An Invitation to Sin

by Suzanne Enoch

  Chapter 14

  At luncheon, the Witfeld girls sprang from the shrubbery like garden faeries. From their single-minded attention to Zachary and their enthusiasm about informing him what they’d done all morning while pining for his presence, Caroline decided they’d kept their word to their father and none of them had arrived early to spy.

  And thank goodness for that. However increased the attraction she felt for Zachary, nothing could explain what had happened earlier. He’d approached her, complimented her work, and she’d simply…melted. Not touching him would have caused physical pain.

  Luckily she’d kept enough of her wits about her not to end up immediately naked and ruined, but it hadn’t helped her concentration. And then he’d begun talking about cows, of all things. Cows.

  Perhaps it served her right, since she’d completely ignored yesterday’s resolution to be quiet and polite. The way he continued to bait her, though, he could hardly expect anything else. But it wasn’t just that; not even with Anne had she ever been able to speak so candidly about…everything.

  She kept an eye on him as everyone trooped back to the mansion. He might think she’d suddenly decided she wanted him to ravish her, but she’d been contemplating it in theory since he’d removed his shirt. As of last night, though, the idea of an actual lesson had begun to seem less foolish.

  Since she meant never to marry, and since after she reached Vienna she had no intention of doing anything to ruin her reputation and thereby her career, he was the best, most discreet chance she would have to experience being with a man. For heaven’s sake, after the portrait left Wiltshire, so would he—and then so would she.

  Or that had been the plan when they’d kissed. Since the cow discussion, she wasn’t quite so certain what he meant to do. But that wouldn’t matter, anyway, because her goals were not changing for anything. Yes, her plan for Zachary was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Emotion free, complication free, and wickedly enticing.

  One thing did bother her, though, as they sat down to a luncheon of cucumber sandwiches, ham, and lemonade. Or two things did, rather. First, if he hadn’t backed away, she would have simply fallen on him, even at the risk of not turning the portrait in on time. That made no sense at all. In fact it was so unlike her that it was almost frightening. And secondly, he had deferred their rendezvous in favor of her work.

  She’d made an error. A stupid, inexplicable error, as far as she was concerned. And from this moment until the portrait was finished, nothing further could be allowed to distract her again. Especially not Lord Zachary Griffin. Afterwards, though…Her abdomen tightened deliciously.

  Caroline frowned. So much for not allowing herself to be distracted. That had lasted for less than a minute. Still, she did have a considerable amount of willpower. She wouldn’t have gotten this far if she didn’t. Now she just needed to use it.

  “Mama, even with Caroline taking all of Lord Zachary’s time, we’re not cancelling the ball, are we?” Grace asked.

  “Of course not, dear. Your father gave the rest of you Lord Zachary’s evenings, anyway.”

  Caroline started to point out that Zachary’s evenings belonged to him, and that if he felt charitable he might choose to spend them in her sisters’ company rather than his dog’s, but he was chuckling. “I actually have a new game in mind for all of us to play tonight, if everyone is willing.”

  “Oh, yes!” the chorus of responses came.

  “What sort of game is it,” Susan asked, placing her hand over Zachary’s, “that involves all of us?”

  “You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

  “Caro, you can’t use Lord Zachary much after luncheon, can you?” Julia questioned, glaring at Susan. “The light will be wrong.”

  They would take him away from her if they could. And he was so notoriously easygoing, there was no telling what he would do if given the opportunity. “I have most of the light angles marked. I can’t do as much, but enough to last another two hours or so.” She looked at Zachary, to find him gazing at her. “If that’s acceptable.”

  “I promised to stand out there all night, if necessary,” he returned with an easy smile, “and once we finish for the day, I have an appointment with Harold.”

  “Your dog?” Violet protested.

  Zachary nodded. “When I acquired him, I accepted a responsibility to train him to be a proper dog. I’ve been shirking that duty for far too long. So my apologies, ladies, but I’m spoken for until dinner.”

