Nicole Jordan (11 page)

Despite his rational mind, though, despite the demands of honor, he kept having fantasies of Diana, lovely illusions where she willingly gave him her luscious body.

And when he was near her in the flesh, his craving for her was even more powerful. At the ruins this afternoon he’d had difficulty keeping his hands off her. It was fortunate they weren’t alone, or he would have found a way to make use of the hot baths.

For a long moment Thorne stood at the open window, letting the breeze wash over his overheated body and chase away the remnants of his erotic dream. The spring nights on Cyrene were still cool enough to be bracing, and he was grateful for the therapeutic effect. Yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep any time soon.

When his erection finally receded, Thorne turned away and threw on a dressing gown, then left his bedchamber, intending to go down to his study and pour himself a stiff brandy.

Diana bit her lower lip in fierce concentration as her pencil flew over her sketch pad. She’d been unable to sleep with her mind overflowing with ideas for paintings. After tossing and turning for hours, she finally rose, driven by the need to capture her ideas on paper.

The household appeared to be asleep as she descended the stairs to the library. Thorne’s villa seemed to offer every possible comfort, but the library with its vast array of leather-bound volumes held a hushed reverence conducive to creativity and enough well-placed lamps to provide good lighting. And if she needed inspiration, the French doors opened onto the terraced gardens and the vista of the magnificent Mediterranean.

She had been so busy the past three days, she hadn’t yet had time to paint at all. Moreover, she hadn’t wanted to impose on Thorne by asking him to donate one of the rooms in his house. She needed a space to set up her easel where she could create a mess without fear of ruining the elegant furnishings. Besides, she would only be here a handful of days longer. Until then she would make do with pencil or charcoal sketches and store up memories for the long voyage to England.

The trouble was, her mind stubbornly continued conjuring images of a certain wicked rogue.

Thorne swimming in the cove below, as she’d first seen him.

Thorne bathing naked in one of the heated pools of the ruins.

Thorne standing on the rock wall, staring out at the shimmering blue sea, his fair hair ruffled by the breeze.

It was this last subject she was working on now, striving to capture the vitality that was so much a part of him. The boldness and daring she sensed in him.

Her pencil moved almost of its own accord, the quiet rasp the only sound in the hushed silence of the room.

She had no notion how much time had passed before she suddenly realized she wasn’t alone. With a start, Diana looked up to see Thorne standing at the library door.

“I saw the lamplight,” he said, taking a step into the room.

He wore a brocade dressing gown of black and crimson, she realized, and his feet and legs were bare.

Her own dishevelment was not much better. She wore a white satin wrapper over her nightdress, and her unbound hair flowed down her back in disarray. Worse, she was curled up on a stuffed leather couch, her legs tucked beneath her.

There was no impropriety, really, for she was fully clothed, but the look in Thorne’s eyes made her supremely aware that the hour was late and she was alone with him.

He seemed intrigued most with her hair, for he studied it for a long moment. When finally he locked gazes with her, a frisson of heat ran down Diana’s spine.

Abruptly uncurling her legs, she sat up straighter and smoothed the skirts of her wrapper over her knees.

All her nerves were on full alert when Thorne strolled across the room to stand before her. It was when he glanced down at the sketch she’d made that she realized her mistake of failing to close her sketch pad. His eyes sparked with interest when he saw that he was her subject.

Without waiting for permission, he settled on the couch beside her and reached for the sketchbook in her hands. “May I?”

For a moment, Diana clutched at the pad, refusing to relinquish the embarrassing proof that she was obsessed with this man. But really she had nothing to hide. She was, after all, an artist. Artists chose fascinating subjects like Viscount Thorne all the time.

Even so, color flooded her cheeks when she reluctantly loosened her grip.

Taking the book from her, he studied the drawing for another long moment. “This is stunning,” he said finally, his earnestness unmistakable.

Diana knew it was one of her better executions. In the sketch, Thorne looked almost alive, with an excitement expressed not only in his face, but in every line of his body as he stared out to sea, a man ripe for passion and adventure.

