Courting Claudia (7 page)

“I beg your pardon? Did I enjoy what?”

“The kiss.”

“I will not answer that.”

“Again you answer.”

“You are infuriating.”

“So I've been told. Why is that, do you think?”

“Because you clearly find it amusing to make those in your company uncomfortable.”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but stopped. Honestly? No, she wasn't uncomfortable. She should be, though. Wasn't that the point? Nothing about their time together had been proper. So why didn't she feel uncomfortable as she accused? That was a fault in her.

A fault her father would never understand. Nor would Richard. Richard. She was supposed to meet him today—to test the waters and see if she could persuade him to kiss her. Yet here she was with another man. A man whom she'd kissed. Twice.

“I believe it's past time that we returned. I have an appointment this afternoon.”

“Very well.”

 

They rode all the way back to London in silence.

He knew her appointment was with Richard. Knowing that annoyed him. And the fact that he was annoyed annoyed him even more. What did he care if she ruined her life with a bastard like Richard Foxmore?

Derrick acknowledged that it was his pride more than anything that was hurt. She'd kissed him—more passionately than any other woman he'd ever kissed—and yet the entire time she'd been thinking of another man. A man who, Derrick would wager, had successfully hidden his true colors from Claudia and her father.

He climbed back into his carriage after delivering Claudia to her doorstep. This courting business was more difficult than he had anticipated. Not only was he honestly attracted to Claudia, which both complicated and enhanced the situation, but he was beginning to feel guilty about misleading her.

Yes, he was doing an honorable thing by dissuading her from marrying Richard, but wouldn't
he still be courting her to save his paper regardless of her relationship with Richard?

The truth of the matter was he didn't want to hurt her. He knew firsthand what betrayal felt like, and he wanted no part in inflicting such pain on someone. He simply needed to ensure that Claudia didn't have real feelings for him. Attraction, yes, but nothing deeper than that, and all would be fine. He couldn't break her heart if she didn't give it to him.

It disgusted him that he'd resorted to trickery to save his paper. He despised all sorts of deception after his marriage with Julia, and he'd wanted no part of another charade. Yet here he was playing the lead role in a major production.

He pushed his fingers through his hair. Damn, he wanted Claudia. Wanted to yank off that ridiculous bonnet of hers and run his fingers through her golden curls. Wanted to peel that riding habit off her lush body and cover her with kisses. He wanted to see if the blush that stained her cheeks also stained her breasts. Hell, he wanted to lose himself inside her until she screamed his name.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted a woman the way he wanted Claudia.

 

It wasn't as if she'd never been late before, but being more than a quarter of an hour late, she'd
be surprised if Richard was still here. She'd been less than kind to Derrick, but that was surely a good thing. If kindness in any way encouraged his attentions, she should be outright nasty to him.

She ran into the house and began her search for Richard. She found him three doors later in the library, newspaper in hand.

“I do apologize for my tardiness, Richard. I can't possibly expect you to forgive me.”

He set the paper aside. “It is awfully inconsiderate of you, but I suppose I shall find it in my heart to forgive you.” He looked up, and by the expression of horror on his face, Claudia realized her hair and clothes were probably not in perfect order. He came to his feet. “Good God, Claudia, where have you been?”

“I went out for a morning ride, and I'm afraid my horse got away with me, and, well, that is why I look a fright.”

“Did anyone see you?”

“I don't believe so. I'm not injured if you're concerned,” she added more tartly than she'd intended.

“Of course. I'm glad to see you're all right.” He sat. “So tell me what was so urgent that I had to come over today? It must not be too urgent if you couldn't even be here on time.”

She came and sat beside him on the settee. “I wanted to spend some time with you. Alone.”

“I see.”

“Do you have anything you wish to discuss with me?”

He uncrossed his legs, shifted slightly, then re-crossed them. “Not that I can think of.”

“What did you do this morning?”

“Nothing too interesting.”

He recounted his morning events, which consisted of breakfast at his club, and then a meeting with some fellows. “That's very interesting.” She situated herself slightly closer to him so that her leg touched his. It was through layers of clothing, but nonetheless, it was the most contact she'd had with Richard aside from dancing.