  Even his smile wasn’t that same carefree one he’d worn a few days ago. It was more thoughtful, and as far as she was concerned, much more…intriguing. And he hadn’t given in to their pleas. He’d kept his word to her—and to Harold.

  “You know,” Joanna said, slicing her ham, “I think art is wonderful. In fact, I’ve been working on my own painting.”

  “You?” Caroline blurted before she could stop herself.

  “Yes. It’s Apollo and Psyche.” She sniffed. “I’m Psyche, and I’d like Lord Zachary to pose for Apollo.” Joanna gazed at him from beneath her lashes. “If you would, of course.”

  “I, um—”

  “I’m doing a painting, too!” Grace’s fork clattered onto her plate as she sat forward.

  “So am I,” Violet put in, at even higher volume.

  Wonderful. Caroline closed her eyes for a moment. She supposed it would have been amusing if it hadn’t been so obviously pitiful. Out of all of her sisters, not even Anne had professed the least interest in art, except for that book showing sketches of naughty sculptures that Mrs. Williams had accidently shelved in her store. After seeing Zachary in the bath yesterday, Caroline was wishing she’d spent more time studying that particular book, herself.

  “I’d like to see your work,” Zachary said, his eyes dancing despite his solemn expression, “as soon as I’ve finished helping Miss Witfeld and Harold. After dinner, perhaps.”

  At least his sense of humor had survived. Thank goodness for that.

  “How much longer are you going to keep Zachary to yourself, Caro?” Susan demanded.

  “Yes, Caroline,” her mother said. “I have to agree. I know finishing your portrait is important, but we have to be fair to your sisters.”

  “I—”

  “You know, girls,” Lady Gladys interrupted, “it occurred to me that even better than my sending you gifts at Christmas, we might go into Trowbridge and select them together. Mrs. Williams’s shop has catalogs, I believe.”

  Thank heavens for Lady Gladys. Caroline sent her a grateful look amid the chorus of happy cheers, and the baroness winked at her. At least someone understood how important it was that she finish the portrait in a timely manner. Someone aside from Zachary, that was, since they had clearly come to an understanding about that.

  As they stood from the table, though, obviously her sisters hadn’t forgotten about their abrupt new love of the arts. “Caro,” Joanna said in a whisper, grabbing her arm, “do you have any spare canvases?”

  Caroline sighed. “In the wardrobe behind the conservatory door.”

  “I need a sketch pad,” Violet said, tugging her other hand.

  “They’re stacked against the far wall.”

  “Thank you, Caro!” They all dashed off in a herd of flying skirts.

  “Don’t touch anything but the new ones!” she shouted after them. If they tried drawing on the backs of sketches she’d already done, heads were going to roll. Harold had already done enough damage.

  “Shall we return to the ruins?” Zachary murmured, drawing her hand around his arm.

  A shiver ran down her spine. Stating to herself that she was going to remain undistracted was one thing; not reacting when his skin touched hers was another, entirely. Waiting two or even three days with this…tension running through her veins and muscles, this awareness of his presence—it was worse than the wait for a new canvas. “Yes, of course. I’ve left poor Molly sitting out there by the ruins.”

  “She’s probably still asleep,”
he returned in the same low voice. “Make certain you keep her with us for the next few days.”

  Goodness, he sounded so sure of himself. He probably knew exactly the effect he was having on her. “Please try not to distract me,” she said half seriously. “I’d hate to have to spend all of the third day fixing my mistakes.”

  She felt his chuckle. “But I want to tell you all about what will happen the moment you set down your paintbrush and palette for the last time. The way I will strip you out of your gown, and pull the pins from your hair, and cover your bare skin with kisses.”

  Well, now she was going to faint. “I hope some of it is going to involve the part of your anatomy I glimpsed in the bath,” she managed in a fairly level tone, knowing her face must be scarlet.

  “It certainly will. That’s a vital part, as a matter of fact.” They reached the path that circled the pond and led directly to the ruins on the far side. As they moved between a high stand of elms and the willows that lined the bank, he put a hand over hers and stopped. “Speaking of vital,” he whispered and drew her up against him.

