Love's Portrait (6 page)

Slowing his breathing, he must have drifted off, for it seemed like only seconds had elapsed before Julia was touching his hand.

“Morgan, the carriage is here.”

He answered her with a grunt and rose to his feet once more. Using the desk to hold himself steady, he made his way around the furniture at a slow pace.

“Walking stick.”

His rough command was hardly a whisper, but an instant later, she offered his cane to him in silence. One arm around his waist, she allowed him to lean on her as he moved toward the door. It was a pleasant sensation. He’d never had a woman he was attracted to aid him in such a manner. Reaching the door, he took a deep breath and gently pushed her away from his side.

“I prefer to walk without help, Julia.”

“And you have the audacity to think me obstinate and foolhardy.”

Ignoring the irritation in her quiet voice, he braced himself for the noise about to assault his senses. He straightened his shoulders as he opened the office door. “We can discuss my audacity at another time. Right now, I’m waiting on you to lead me out to my carriage.

She sent him a glare as she swept past him and toward the main door of the St. Claire Shipping offices. As he followed her, his head clerk hurried toward him.

“Mr. St. Claire, I need your signature on some documents.”

“Not now, Jeremy.”

“But sir—”

“I
said
not now.” Each word resounded in his head with the force of a gunshot. Bile rose in his throat as he brushed past the man and walked toward the front door of the office as steadily as he could. Julia waited for him in the open doorway. The light behind her was blinding. It exacerbated his pain, and he fought desperately to control his nausea.

Beyond Julia’s voluptuous curves, he could see the open doorway of his carriage. Determined to maintain his composure until he was in private, he continued forward. It seemed like an eternity until he reached the coach door. With what little reserved strength he possessed, he pulled himself up into the vehicle and onto the padded seat.

Surprise broke through the throbbing in his body as Julia climbed in behind him and closed the door. He had no time to speak as the carriage suddenly rocked into motion. A second later, the swaying of the vehicle made him lurch forward and retch violently. When he’d finished, he sank back against the leather seat thoroughly exhausted. A softly scented piece of linen dabbed at his mouth. It smelled of lavender.

“You’ll be home shortly. It will please you to know that the men simply thought you in a bad mood. They didn’t suspect you were unwell.”

He barely nodded his head before turning away from her. It had been a long time since he’d been this miserable. Of course, he had no one to blame but himself. All the signs of an impending migraine had been there, he’d simply ignored them.

The most puzzling thing was Julia’s behavior. It had only been a few days since she’d lost their wager, and every time he’d said even a word to her, she’d presented a stony façade that he’d been unable to shatter. It made this gentle, caring demeanor of hers all the more confusing. And the last thing he liked, aside from migraines, was being confused.

Women never confused him. He confused them. It had become an art form with him. His head reverberated with a jolt of pain. He failed to suppress the groan that poured out of him. Damn it to hell, would this infernal carriage not stop. As if hearing the unspoken curse, the coach rolled to a halt, and he steeled himself for another performance just to get to his rooms. The silk of her glove touched his bare hand.

“I instructed the driver to take us to the back of the hotel. I didn’t want you to feel it necessary to repeat the heroics you displayed at your offices.”

There was no censure in her voice, but there was the distinct thread of humor. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have taken the time to make an appropriate retort. Instead, he grimaced. Moving his head was too painful. The carriage door opened and Julia exited to turn and wait for him to climb out of the vehicle.

The fresh air gave him a renewed sense of energy, and he steadied himself against the black lacquered panels of his carriage. A warm body slid up along side him as she wrapped an arm around his waist to guide him. Grateful for her help, he put one foot forward after the other until they reached the hotel’s back door. As a bustle of activity exploded around him, he pitched forward into a black hole.

Chapter 4

Morgan’s room was every bit as decadent as she remembered, and a shudder went through her as she watched two footmen lift his tall, sturdy frame onto the bed. She’d lost her bet to him almost a week ago, and the blasted man had yet to send her a note or pay her a call to arrange for the collection of his winnings. But he’d been nothing but pleasant since the Society’s auction.

