by Nina Mason
Jane drew nearer to him and the covered painting. An indiscernible look crossed his features as he took hold of the cloth. “Several collectors wanted this one, but I couldn’t bear to part with it. Not until I’d shown it to you, at least. Because it truly is how I see you, Jane. I don’t tell you I find you beautiful just to flatter your vanity. I mean it in all sincerity, as you will see.”
At that, he pulled the cloth off the painting. Awestruck by what she beheld, Jane studied the image. He’d painted her in one of her black dresses standing in front of a stained-glass window depicting the Annunciation. Drawing nearer to take in the finer details, Jane noticed the needlework hoop in her masterfully rendered hands, as well as a Latin caption near the window.
In coelo quies. In Heaven, there is rest.
She turned to him with tears in her eyes. The painting was a tour de force, and she was at once deeply flattered and profoundly moved by his tribute. “Tell me what it represents.”
As he explained the painting’s meaning, Jane felt as she had when she saw his self-portrait: like he’d seen her very essence. He had captured her—and all the complicated layers of her deepest, truest feelings—with perfect understanding.
He drew nearer and pressed his hand to her cheek. “Your tears tell me everything I need to know—and are the highest compliment you could have paid me. Oh, Jane, my beautiful, sweet, clever angel. I do not think I can live without you. Without you, all hope of happiness will be torn away. What then will be left but misery and regret? Yes, I was wrong to mislead you, but I would do right by you if only you would—well, no matter. I promised not to press you and mean to keep my word.”
She dragged her teeth across her lower lip. God help her. She couldn’t keep up the pretense any longer. She loved him too much to throw him away. She just prayed whatever he had to say would make it possible for them to marry. “I give you leave to speak.”
When he took her face between his hands, her legs turned to jelly. “Darling Jane. I should like very much—more than anything—to make you my wife. Regrettably, I cannot fix a date for our nuptials until I’m in a position to support you. I have high hopes that my new paintings will supply the income we require, but can make no promises yet. Monsieur Claremont, I’m happy to report, shares my optimism and has already arranged for a solo exhibit of my paintings at one of the more fashionable galleries in Paris. If the paintings sell well, and that show leads to another, we may be able to marry sooner than expected…but, forgive me. I seem to have gotten ahead of myself.”
A nervous smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “You have not yet given me your answer. I know I have no right to ask, dear Jane, but I am convinced you are the only woman in the world who could make me happy and have every confidence I could make you happy, too. And since I’ll be returning to Paris on the morrow, I should like very much to secure an understanding with you.”
She was all atremble by the time he finished. And yet, as eloquent as his speech had been, he’d left out one critical element. “Ask me outright.”
The hope he’d been suppressing shone in his eyes. “Will you have me, Jane Grey, as your betrothed until such time as I can put a wedding band on your finger?”
“I will.” She beamed at him, her heart rejoicing. “More than gladly. And will proudly become your wife when you can afford to marry. I just hope that day comes sooner rather than later.”
“As do I, my darling.” Eyes glittering, he pulled her nearer. “And until that time, be it near or far away, I want you to have this.” He reached into his coat and withdrew something from the inner breast pocket, which he then pressed into her hand.
She looked down to see a miniature portrait on ivory in an oval silver frame. It was of him, and very like the painting she’d seen her first day in Tours. “It’s beautiful, and I shall treasure it always.”
“Oh, Jane,” he said with tears in his eyes. “You have made me so happy.”
His hands glided to her shoulders, took hold, and pulled her against him so that their chests were pressed together. Beneath his silk waistcoat, his heart was beating as fast as hers. They were in a garden; a beautiful, fragrant garden devoted to the changeable nature of love. Would he change toward her while they were apart? Would he meet someone else more beautiful and sophisticated than she could ever be? Not someone like Lady Cécile, but a woman with depth, intelligence, and compassion. Someone who could appreciate all he had to offer. Someone who had looks, charm, substance, and money. Jane had no doubt such women were plentiful in Parisian society.
Apprehensive and breathless, she yanked herself free of his hold. “Matthew, are you sure you want someone like me?”
His brows drew together over his extraordinary eyes. “No, Jane. I don’t want someone like you. I want you—and nobody else.” He searched her gaze. “What is this about? Do you harbor regrets? Do you doubt my constancy?”
“No,” she said before reconsidering the honesty of the denial. “Well, perhaps just a little. But I wouldn’t say doubt so much as question. We may be apart a long while. I have no beauty and no fortune. I have nothing to attract a rival. The same, however, cannot be said of you. You might be poor, but you’re also handsome, brilliant, passionate, and romantic. Virtues a woman of quality will prize. What if you are caught by someone who would steal you away from me?”
“I won’t be,” he said.
She wasn’t satisfied. “How can you be sure?”
“I’m sure because my heart belongs to you completely.” He set a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Moreover, I don’t agree you have no beauty. For beauty is in the eye of the beholder and, when I look at you, I behold the loveliest creature in all of existence.”