  Slowly he lowered his mouth over hers. Yes, their relationship had definitely altered in the past twenty-four hours. That thought occurred to her only fleetingly, though, because her mind refused to function any further. Instead she felt flooded with sensation—the ply of his mouth against hers, the heat, the pressure, the yearning that seemed to flow back and forth between them, his hands sliding from her shoulders and down her back to her hips, and the way he pulled her close against his body.

  Caroline wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, holding herself tightly against his lean, hard-muscled body. The kiss deepened, open-mouthed and plundering. She heard herself moan. Passion. The sensation was remarkable—and remarkably close to how she felt when a painting swept her away out of all reason. She wanted to climb inside him, to keep the feeling forever.

  “Caro,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her mouth.

  She subsided, closing her eyes and trying to focus her mind. The painting. She needed to finish the painting.

  With what she considered remarkable composure, she released him. His own arms loosened more slowly, his mouth still brushing hers. “There,” he finally said huskily, “that should do me for another day or so.”

  Caroline smoothed his ruffled hair. “Are you certain about that?”

  “No. You probably shouldn’t ask me again.”

  She would keep that advice in mind. Because things were becoming very confusing, and now that he was being nice and touching her and kissing her, she’d developed the alarming tendency to be distracted, despite every oath she’d made to herself. “I won’t, then. Come on. I want to work on your face before we get the full afternoon sun.”

  As they reached the ruins in the clearing he shed his coat again, dumping it beside her paints. Her sisters were probably ransacking the conservatory right now, taking every blank canvas she had, ruining her brushes and making a mess of her organized sketch filing system.

  Normally the idea would have had her pulling out her hair. After all, she used every spare penny she earned from painting to pay for her supplies. If they would leave her alone for the next two days, though, just long enough for her to finish one portrait and to…experience Zachary Griffin, she would forgive every bit of it. After all, they would be remaining in Wiltshire, left to the Martin Williamses and Peter Redfords, and she would be in Vienna, living her dream.

  “Here?” he asked, placing a foot on the fallen pillar.

  She compared the sketch to his position. “About eight inches back with your right foot, and about four with your left,” she decided, narrowing her eyes.

  Zachary complied, shifting and twisting slightly. “Better?”

  “Perfect. Now tilt your head and gaze toward the horizon over my shoulder so I can do your eyes.”

  “The horizon over your shoulder isn’t very exciting. Why can’t I be looking at the artist?”

  Because if he stood staring at her all afternoon his face would end up looking like a bowl of pudding. “Because I’m not your domain. Survey in that direction.”

  “All I survey is a tree stump and a bird eating a beetle.”

  “Good. Concentrate on the beetle. And relax your mouth.” She picked up her narrow-tipped brush, touching it to her cheek to make certain it was clean and dry.

  “I thought you were painting my face, not your own.”

  Her cheeks heated. “Obviously you’re not looking at the beetle.”

  “The beetle’s been consumed, and you’re more interesting.”

  Finally she lifted her gaze to him to find him still studying her face, and with an intensity that sent her blood stirring again. No wonder his name in the society pages always seemed to be associated with some eligible young lady or other—at least according to Anne. “Zachary, tree stump. Please.”

  His broad shoulders lifted and lowered. “Fine. Tree stump.”

  “And don’t scowl.”

  “But the bird is leaving a gift.”

  Her lips twitched, despite her determination to eliminate all nonsense from her thoughts. “Then you have the beetle to concentrate on again.”

  “I’m not spending the next hour staring at bird droppings.”

  This time she couldn’t help chuckling. “It’s for the sake of art.”

  “No, it’s for the sake of Caroline Witfeld.”

  A sudden shiver made her hand tremble, and she had to take a step back and shake out her wrist. “Stop that, or you will be there all night.”

  “Very well. Just please don’t name the painting Lord Zachary Griffin Surveying Bird Droppings.”

  “I promise.”

