair, I don't think of sunshine.”

Her frown deepened. “You don't?”

“No. I think of thick, rich honey that I want to pour onto my tongue.”

“
Oh
.”

“And when I see your skin, I don't think of cream.”

“No?”

“No. I think of the finest of satins that I want to glide my fingers across.”

“Oh my.”

“Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“Yes, your eyes, I don't think of bluebells. I think of the bluest of water and the way it's slippery against my skin when I dive beneath the surface.”

She licked her lips and nodded slightly.

“And your mouth. I don't think of rosebuds or any other flowers when I look at your mouth.”

“You don't?”

“No. The only thought I have when I look at your mouth is of warm, slow kisses that last all afternoon.”

“Oh my goodness.” She leaned in a little closer, and it was all the encouragement he needed.

With one arm, he pulled her closer, then dropped his mouth to hers. It was a kiss meant to prove that he was serious about courting her. A kiss meant to show her she was desirable. But the instant his lips touched hers, he forgot all about his intentions.

Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. With only a tiny amount of coaxing, he was able to open her mouth and explore inside. Her warm breath mingled with his. When he swept his tongue in her mouth, she stiffened slightly, but then released a throaty moan that sent blood rushing to his groin.

He knew he should stop the kiss and get the hell out of here. But she felt so good. Tasted so sweet. He deepened the kiss and felt her fingers lace through his hair. Her tongue tentatively moved against his. Her lack of experience was evident, but her clumsiness only fueled his arousal. Damn, but he wanted her. Right here, right now on this bench in her father's garden.

He fought the urge to groan and forced himself to end the kiss.

Her eyes remained closed, and her breath came in shallow puffs. Finally she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

“I don't believe you have a future as a poet, sir.”

Was she serious? That was her response? While his pants pulled tight across his erection, she thought of poetry. “I should think my poetic words the last thing on your mind.”

“Yes, well, I merely thought that likening my eyes to bluebells is frankly not that clever. I believe I've read that in many a poem.”

The kiss, meant only to make an impression on her, had missed its mark and instead made a big impression on him. Devil take it! He needed to get out of here.

He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. “Claudia, it has been a pleasure seeing you today, but I'm afraid I'm late for an appointment. I do hope you'll allow me to call on you again sometime.”

She only nodded, then stood and went to her painting.

He watched her back for a few seconds, then turned to leave.

Damnation! He hadn't come to her house intending to kiss her or he sure as hell would
have…Would have what? Prepared himself? Never would he have thought he'd have to prepare himself for kissing Claudia Prattley.

Yet kissing her had proven a serious temptation and had done things to his body that a mere kiss hadn't evoked in years. Perhaps since he was a young man in school. And she hadn't been affected at all. Which made no sense. His kisses generally had even the most tarnished of women swaying in his arms. But not Miss Prattley. No, she merely blinked at him, then dismissed him as if he'd done nothing more than shine her shoes.

Derrick mounted the carriage steps, then sat with a huff. More than bloody likely, he'd just been caught off guard. Or, rather, he'd spent too much time staring at her bosom and he'd been aroused before the kiss. None of it made sense.

But she wouldn't get off this easy. No. Now it was war, so to speak. He would do whatever it took to make Miss Prattley weak in the knees. She would swoon over him before this was done. After all, if he was courting her, he might as well teach her the way a real man acts. Poetry! Imagine spending all his time with a willing, desirable woman and doing nothing more than spouting poetry. Richard was a buffoon.