“You claimed you had skill,” Thorne added, “but I didn’t realize your talent was this remarkable.”

His praise warmed her, but she tried to make light of it. “I am fortunate to have a natural flair for capturing a likeness and putting it down.”

Tearing his gaze away from her sketch, he glanced up at her. “You are far too modest, love. You said you also enjoy painting landscapes. Are they as good as this?”

“Perhaps a bit better,” Diana answered honestly. “I find painting landscapes even more satisfying than painting people, but I intend to focus on portraits because they command more respect. The Royal Academy is the arbiter of artistic taste and holds to a rigid hierarchy, where there is little esteem for landscapes.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow rose with curiosity.

“Historical works hold the loftiest importance, portraitures are next, then landscapes, and finally genre paintings—depictions of domestic life.”

“Thus your desire to become a portraitist.”

“Yes,” she admitted softly.

“It must be frustrating for you to be forced to repress your great gift because of your sex.”

Diana winced as the familiar resentment rose in her. “As a man, you likely can’t begin to imagine my frustrations. There are so many restrictions placed on a woman, it is difficult to compete for notice, let alone for respect.”

Thorne flashed a sympathetic smile. “I can empathize with the frustration at least. I’ve been battling the constraints of society since the day I was born.”

That won a smile from Diana. “I don’t doubt it.”

Shifting his attention back to her sketchbook, he flipped to the previous page. His gaze riveted on the drawing of him, bathing at the ruins. His torso was naked, although the pool concealed his lower body to his waist. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes, a come-hither look that was sinful and daring and full of charm.

“I am very flattered,” Thorne remarked, his voice warm with satisfaction.

Diana felt her cheeks burn, but she strove for nonchalance. “You needn’t be. If one wants to be a successful portrait painter, it is wise to flatter the subject—that, according to Sir Thomas Lawrence, who commands four hundred guineas for a full-length view. I hope to be a fraction as successful someday, so I am striving to work on my technique.”

“If you say so,” he murmured blandly, although she could tell by the gleam in his eye that he didn’t believe her.

He flipped backward again, this time to see himself rising from the water of the cove, his entire body bare, his loins fully exposed, his erection long and swollen. “I see you have endowed me with ample physical attributes.”

Scandalized to be caught making such an erotic rendering, Diana snatched the sketchbook from him and firmly closed it.

A smile played across Thorne’s lips as he viewed the flush on her face. “You needn’t rely only on memory, sweeting. You are welcome to paint me in the flesh. I will be more than happy to sit for you any time you wish.”

“Thank you, but I
don’t
wish you to sit for me. My memory is more than adequate for my work.”

“A pity.” His gaze turned speculative. “In those last two drawings you made me appear highly seductive. I’m curious what else you see in me.”

“You don’t need me to pay you compliments, Lord Thorne. You know full well how beautiful you are.”

He frowned a little at her description. “Should I consider that an insult? Men aren’t supposed to be beautiful.”

“You are. Sinfully so. And I think you know it.”

“Is that why you’ve made me look like a rake? Because my appearance is somehow sinful?”

She tried to keep her answer dispassionate and objective. “In part. It’s more the intangible quality to your countenance. Not simply your classic bone structure, but something in your expression…a wickedness, a recklessness, a wildness—”

“A wickedness, hmmm?” His gaze skimmed her face.

She froze when he raised a finger to her lips. “Would you care to know what I see in you, love?”

Diana didn’t want to admit her intense curiosity, but her reply seemed dredged from her throat. “Yes.”

“I see a beauty with an alluring combination of vulnerability and strength. A woman with an unmistakable sensuality. Your eyes are so dark and expressive…. A man could lose himself in your eyes, I think.” His voice lowered another level. “There’s a hint of mystery there that makes me want to discover what secrets you are concealing.”

The tenderness in his husky murmur made Diana’s breath catch, while the look in his eyes held her spellbound.

His gaze dropped to her lips. “Your lush mouth invites sin. And the satin fall of your hair….” His hand lifted to touch the shining mass. “I wondered how it would look unpinned, but it’s even more lovely than I imagined it.”

