“I gave a message to your assistant.”
Her eyes widened. “I haven’t checked my messages yet.”
“Your assistant should have contacted you,” he said biting his words off angrily. He stood so close his breath ruffled her fringe.
“You are trespassing in my home,” she said furiously, “And you’re angry with me?”
He shuffled back a few paces as if suddenly aware of his appalling conduct. “I only meant to wait on the porch, but it got cold, and the back door blew open….”
She doubted it, but she said, soothingly. “Let’s go downstairs and have a drink.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to.” He moved closer, causing her throat to grow dry with fear. “Maybe I want something else.” He looked down at the sheer, pink nightgown lying on the bed.
She wanted to scream and pummel at him with her fists, but she managed to keep her voice even. “I think we both need a drink.” She turned away from him and went to the stairs.
All the while, she waited for him to grab her from behind.
With him following close behind her, she entered the sitting room, wondering what she could do to save herself. Fear made her mind go blank. She went to the drink’s tray and poured two large whiskeys into crystal tumblers, adding a small dash of soda water. “This might make you relax and think more clearly,” she said handing him one.
She watched him drink it almost in one hit, as she pretended to sip hers. If she screamed would the neighbors hear her and come before he silenced her? She should have reported his strange conduct before this, but she’d met eccentric actors before.
She shivered, she had told Dylan, tomorrow. What if tomorrow never came?
Alistair McNaught held out his glass to Astrid for a refill.
“You seem very disturbed about something,” she said, pouring him another glass, fighting to appear calm. “Would you like to talk about it?”
His mouth pulled down at the corners. “I doubt you’d be interested.”
“Try me.”
He ran his fingers through his ginger hair. “I’m going crazy.”
Astrid sat quietly. She wasn’t about to argue with him on that point.
“My wife’s left me,” he said. “She’s taken the kids to her mother’s. Sounds like a plot from a TV sitcom doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps you should give her a little time—”
“I’ve given her more time than she deserves.” He crashed his glass down on the table. “She won’t let me see my own kids. She’s demanding more alimony than I can afford. How am I supposed to work?”
“There are people who can help you with this,” Astrid said. “A marriage counselor or psychologist. If you don’t get help, you won’t be able to help your children, let alone yourself.”
She put her untouched glass down on the table. She couldn’t keep this up, she was so exhausted she no longer cared how he would react. “It’s late and I’m tired. We are working long hours on this picture.” She hoped that mentioning it might jog him back into a realization of what he could lose by this behavior. “I think you should go now. If you want to talk, we can do it at the studio on Wednesday. I’m sorry.” As she said it, her voice cracked and she brought her hands up to her face. “I’ve just had an argument with my partner. I’m not much good at relationships either, it seems. I doubt I can be much help to you.”
She walked to the door.
He studied her in silence. She waited at the open door. Her heart pounded in her ears and her shaky fingers clutched the handle.
“I thought your life would be great,” he said finally. His remark made her wonder if it was envy that had brought him here.
“No one’s life is good all the time. We have to make the best of things, oui?”
She held her breath as he climbed slowly to his feet and shuffled toward her. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’m very tired.” He stopped in front of her, and she could have screamed with frustration. “You won’t say anything about this to anyone, will you?” He curled his fingers into his palms. “If I lose my job ….”
She certainly would. If he went this far with her, he might go further with someone else.
“No, of course not. It’s just between you and me,” she said in a soothing tone. “We all have moments like this. It’s the profession we’re in.”
“Yes, that’s right. It’s a bitch of a profession we’re in….” He walked out the patio door and down the back steps. With a sob, Astrid locked and bolted the door. She ran to grab her cell phone and checked for Dylan’s number. When he answered, she rushed to explain.
“Astrid, for God’s sake. English, please,” Dylan said, alarmed.
She took a deep breath. “Dylan, can you come. Now, please?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
London, 1890
Gina arrived at the offices of Pear’s Soap on Monday to find Mr. Preston waiting. “Good day to you, Miss Russo. I’m looking forward to seeing these latest ones. It’s for our new poster line.”
He took her across the hall to the studio, a large, brightly lit white painted room where a camera was set up waiting. Gina stared at the electric light, so much brighter than gas. The photographer, a Mr. Miles, told her where to stand. He came to move her into different poses then stepped back to study his arrangement.
“That will do,” he said finally. “Irene?” He nodded to a young girl who stood watching. “Take Miss Russo to the dressing room. We’ll begin with the white.”
In the dressing room, an older lady sat Gina before a mirror. She powdered and rouged her face, adding color to her lips and darkening her brows. Then she brushed out her hair and piled it artfully on top of her head with pins.
Irene helped her into the dress. Gina gasped. The white satin had a low neckline. It hugged her curves in a way no dress had ever done before. She slipped into silver sandals and made her way back to the studio. A painted backdrop of a colorful flower garden with a path weaving through it, stood against a wall.
“Good. Stand there,” Mr. Miles pointed to the backdrop. “Bring the flowers, Irene.”