She listened to him drone on about the last session, all the while contemplating how to get him to kiss her. Poppy had said that if she wanted to kiss a man, she'd do it herself. Well, if Poppy could do it, then so could she. And as fortune, or whatever, would have it, she'd had a lot of experience kissing lately, so at least she was somewhat positive that she'd do it right.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, then leaned in and planted her lips on his in mid-sentence. Even with all her newfound kissing expertise, she'd never started a kiss and wasn't
certain how to go about it, so she simply pressed her lips to his.

Richard pushed against her and stood. She must have done something dreadfully wrong.

“Claudia, what has gotten into you?”

“Nothing. I only wanted us to be closer.” She stood too. “Richard, we've been together for a long time, and you've never so much as kissed my hand.”

“I was waiting until we were properly engaged.”

That certainly proved that Mr. Middleton was not a proper gentleman. He'd said that any man who'd been courting her as long as Richard should have kissed her countless times. And now she'd gone and offended Richard.

She would never learn.

“I'm afraid I must go. I shall see you later.”

“Richard.” She put her hand on his arm. “I wanted to be closer to you. Don't you ever want to kiss me?” She asked the question without realizing that the answer could be something she wasn't prepared to hear.

He glared at her hand resting on his arm, so she pulled it away. “I will not have this discussion with you. Proper gentlemen and ladies do not discuss such things. Good day, Claudia.”

He couldn't have made her feel any worse if he'd laid a shilling by her side. She'd worked sev
eral scenarios over in her mind of her and Richard's first kiss, and none of them had played out like this.

This led her to two conclusions. One, this had nothing to do with propriety and everything to do with Richard not desiring her. Second, if Richard didn't desire her, there was no way that Derrick did. Not really.

C
laudia waited in the hall for Derrick's assistant to see if Derrick was busy. Perhaps she should start making appointments before arriving. That wouldn't be necessary though, she reminded herself, as this was a one-time meeting. She'd never before shown anyone her preliminary illustrations, but he'd been so curious to see them in the garden. It was so freeing having someone to discuss her illustrations with.

She felt the heat of shame color her cheeks. Derrick was deceiving her, pretending to court her. And allowing herself to be deceived in such a
manner was foolish. But the vanity regarding her drawing was too much of a pull.

It felt as if he truly understood, truly appreciated her talent. Pride swelled in her chest, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling like a fool. It was unusual, this feeling of being recognized. Of course, he did have financial reasons to appear enthusiastic about her talent.

From this moment on, it would be strictly business between them. No more stolen kisses. No more fantasies about stolen kisses. She had a problem with Richard she needed to sort out, and she didn't need Derrick Middleton and the girlish fantasies he evoked getting in the way.

She would show him the illustration, get his opinion, then be on her way. She tilted her chin and gave herself a little nod of approval.

Mason opened the office door and held it for her. “He'll see you now.”

“Thank you.”

She walked in and noted for the first time how orderly his office was. A bookshelf lined the right wall and was filled with leather-bound volumes. Derrick sat behind a large mahogany desk that was clean of everything but the papers he was currently working on. He gave her a crooked smile.

“That will be all, Mason,” he said. “What can I do for you today, Miss Prattley?”

“Such formalities. I don't recall you being quite so formal the last time I saw you, Mr. Middleton.” She hated to be haughty, but perhaps if she acted the prude he would cease his attentions.

He leaned forward. “Are you flirting with me?”

She couldn't even successfully pretend to be a prude. “Heavens no.” She walked forward and sat across from him. This was a business meeting, and the sooner he realized that, the better. “I brought my preliminary drawing in. It's only a sketch, but you expressed interest. I know it's not customary for me to bring my work in personally; I usually send it by courier, but I was in the neighborhood.”

He walked around the desk and sat next to her. “You don't have to make excuses to come see me, Claudia. My door is always open to you.”

His breath warmed her arm when he spoke. He was too close.

“I'm not making excuses.” She was, and she knew it. He knew it too, which made the entire situation embarrassing.

Her vanity, how little she had of it, would get her into trouble. She should keep her distance from him, but while she recognized that, she didn't want to. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed their conversations. She also very much enjoyed their kisses, but she tried not to think about that.

She retrieved the drawing from her bag and handed it to him.

She watched him examine the parchment. He took the time to really look at it, didn't merely glance at it, then put it aside.

“Excellent. Your detail gets better with every illustration.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm hoping to incorporate color into the paper soon. I believe your illustrations would be a perfect place to start.”