“Thorne…” She knew it was madness to listen to his sweet blandishments, yet she couldn’t seem to complete her protest.

“You are pure temptation, Diana.” The flecks of gold in his hazel eyes had warmed to a heated shimmer, rousing a disquieting desire deep within her. “You’ve even begun haunting my dreams.”

“You dream of me?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

His eyes swept over her face in a way that made her pulse tremble. “Yes, I dream of you. I can’t help myself. I want very much to make love to you, Diana. I want to watch your beautiful eyes turn even darker with passion.”

He had leaned forward as he spoke, and now his beautiful face was very near, his lips nearly touching hers, making her recall vividly the searing heat of his kiss on the beach. Yet if he kissed her now, Diana knew she would be lost. They were alone here together, with this raging attraction between them.

In the hushed silence of the room, she could hear her rapid heartbeat as she struggled for the will to end this brazen encounter. It took all the resolve she possessed, but she drew back and brought her sketch pad up between them, holding it defensively over her breasts. “Thorne, stop…. I thought we agreed…you wouldn’t try to seduce me.”

Thorne shook himself, as if coming out of a daze. “You’re right,” he muttered. “This is too damned dangerous.” His voice was low and hoarse and filled with discernible frustration. “I had best leave.”

“No, I should be the one to leave.”

Clutching her pad, she rose and fled the library, shutting the door behind her. In the sudden darkness, Diana leaned back against the panel and let out the shaky breath she’d been holding. For a long moment she remained exactly where she stood, still trembling, her pulse far too rapid as she contemplated her deplorable dilemma.

There was no question that she was fiercely attracted to Thorne. Against her will, she found him more appealing than any man she had ever known. And more beguiling.

His wicked, sensual charm seemed as effortless and natural as breathing—no doubt because it was. He could no more stop himself from seducing a woman than change the color of his eyes.

And he could rouse a woman’s desire for him just as effortlessly.

Yet somehow she had to resist her fascination. She didn’t want to be another one of Thorne’s many conquests. It would be the height of idiocy to succumb.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Diana shook her head in dismay. Thorne had called her a temptation, but
he
was the one who was pure temptation.

He was right in one respect, however.

Their being alone together was too damned dangerous.

After their late-night encounter in the library, Diana did her utmost to avoid being alone with Thorne, yet she was still required to share more of his company than she knew was wise.

For both Diana and Amy, the remainder of the week proved just as busy as the beginning, with their evenings spent attending suppers and soirees among island society, and their daylight hours devoted to wardrobe fittings.

They would wait to shop in London for accessories such as shoes, bonnets, reticules, fans, and handkerchiefs. But the French modiste was designing them gowns for every other occasion—morning, afternoon, dinner, ball, carriage, walking, riding—as well as cloaks and spencers and pelisses.

When Diana protested that so many garments would never be ready in time for them to sail, Thorne informed her that the dressmaker would be accompanying them to England, and that two weeks at sea should be ample to complete most of their wardrobes. Diana could scarcely believe he had hired the undivided services of an expensive modiste for an entire month, but she supposed a man as wealthy as Thorne could waste his fortune any way he chose.

Thorne could have told her he was taking the Frenchwoman along for an entirely different purpose: added protection for Diana. The more passengers on board his schooner, he rationalized, the greater the likelihood he would be able to keep his hands off her.

He was convinced now that Diana needed protection from him. He couldn’t remember reacting so explosively to a woman in his life. It was ludicrous, actually. He’d first met her barely a few days ago.

And encountering her in the library had seriously increased the fever he felt for her. That night he’d wanted nothing more than to press Diana back upon the sofa and slide between her slender thighs to give them both the ecstasy they craved. He’d wanted her to leave, knowing that had she remained, he would never have been able to resist taking her.

Thorne could scarcely believe the intensity of his attraction for Diana, or how urgently his body responded to her. He suffered an unshakable case of lust every time he looked at her. And he still found himself dreaming erotic dreams of her each night. He still woke each morning with a throbbing erection.