Irene handed a bunch of white lilies to Gina.
Mr. Miles came to adjust her pose, fussing with the bunch of lilies in her arms. He raised her chin. The lilies tickled her chest and Gina felt an awful urge to sneeze. “Hold that pose.” Disappearing behind the camera under a black cloth, he yelled, “Still!”
Gina relaxed into the pose as she had done so many times before for Milo.
A flash startled her and she blinked.
Mr. Miles fiddled with the camera. “Right. Hold for another.”
“This time I want you to turn slightly to the right and smile.”
The shots went on for over an hour, before Gina returned to the dressing room to change. She sat and rubbed her feet, where the silver sandals had chaffed them. She couldn’t wait to see the results. The camera was so different to being captured in paint. Hadn’t it been said that the camera didn’t lie?
* * *
Gina returned to Pear’s the next day to view the results of their efforts. She had to admit the photos were beautiful. The backdrop looked quite real and the dress was lovely. They all seemed as pleased as she and asked her to return for more at a later date. Although the work wouldn’t pay a great amount, she calculated she could save enough money to leave London before the end of the year.
At noon on Thursday, Gina walked down the street to Lord Leighton’s house, confident and optimistic at her new found independence. A working woman for the first time in her life, she could take care of herself. Handling money didn’t alarm her, she had always done it. And her savings were growing. Another of Milo’s paintings had been sold at the Crystal Palace exhibition and Arthur felt sure the last would soon follow.
Apart from her dreams, over which she had no control, she hadn’t thought about Blair Dunleavy for almost two days. She laughed ruefully at herself, she was thinking of him now, the blend of humor and command in his blue eyes
that turned her legs to jelly, the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth that made her long to kiss him, the thrill when he merely spoke her name.
A black carriage stood outside Frederik Leighton’s house, the coachman waiting, smoking a pipe. Perhaps Frederik had visitors, she thought. Would he want her to sit? As she walked past, the carriage door opened and Blair stepped out.
“Mr. Dunleavy!” Gina gasped her heart racing. Was he real or had she dreamed him up?
“Gina.” Blair removed his hat and a lock of dark hair fell forward onto his forehead. He brushed it back impatiently.
The familiar gesture made Gina’s heart miss a beat. “What are you doing here?” She tried to suppress her delight at seeing his handsome face. “How did you find me?”
“I’ve been looking for you for weeks, and have become quite bad tempered, which my poor staff will attest to.”
She frowned. “Why did you wish to find me?”
“This isn’t the right place for us to talk. Can we go somewhere?”
“I have an appointment with Lord Leighton.”
“Then come and sit in the carriage for a moment.”
She allowed him to lead her to the carriage and help her inside. I should run away, she thought. What a weak woman I am.
He sat close beside her and his knee touched hers, making her feel slightly breathless.
“Why did you leave the apartment,” he asked. “Was I so horrible to you?”
She looked down at her lap. “You didn’t want me.”
“Not want you?” He seized both her hands and kissed the delicate skin on the underside of her wrists. “I have thought of nothing but you since I left the apartment.”
Ignoring the fact that she’d done exactly the same about him, she withdrew her hands. “It would not have worked. It was wrong.”
He lifted her chin with a finger and gazed into her eyes. “Was it so wrong for us to love each other?”
“You never said you loved me.”
“But I do love you, Gina. I want you in my life.”
“I consented to be your mistress in a moment of weakness, Blair Dunleavy,” she said. “I am much stronger now.”
He smiled and titled his head. “I’m glad you are strong. I want to win you fairly.” He pulled her closer his voice almost a growl. “I want you to bear my sons.”
“They would be bastards!” Like her. She could never do such a thing to a child not after what had happened to her.
“I want to marry you, Gina, despite everything.”
A gentleman like Blair did not marry women like her. Despite her fear that if she stayed another moment she would prove not to be as strong as she claimed, she was caught by his words. “Cosa intendi?”
Blair shook his head helplessly and grinned. “I can see I shall have to brush up on my Italian.”
“What do you mean when you say, despite everything?” she asked impatiently.
He laughed. “Because life with you won’t be easy, Gina.”
Thoughts flew through her mind, like clouds with a gale behind them. When had he come to this? Did he pity her or suffer from guilt at the way he’d treated her? She shook him off as he tried to draw her into his arms. “You don’t need to rescue me.” At the passionate intent in his eyes, mirroring her own feelings, she rushed on. “I am now in control of my own destiny. And I like it.”
“Cannot your destiny and mine be one?” Blair traced her bottom lip with a finger. “I want to wake up every morning to find you beside me. To love you in ways you’ve never dreamed of. To have your beautiful eyes beg me for more and hear you cry out in passion.”
Giddy with desire for him, Gina beseechingly placed her hands on his chest. “No, please.”
His eyes rested on her mouth. “Kiss me and then tell me you never want to see me again.”
He was impossible to resist as he pulled her close. His eyes lit with blue fire searched hers. At the touch of his lips on hers, all her senses came alive, suddenly weak she yearned to draw him closer.
