Passion Wears Pearls (36 page)

Eleanor recovered and began to move, deepening each stroke and touch, increasing the friction of every caress, and tilting her hips forward so that her clit was grazed and pressed by each sweeping lunge of his body up into hers.

But Josiah was unaware of any of it. He drove into her, his own climax fast on the heels of hers. The explosion and pulse of crème came so quickly, he groaned at the force of it.

Eleanor felt the erotic splash of heat inside of her and cried out again softly, gripping the handhold of the carriage for leverage as she rode another release—and she knew she was lost to him. Every illusion she had ever held of her own self-discipline was swept away. When it came to this man, she would never know restraint.

After a few minutes, they each withdrew, quietly restoring what order they could to their clothing, and Josiah did his best to retrieve a few of the tortoiseshell hairpins she’d lost in the melee. They didn’t speak as the muffled sounds of the city drifted back through the carriage, but Josiah pulled her back up against his chest so that her head rested against his shoulder. He stroked the soft skin of her face and tried not to think about what the future might hold.

Eleanor sighed, wondering what it all meant. They were bound together by passion, but for her, it was so much more. He’d been jealous. She was sure of it. And she clung to the significance of being seen with him publicly and being introduced to his friends. Surely, he was closer to seeing the truth that was right in front of him.

She loved him with every fiber of her being.

“No regrets, Eleanor,” he whispered in the shadows.

“Good. For I have none,” she said softly.

In the morning, Josiah began to clean up his workspace and prepare for Eleanor’s arrival. After their late evening, he expected her well after lunch, but it pleased him to be ready should she surprise him. As much as he hated it when she left his bed for decorum’s sake, he did enjoy the thrill of her return.

“Excuse me, sir,” Escher interrupted from the doorway. “Creed’s got a man downstairs. The gentleman’s asking to come up, name of Thomas Keller.”

“Keller?” Josiah laid a drop cloth aside on the floor. “He’s no threat. Have Mr. Creed let him pass and direct him here. Thank you, Escher.”

“As you wish. I hope he’s fit for the stairs, sir. I swear it’s a test for all your nearest and dearest to mount five flights!” Escher shook his head. “But I’ll send him up.” He left and Josiah smiled as he could hear the unique approach of his houseman to his duties as the man walked down to his own residence only to yell down to Creed that the gentleman was free to come up to the top floor to the studio.

Alas, whenever Eleanor isn’t present, we forgo the niceties.

Josiah continued to fold canvas until he heard Keller’s heavy footsteps in the stairwell.

“Mr. Hastings? Your man sent me up, and I—what an unusual home you have, sir.” Keller was doing his best to catch his breath as he entered the room. “I thought the building abandoned.”

“I’m an unusual man, Mr. Keller.” Josiah crossed his arms defensively, and silently cursed that the Fates had chosen to put a floating gray blob where Mr. Keller’s face should have been so all he could see was the man’s body language and the outline of his head. “Can I help you with something? If it’s a commission, I’m afraid I’m not accepting any contracts at the moment for—”

“No, Mr. Hastings. I’ve come on another matter entirely.” Keller came into the room, leaving the door open behind him. “It’s about Miss Beckett.”

Josiah didn’t move. “Yes?”

“I shall be direct, Mr. Hastings. After meeting her last night, and after your abrupt departure, I made inquiries. There was quite a bit of salacious gossip and speculation about the nature of your relationship with Miss Beckett. So much so that I feared for her safety and moral state in your company, and I’ve come as a gentleman to ask you to end your association with her.”

The man’s tone was crisp and humorless, and Josiah forced himself to take several long, slow breaths to keep his temper in check. At last, he trusted his voice enough to answer as calmly as he could. “Your fears are ungrounded.”

“Without family or resources, it would be easy for someone to take advantage and to compromise her reputation. I find it hard to believe that the woman I met would have considered the distasteful choice of modeling for a painter if she’d had any other choice.”

“Distasteful? You, sir, are beginning to get on my nerves.”

“Have I said something inaccurate? Did she volunteer to sit for you? Was it her brilliant notion alone?”

“I can’t believe I’m defending myself against someone partially responsible for Miss Beckett’s lack of choices. Wasn’t it your father that swindled hers out of the fortune you’re now enjoying? Easy to speak of morals and play the pontificate when your own blood did all the foul deeds necessary to build you that golden pedestal you’re standing on! Tell me, when your father was laughing about his thievery and filling your purse, did you give him a lecture on morals?”

“I never knew what had happened! Not until just recently after my father passed away, and I’ll warn you that you’d best keep a respectful tongue in your head! I’ll rectify my father’s wrongs soon enough! And I’ll begin by making sure that his partner’s surviving daughter won’t be destroyed by a philandering wastrel!”

A dangerous silence fell over the room as Josiah discovered that he more than disliked the man who had invaded his inner sanctum. He decidedly hated him. “You don’t know me, Mr. Keller.”

“You are probably right. But here is what I do know. You’re not a member of the Royal Society, I’ve never seen your paintings in a public showing, and I can’t recall hearing mention of you, really. Except in the Society pages, if memory serves, attending parties and playing the rogue—I even recall something about a secret club of some kind. The Jaded, was it?”

Damn. Galen was right. How did I ever think that article was a good joke? And why are we under the illusion that there is anything secret about our secret circle?

“Your point being?”