“Color? Oh, that would be marvelous. Of course, then I'd have to make detailed notes to ensure the right color was used. But wouldn't it be splendid?”

He started to hand the drawing back to her, then stopped and fiddled with the edge of the paper. It separated, revealing another sheet beneath. He peeled the top drawing off and placed it on his desktop.

Heavens no! The drawing she'd made of them dancing. How could she have been so foolish? The pages must have gotten stuck together. It had happened a few times before with this particular parchment, and she'd neglected to check. It had never been a problem before, as she'd never shared her initial drawings with anyone. She reached for the illustration, but he pulled it away.

“I want to look at this.”

She should have burned it. “But that's not an illustration I'm submitting. That was a mistake,” she added quietly.

He looked at her, raised his eyebrow, then looked back at the picture. “Yes, it was a mistake.”

Now he would know she was an utter fool. Fantasizing about him when she ought to be thinking about Richard.

“This is not your best work,” he said.

His words pinched. “I realize that. I didn't intend to draw you, but it just happened, and the likeness is sadly lacking. I think it's the eyes, but I've never been quite sure.”

“It's not
my
image that's lacking.” He frowned. “It's yours. This is you, isn't it?” He pointed at the lady in the picture.

“Yes.”

“It doesn't look anything like you. It's like a caricature. A badly done cartoon from
The Strand
.”

“What do you mean, it doesn't look like me? It looks exactly like me. See, that's my dress.” She tapped on the page.

“That might be your dress, but this is not you. Look at the features. The only thing you got right was the hair, and even then the texture looks off.”

Texture. What was he talking about? Her hair was curly. Too curly. That was the texture. And the
features—she'd gotten them perfect. Right down to the extra flesh that hinted at a second chin. She looked back at him and still he stared at the drawing, his brow furrowed.

“You weren't supposed to ever see this drawing.” She tugged on the edge, but he wouldn't release it. “No one was,” she added softly.

Derrick shook his head. “If I could draw, I would show where you went wrong. Sorry to say that my illustrating skills are sadly lacking.”

“Hand it back to me, and we'll forget about it.” She certainly didn't want this to affect his opinion of her talent. “Not all of my illustrations are perfect, that's why I draw more than one before I turn them in. This one was for me, merely a sketch. No one was supposed to see it. Least of all you.”

“Claudia, it's not the quality I object to. Look at this. Look at your face. Do you see the difference in the way you drew yourself and the way you drew me? Or how about this?” He grabbed the other drawing from his desk, “The twins. Those girls are not what you would deem beautiful, yet you highlighted their best features in this illustration.”

She glanced at the drawing of the twins. He was right, they were not particularly handsome women, but she had taken careful consideration to not draw attention to their overly large noses or poor complexions. She looked over at the image of
herself. It might not look exactly like her, but it was close.

“It's not mine but rather your eyes that are lacking in this image. They have none of your sparkle and inquisitiveness.” He brushed his hand down the side of her cheek. “It's difficult to capture the glow in your cheeks without color, I realize, but you could have hinted with some shading.”

Her cheeks were red all the time, as if she were an actress who had gone too far with the rouge. She found them to be yet one more thing to hate about herself. Yet he thought it was a glow.

“Had I drawn this, I would have focused on the subtle arch of your eyebrows.” He moved his thumb across her right eyebrow. “And that mouth of yours. The perfect and intoxicating mouth.” One finger feathered a touch across her lips, and she clenched her jaw to keep herself from giving in to the urge to nip them.

His finger trailed from her lips, down her jaw, across her collarbone to the top of her dress. “Where is your tempting cleavage?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“In the picture. Where is your tempting cleavage? Or your waist, for that matter?” He met her gaze, but didn't wait for a reply before he continued. “'Tis a shame, the way you see yourself,
Claudia.” He leaned in so that they were merely a breath away. “I have a mind to strip away those clothes of yours, stand you in front of a mirror, and show you what I see.”

Chills scattered over every inch of her body. Her heart beat so rapidly, she was certain it would jump right out of her chest. She brought her hand up to hold it in if necessary.

She needed to leave. This conversation had become highly indecorous. She stood. “I should leave.”

He grabbed her arm. “Please don't.”

“I only stopped to show you that drawing. I need to be on my way.”