“Gina!” He groaned, holding her tight, his lips on her throat.
It was wrong to think she’d found her rightful place in his arms, even though her treacherous body burned for him. She longed to lie down in the carriage with him in the bright light of day with the coachman standing outside. This would not do; he would destroy all that she fought for. Her independence and self-respect. She gathered her scattered wits and pushed him away. Opening the door, she jumped down into the street.
“You kissed me back, Gina,” he called after her.
She heard him call her name again as she hurried toward the house, a sob rising in her throat. Life had become so confusing; she didn’t know where she belonged. It had been so hard to leave him, but if she’d given in to everything he demanded, he would not have desired her for long. And he would never marry her.
It would be so easy to return to the apartment with him and have him make love to her, and be caught by the need to be with him, the days passing into months, perhaps into years. She would live for those moments when, as he had admitted, he would choose to visit her. She knew herself too well. She loved with all her heart. Her need for him would consume her, burn her up. When he tired of her, it would be too late for a loving marriage and children, those things that she valued most.
She banged on the door and when Mary opened it, Gina ran up the stairs to Frederik’s studio.
“I see you’ve met Mr. Dunleavy, Gina,” Lord Leighton said, squeezing paint onto his palette.
Gina swiped a tear from her cheek and perched on the stool. “I did.”
“You didn’t ask him in for tea?”
“Bah!”
Lord Leighton turned to the canvas and began to work. “He loves you, you know.”
“As a man desires a mistress,” Gina said fiercely.
“Are you sure, Cara?
She shook her head miserably.
“Hold your head still. How can I paint you when you do that? “You don’t care for him?” he asked as he brushed paint over the canvas.
“But I do,” she almost cried, her chest heaving. Had she lost Blair forever?
Lord Leighton threw down his brush. “I can’t work with you like this,” he said, crossly, although his eyes twinkled. “Go and find your young man and sort out your problems. Come back on Monday. I can find other work to do until then.”
Perhaps it was possible to have Blair on her own terms. She need not be beholden to him for her life. The excitement caused her to jump down from the stool. She threw her arms around the artist and kissed his cheek. “Grazie amico mio.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders looking down at her. “Listen to this friend then, Cara. Don’t turn away from such a passionate love. Only a few of us ever experience it. Think on it when you are calmer. You are far too emotional to make a decision that affects your whole life.”
“I hope that you found such love too, Frederik.”
He smiled. “Oh, I had my moments.”
Gina blew him a kiss and ran from the room.
Outside, the black carriage still stood at the curb. The door opened and, without hesitating, Gina climbed inside. She looked up. Instead of Blair’s loving face, Lord Ogilvie stared back at her.
He reached out and grabbed her. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”
“Let me go!” Gina tried to pull away from his strong grip. The door slammed behind her, and with a tap of the earl’s cane on the roof, the coachman jimmied his horses, throwing her back against the squabs. The carriage took off down the road, rocking wildly.
“Stop! Let me out,” Gina yelled, wrestling with the door handle.
“My coachman has his instructions and knows better than to query them,” Ogilvie said. He drew a pistol from beneath his traveling coat. “The door is bolted. Sit back and enjoy the journey.”
The coachmen cracked the whip and the horses galloped on, the outskirts of London passing the window. As she searched desperately for help, another
carriage passed them. She saw a man’s face at the window. She yelled and banged, but they were gone in a flash.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “Let me out of this carriage!” She lunged and raked Ogilvie’s face with her nails, drawing blood.
“Vixen!” he cursed, and pushed her hard. She fell back as his hand went to his cheek.
Her hands balled into fists and she attacked again, striking Ogilvie on his bony chest.
He grabbed her wrists and held them easily with one hand. “You are distraught.” His cold voice struck more fear in her than if he’d been angry. “Perhaps you’d best rest a while.”
He reacted so quickly she barely had time to move. She felt a sharp blow to her chin and darkness enveloped her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gina opened her eyes. Her head throbbed and a wave of nausea brought bile to her throat.
“Where am I,” she croaked. It had grown dark and she barely made out Ogilvie’s face in the moonlight. The horses were at full gallop and there were no lights to be seen, except the moon trailing across the sky through the trees and the lanterns swinging from the carriage.
Ogilvie ignored her. She turned back to the window. It appeared they traveled through woods. She rubbed her bruised jaw. How long had she been unconscious? She tried the door handle again, thinking it better to lie dead on the road than suffer what this man must have in store for her.
“The door is still locked. If you misbehave, I shall have to knock you out again,” Ogilvie said. “As you see there is no one around to help you.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“We are on the road to Scotland. We’ve changed horses and had a meal. All, while you slept.”
Gina fought to hide her fear from him. “I’m hungry,” she said, hoping to distract him.
Leaning over, he pulled the straps from a wicker basket on the seat beside him. He flung the lid open. “Here.” He held a plate toward her with a chicken leg and a slice of bread and butter on it.
“And I’m thirsty. Can I have some water?”
Diary of a Painted Lady Page 15