“It is a sick ploy of some kind to play the artist and prey upon innocent women.”

“I have never preyed on anyone, Keller. And I do not play either.”

“You offered a woman on the brink of starvation and homelessness money if she would compromise her morals and sit for you.”

“I’m no villain.” The memory of a passionate ride through
the streets of London undermined his confidence, along with a dozen other erotic images that made him wonder where the line between villain and hero had blurred. “Take your gossip and shallow judgment and go bother someone else.”

“Then deny what I’ve said directly. Or can you? How much did you offer her? How much did it take?”

“To hell with you! It’s none of your business. None of it! Not the contract between us, not her moral safety or any part of my life falls under your jurisdiction. You have intervened where you are not welcome to do so, and where it is unwarranted. You should leave, Mr. Keller, before I throw you out.”

“I will go. But not before I’ve made it clear to you, Mr. Hastings, that Miss Beckett has no need of your sordid money or your friendship. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and pretend that your interest in her is purely artistic and that you meant to improve her situation and not degrade it, but only if you’ll then repay that generosity by considering that I came here today to ask you to do the right thing for once in a life that has apparently been spent in selfish pursuits and pleasures.”

He was speechless for a moment. “Has it? I’m amazed at your insight into my existence, sir. All this? Really? From one brief meeting and the vile gossip of equally uninformed people, you’ve deduced my entire life’s path, have you?”

Keller held his ground. “You care for her?”

“I might.” He’d be damned if he was going to spit poetry about how much he loved Eleanor to this icy fish!

“Will you offer her marriage?”

“Why would I? According to you, that would be the worst thing I could do, since I’ve already ruined her and gotten what I wanted, yes?”

“What did you want?”

It was bitter frustration and fury that shaped his words, the sarcasm as sharp as a scalpel. “I wanted a model. I wanted a lovely bit of flesh and bone to use for my latest masterpiece. I wanted something to look at, Keller. I
wanted a bit of color in this room and I’d have painted a scullery maid, a whore, or the Queen if she’d inspired me. One is very much like another, are they not? What is a woman to me but a means to an end? All that differs is the price. All that matters is the work and the image I create on the canvas.”

The crash of the tray and the sound of shattering glass turned both of them around. Eleanor stood as pale as a ghost in the doorway, her hands frozen in shock as if they still held the offering of tea and cake in ruins at her feet.

“Miss Beckett, I—” Keller began, but it was Josiah who cut him off as he rushed toward her.

“Eleanor, you must believe—”

She turned as if to go, but then didn’t take a single step. “Mr. Keller,” she said, “please go.”

“I’ll wait for you downstairs, Miss Beckett.” Thomas bowed his head and left without another word, diplomatically stepping over the broken glass, and left them alone.

Josiah took one long, slow breath and briefly tried to hope that the fact that she hadn’t bolted meant there was a chance. But that hope died quickly.

“You once advised me to trust my instincts, Josiah.”

“I did.”

“But I’ve soundly ignored every warning and cautious advice my head has been screaming at me for quite some time. I let my heart rule my actions and my passions dictate my choices.” Her back was still to him, and Josiah closed his eyes at the painful sight of his beloved Eleanor unable to even look at him. “I trusted you.”

“I was angry with Keller. I spoke out of turn.” Josiah’s hands fisted helplessly at his side.

“Did you?” she whispered. “Were you ever going to marry me?”

Defeat tasted like turpentine, and Josiah opened his eyes to take in her silhouette. He wanted to beg her to take him, to throw his fortunes at her feet and win her back with declarations of his love. But a dark cloud in his peripheral vision reminded him that he would be making false
promises. He would need a nurse, not a wife, soon enough. And although almost every word out of Keller’s mouth had been wrong, he’d hit one truth. Eleanor deserved better in life.

His hesitation sealed his fate.

“I’m a fool, Josiah Hastings. Because I allowed myself to believe that with you, there were no rules that couldn’t be broken if I loved you enough. That it would all be righted in the end. But I’m ruined for an eternity, am I not?”

He shook his head, but she didn’t see the gesture.

Her voice broke at last. “It would take a blind man not to see it, Josiah.”

And she was gone.

Eleanor wasn’t sure how she made it down the stairs, her eyes stinging with tears and the ache in her chest making it almost impossible to breathe.

Josiah’s words had hit their mark, and she limped down the last flight in tears only to find Mr. Keller waiting at the bottom as promised.

“Miss Beckett, I have a carriage waiting. Please allow me to see you home.”

A rough voice grunted behind them. “Don’t know you, gent, so I’m not sure your offer’s safe.” Roger Creed stepped from the shadows, and even in her agony, Eleanor was forced to marvel at how oddly chivalrous and protective the man was being. “I’ll see to a hackney. She ain’t gettin’ in no four-in-hand with the likes of you, sir.”

“M-Mr. Creed, you are … so kind to be … Mr. Keller is a family friend, so please don’t trouble yourself.”

Roger touched his cap, his menacing stare never leaving Thomas’s face. “No trouble at all. Good day to you.”

She let out one unsteady breath and faced Thomas. “Mr. Keller, I’m too upset to argue the matter.”

“Then don’t,” he replied, and held out his arm to escort her out.

She didn’t really want any company, longing to be alone where she could give in to the avalanche of grief that threatened to overtake her. But his carriage was waiting, and every second that she lingered was a torment Eleanor didn’t want to endure. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”