“All right, I'll let you leave, but only if you agree to meet me tonight.” He stood to face her.

She swallowed. “I cannot meet you. Someone might see us.”

“Of course they will! Tonight I'm going to an art showing for a friend.” He retrieved an envelope from his desk.

How humiliating. She prayed the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She'd thought he invited her for a rendezvous, and he was offering her a legitimate invitation. She truly was a harlot.

He handed her the invitation. “You would enjoy it.”

She
would
enjoy it. But she was so embarrassed right now, she wasn't certain she could ever face him again. “I don't know,” she finally said.

“Bring Poppy along. I promise I'll behave. But there is something there I would like you to see.”

“I'll talk to Poppy and see what she says.”

“Do you want me to send a carriage after you?”

“No. I can manage on my own, thank you.”

“Then I shall see you tonight.”

“Perhaps.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, all the while his eyes locked on hers. His warm mouth lingered a bit longer than was necessary, and a shiver went through her.

“I look forward to it,” he said and dropped her hand.

 

Excitement and trepidation swirled through Claudia's stomach, battling for dominance. She shifted on the carriage seat and fought to keep her hands still.

“Where did you tell your father you were going?” Poppy asked from across the carriage.

“To the Petermans' soiree.”

“This early?”

“Well, he wasn't home when I left, so he won't know I left several hours before the soiree begins. If he asks, I'll simply tell him I went to your house
to get dressed. It's not as if he'll speak to your parents to verify my story.”

“True. What kind of art exhibit is this?”

“A private one, by invitation only. I'm not positive what that means, but nonetheless Mr. Middleton secured us an invitation. It's a private society of painters. I can't recollect what they call themselves.”

“Sounds mysterious,” Poppy said.

Claudia let her gaze fall to the window. The afternoon sun lingered, giving the street an ethereal glow. The calmness of dusk was in sharp contrast to her nerves. Her mind wandered back to what Derrick had said in his office. Strip her clothes off to show her what he saw? What did that mean?

It was utterly scandalous, that much she knew. No one had ever spoken to her in such a manner, and she knew she should be offended, but she felt nothing but shock laced with curiosity and something she could only label as intense desire. What did he see when he looked at her?

“He's still courting you,” Poppy said. “I thought you were going to tell him you weren't interested.”

“I'm not. I did. Well, that is to say, I told him he mustn't court me.”

“Then why did he invite you to a private art showing?”

“Because I'm an artist and he appreciates that.”

“Did he invite all his illustrators?”

“I don't know. Perhaps.”

Poppy narrowed her eyes. “I don't think you're being completely honest with me.” Then she smiled. “But if you want to keep your little secrets, I'll be content to speculate from a distance.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. You never told me how your meeting with Richard went. Did you kiss him?”

Perfect. As if she wasn't nervous enough, and Poppy had to bring up that dreadful incident. She recounted the story of her failed attempt at kissing Richard. Poppy simply sat across from her, staring with mouth agape.

“He pushed you off of him?” Poppy asked incredulously.

“Yes. He was quite offended.” Claudia shook her head. “It was a shameful idea. I shouldn't have even thought it, much less attempted it. There is a reason men are the instigators in relationships. It's the way it's supposed to be.”

“That's foolish, Claudia. He's a wretched man. There is no rule, unwritten or not, that says that only a man can instigate kisses. Richard is your beau—or is supposed to be. He's been courting you for a year, for heaven's sake, with the intention to marry you. There is absolutely no reason
why he wouldn't let you kiss him. Except pure meanness.”

“I don't think that's it, Poppy. I think he was affronted that I even attempted it. I think the thought of kissing me repulses him.”

Poppy smacked her hands onto her lap. “Well, that's simply ridiculous. And even if it were true, then it's a testament to how wrong Richard is for you.”

The carriage rocked to a stop, which was perfect timing because there was no reason to discuss Richard with Poppy. Her friend would never approve of the match.

“I suppose that means we're here,” Claudia said, eyeing the carriage door.

“Yes, I suppose it does. Are we going to get out?”

Claudia put her hand on the door, then stopped. “If my father knew about this, he would kill me.”

“If you always did as your father instructed, your life would be dreadful. I'm here with you. I realize that doesn't offer you much of a buffer, considering he doesn't exactly approve of me, but it's only an art exhibit.”

“I don't know, Poppy.”