Silently, she cursed her stupidity at having entered into a wager with him. St. Claire’s silence in the matter was nerve wracking. Even in spite of his solicitous manner, she found herself waiting for the man to claim his one night with her when she least expected it. Such a tactic had been one of her late husband’s finer skills—surprise was how Oscar had controlled her. That, along with fear and criticism.

Distancing herself from the painful memory of her repressive marriage, she looked toward the bed where Morgan lay. He stirred something in her she’d thought long dead. She bit her lip at the thought. It alarmed her to know she was attracted to the man. He was a threat to everything she’d fought so hard to achieve since Oscar’s death.

With a man like Morgan St. Claire, her independence would be at stake. The man was used to getting his way with everything and everyone in his world. He didn’t like to be thwarted. At the same time she’d found him a thoughtful and considerate employer. Morgan seemed to truly care about the people working for him. Especially disconcerting was how he’d taken extra time with her over the past few days explaining how the shipping industry worked. He’d answered all her questions patiently and without condescension. That fact alone had attracted her to the man all the more.

The footmen, having closed the drapes and lit candles, passed the hotel’s head housekeeper on their way out of the room. Tall and thin, Mrs. Welkins entered with a tray of rags and bowl of water. As she set her burden on the nightstand beside Morgan’s bed, the woman turned to face her.

“Thank you for agreeing to tend to Mr. St. Claire for a short time, ma’am. I have several other things to attend to before I can return, and he’ll be wanting his tea when he wakes up so I must set that out to brew. I promise not be too long.”

“I’m happy to help, Mrs. Welkins. My father suffered from migraines, and I’m familiar with what needs to be done.”

With a grateful smile, the woman left her alone with Morgan. Sighing softly, Julia removed her hat and snaked the hatpin through the plumes. Carelessly, she dropped it onto a nearby chair along with her gloves before moving to the side of the bed.

Morgan’s face had lost some of the harsh lines that emphasized his commanding nature. At the moment, he appeared defenseless, almost boyish in his expression. She was certain he wouldn’t like anyone seeing him this way, least of all her. With a gentle touch, Julia pushed a lock of chestnut hair off his forehead. Flustered by her actions, she quickly turned to the bowl of lavender-scented water Mrs. Welkins had left.

Her fingers swished a rag in the water as she seated herself on the edge of the massive bed. She gave the cloth a sharp twist then with a light touch laid it across Morgan’s forehead. For some reason, it seemed quite natural for her to be here—tending to this man.

It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but it was confusing. Her fingers tingled from the heat of his skin as she adjusted the cloth on his forehead. There was a pinched set to his firm mouth. Even in repose, he seemed in pain. She shook her head slightly at the memory of him walking past his shipping clerks as if he was hale and hearty. It had been nothing short of magnificent.

With a frown, she retrieved another rag to soak in the scented water. She didn’t want to find Morgan St. Claire magnificent. She didn’t want to think or feel anything about him. The man was a rake—a dangerous one at that. With his handsome face and silk-edged compliments, it was understandable why women fell at his feet. But she had no intention of being classified a St. Claire woman.

The man might have won their wager, but he would never win her mind or heart. She would see to that. Water droplets wet her palm as she gently dampened Morgan’s pale features. There was an intimacy to her actions that disconcerted her. Unwillingly, her gaze drifted down to a strong, tanned neck showing through the open folds of a white shirt. The footmen had removed his jacket, stock pin and tie then undone the top few buttons of his shirt. The vee revealed only a small portion of his throat and chest, but it was enough to make her imagination soar.

She bit her lip as her gaze roved over the length of him. The sight of his large hands on the black bedspread brought to mind the way he had pulled her into his arms the night he’d caught her stealing his handkerchief. His lips had seared hers and the memory was so vivid her fingers flew up to her burning mouth. She’d never been kissed like that in her life, and she’d liked it. It had made her feel wicked and daring.

It was the same sensation she’d experienced when she’d posed for her portrait. Swallowing the knot of confusion that tightened her throat, she shook her head slightly. The man was far too attractive for her peace of mind. God only knew what would happen to her when he demanded she make good on their wager.