  He finally settled into his stance, and she could concentrate on his face. She liked his expression; confident and a little amused, with just a hint of wicked. If she could capture that as well as he wore it, Monsieur Tannberg would have to offer her the apprenticeship. The fact that the wickedness was for her—well, no one else would ever have to know that. After all, it was the very enigmatic quality of the Mona Lisa that made her so admired.

  After forty minutes or so of banter about everything from ball gowns to da Vinci, Molly snorted and, from the sound of it, fell off the stone bench. “Molly?” Caroline called, pausing her brush stroke.

  “Oh. Yes, Miss Witfeld. I must have dozed off for a moment. I beg your pardon.”

  “No harm,” Caroline returned, keeping in mind that if she chastised the maid for her slumber, Molly likely wouldn’t repeat it, or Barling would replace the maid with a more alert chaperone. “Would you please fetch Lord Zachary and myself a glass of lemonade? And get yourself something to eat.”

  “Yes, Miss Witfeld.”

  Touching her brush to the skin tone she’d mixed, Caroline made a light curve to indicate the lobe of Zachary’s ear as it showed through his dark, breeze-blown hair. When she looked up at him again, though, she nearly dropped the brush. “What are you doing? Get back over there.”

  He didn’t slow his approach. “I’m taking advantage of the absence of your attentive servant to deliver a kiss to the artist,” he drawled.

  “I told you that I need to finish your face today,” she retorted, deciding to ignore him. She couldn’t do the shadowing until tomorrow morning, but she could finish the skin-tone matting.

  “Fine.” He circled around behind her. “I look splendid,” he said after a moment. “What’s that, though?” He reached an arm over her shoulder to point.

  “That’s a mouth.”

  “My mouth does not look like that.”

  “Well, I can’t see it at the moment, so fixing it will have to wait.” His criticism didn’t concern her; she hadn’t gotten to his mouth, anyway, except to mark its placement with pencil and a line of peach-brown paint.

  Light fingers brushed a wisp of hair from the back of her neck, and she froze as another tremble ran down her spine. Warm lips replaced his fingers, and she dropped the brush.

  “
Zach—”

  “Shh. I’m demonstrating lips, to give you a better sense of mouth,” he murmured, continuing his assault.

  If she had a better sense of his mouth, she would be naked right now. Deft fingers peeled the neck of her gown down her shoulder, his lips following.

  Caroline was beginning to understand why poets equated sexual ecstasy with death, because if he could make her feel this much with just his mouth on her bare shoulder, being naked, skin against skin, was going to kill her. She drew a shuddering breath. “Please stop.”

  His forehead lowered to rest on her shoulder. “Apologies. I was beginning to have fantasies about the tree stump.”

  She snorted, taking the moment to recover a little of her equilibrium. A very little. “Hopefully, then, you find me an improvement over dead wood and bark.”

  Laughter rumbled from his chest. “Good God, Caroline. Virgins aren’t supposed to say such things.”

  “Aren’t we? And why not?”

  “Because you’ll frighten we worldly men.” With a last, much more chaste, kiss planted on her shoulder, he replaced her gown. “Might I at least please sit on my pillar for a moment and drink my lemonade?”

  Molly bustled up the path. So that was why he’d given in to reason so readily. She would remember that he had very keen hearing. “Of course. I’ll join you there.”

  “Good. I prefer a sweet with my sour.”

  She would have retorted, but Molly reached the clearing, curtsying as she offered Zachary a glass from the tray she carried. Caroline accepted one as well and sat beside him on her father’s faux ruin.

  “You are staying on schedule, despite my disruptions?” he asked, his expression growing more serious.

  She realized she was learning to read his moods by the subtle changes in his face. That made sense, considering how long she’d been studying him. “Yes. Barring an act of God or nature, the painting will arrive in Vienna on time.”

  “Good. I should tell you that last evening I sent a note to my brother Shay to have his yacht waiting in Dover to take an urgent package across the Channel.”

  For a moment she couldn’t speak. He’d offered to help expedite the portrait’s delivery, of course, but she’d had no idea that he’d already taken steps. And he’d done so before she’d—before they’d—begun this new flirtation. “Thank you.”