She’d gotten herself into such a mess and there was no way out of it. Even more disturbing was the fact she might find it almost impossible to avoid succumbing to his charms. She scowled at the thought. There had to be some way to put an emotional barrier between them.

Her gaze drifted back to his face, noting the tightness at the corners of his mouth had eased somewhat. The cloth on his forehead had lost its coolness, so she lifted it from his head and soaked it again. Replacing the damp cloth on his skin, she was pulling away when a strong hand gripped her wrist.

Startled, she froze. The last time she’d been held her so fast, she’d been tied to a bed while Oscar rutted on top of her. Julia suppressed the hideous memory and fought not to jerk out of his grasp. It would only arouse his curiosity. Something she didn’t want. Julia focused her gaze on Morgan’s face and saw his eyes were still closed.

“You may leave now, Julia.” His voice was husky, almost hoarse.

“And if I go, who will change the cloth on your forehead?”

“I’ll manage.”

“I told Mrs. Welkins I’d wait for her return.” Stubbornness had to be this man’s most annoying trait. She glared at him, mentally challenging him to look at her. He didn’t. Instead, his long finger rubbed against the inside of her wrist in the manner of a blind man. The simple gesture filled her belly with fire. His eyes still closed, the corners of his mouth tilted up in a slight smile.

“As soft as I’ve imagined.”

“Stop that.” She tried to tug herself free, but his grip simply tightened around her wrist. It startled her that she didn’t feel panic at his restraint. If anything, her only fear was that she found his touch far too pleasant.

“I like the feel of your skin beneath my fingers.”

“I care little for what you like, St. Claire. Release me this instant,” she snapped as the fire spreading across her skin only exacerbated the fear inside her.

“Ahh, there it is again, that waspish tone.” His fingers relinquished his hold on her, and she stumbled to her feet. She watched him slowly open his eyes to meet her gaze with just a hint of the irreverent mischief she was accustomed to seeing in him.

“Whatever are you referring to?”

“You get defensive whenever you’re frightened.”

“I do not.” She scowled at the way his mouth twisted with amusement. “You’re right. I should leave. You no longer have need of me.”

With a final glare in his direction, she wheeled about and walked stiffly toward the chair where she’d left her hat and gloves. She’d only taken a few steps when a loud crash, mingled with a weary oath of frustration, filled the air behind her. Whirling around, she saw Morgan flop wearily back into the mattress. At the foot of the nightstand, the bowl of lavender water lay in pieces on the floor. Annoyed by his bullheadedness, she returned to the bedside and adjusted his pillows none too gently.

“You, Morgan St. Claire, are the most obstinate man I’ve ever met. One of these days, that pride of yours is going to cause you to fall flat on your face.” Straightening, she scowled down at him with her hands on her hips.

“Your confidence is one of the most intriguing things about you, Julia. I like a confident woman in my bed,” he murmured with obvious exhaustion.

The observation stunned her. How on earth could he possibly think she was confident? She was the least self-assured person she knew. “I am not in your bed, St. Claire.”

“But you will be, and quite soon, I think.” His words were soft, almost as if he were talking to himself.to

“Then collect your damned prize and leave me be.” She turned away, only to feel the warmth of his hand on her wrist once more.

“You are definitely a prize, my sweet, but I’ll collect my treasure at a time of my choosing, not yours.” Despite the pain furrowing his brow, his dark blue gaze held a possessive gleam that set her heart pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer against an anvil.

Mesmerized, she stared down at Morgan, knowing the reckoning between them would not be avoided. She flicked her tongue out to wet her dry lips, and his eyes narrowed with an emotion that alarmed and exhilarated her in the same breath. Good Lord—she was far too attracted to this man. Heaven help her if she became involved with him. The man would control and manipulate her until he tired of her, and then where would she be. Lost.

Her gaze fell on his fingers holding her fast. The sudden image of her hands bound in a black necktie made her shudder. She’d lived that hellish existence while Oscar was alive. He’d been a bastard, but he’d taught her one thing. Never let anyone control her. Never again.