His compliments eased some of Jane’s misgivings. “When I’m in your arms, I feel beautiful.”
“Then let me hold you all night.”
Desire rolled through her as dark and heavy as a thunderhead. She swallowed and tried to speak, wanting to clarify what he was offering. “Just hold me?”
“Is that what you want?”
“No.” Her throat was too tight and her heart too full to manage more than a whisper. “I desire a good deal more.”
“Jane.” He took hold of her shoulders and gazed so intensely into her eyes it felt as if he’d physically entered her body. “Are you asking me to make love to you?”
She blinked to break the spell his stare had cast over her. “Yes. That’s precisely what I’m asking. Unless you’d rather not…”
A wolfish smile bowed the corners of his mouth. “You must know how much I want you. I wouldn’t have asked for your hand—or kissed you with such…well, passion, for lack of a better word, unless I desired you greatly.”
His words gladdened her heart and hastened her pulse. The picture of him reclining bare-chested on the chaise in his studio came into her mind. Soon, she would be at liberty to explore every part of him, visually as well as tactilely. Her heart fluttered as she imagined reaching into his trousers and solving the mystery that had plagued her for weeks. She ran her tongue across her lips, yearning to taste the fruit dangling within reach.
Jane was suddenly grateful for her new corset. Trussed up in satin and boning, and embellished with so many frills, her figure looked much more womanly than she’d ever dreamed possible.
“I desire you just as dearly.”
He pressed his warm hand to her warmer cheek. It wasn’t the only part of her anatomy enflamed. She relaxed into his grasp, letting the weight of her head rest in his hand. He caressed her cheek, running his thumb lightly across her flesh. When it brushed her lips, she opened her mouth, seized the digit, and lightly bit down.
“Oh, Jane,” he rasped, visibly affected by the nip. “Something tells me there’s a vixen hiding beneath your prim and proper façade, which excites me excessively.”
Lust-heavy lids shaded the black fire in his eyes. She could feel herself melting under their heat. His face came closer. Her stomach tightened and her heart beat faster.
He pressed her mouth against his, setting off sparks low in her abdomen. His hands dropped to her shoulders as he coaxed apart her lips. When his tongue brushed against hers, the sparks caught fire.
As they continued kissing, he guided her hand to the front of his trousers and pressed her fingers against the hardness within. Breaking from the kiss, he gasped, “Do you feel how much I want you, my darling?”
“I do,” she said, “and I want you with equal passion.”
Taking her by the wrist, he led her to the daybed and perched himself upon the edge of the linen-covered cushion. He removed his gloves and kicked off his slippers before reaching for her. Bringing her between his legs, he lifted her right arm and peeled off the long glove. He then raised her bared hand to his mouth and kissed each fingertip in turn. The sensual ritual made Jane ache to be similarly kissed in more intimate places.
As he peeled the glove from her other hand, she finger-combed his hair, which was every bit as soft and thick as it appeared. He deposited her gloves, along with his own, on the table beside the bed, after which he took a moment to study her.
When his eyes came to rest on her décolletage, a lustful smile bloomed on his lips. “Why, Jane. I do believe you are corseted this evening.”
“I confess that I am,” she said, blushing. “By one with figure-enhancing frills, no less.”
“Please describe it to me in detail.” There was devilishness in his voice and eyes.
Happy to oblige him, she said, half in jest, “Well, let me see…it’s very tight and has a great deal of boning, which is digging into my ribs and making it hard to breathe.”
“That is the underpainting.” Bending, he kissed the summits of her uplifted breasts. “I want to hear about the overlay.”
“Very well.” She was so happy she could not stop smiling. “It’s covered in satin of a pale blush color, and trimmed in wide ecru lace. There are also several bows across the front—of pale blue silk ribbon—to create the illusion of voluptuousness.”
He looked up at her teasingly from under his dark lashes. “Are your breasts not naturally voluptuous?”
A blush heated her face. “You know they are not.”
“I only suspect as much.” He smiled. “May I look?”
“I don’t see why not, as you will see all of me soon enough.”
His grin broadened. “And I look forward with great anticipation to the unveiling.”
“I look just as forward to yours.”
He reached inside her bodice and bared her small breasts to his view. After admiring them for several moments, he leaned in and flicked the tip of his tongue against her left nipple. She gasped in surprise. It was as if he’d plucked a harp string stretching from her breast to her sex. The sublime sensation intensified when he closed his lips around her nipple and suckled her tender flesh like a hungry infant.
As he drove her to raptures with his devotions, she ran her fingers through his plush black mane. “When we are married, will you permit me to sketch you in the nude?” she asked.
“If you wish to.” Switching to the other nipple he ran the tip of his tongue around her areola.
“I do wish to. Very much indeed.”
Lifting his head, he looked at her through hooded eyes. “You will grant me the same favor, I trust?”
“Only if you promise not to display it where anyone will see it.”
“And share my most prized possession with the rest of the world? Never!”
He kissed her then and, as their tongues exchanged caresses, she worked on the complicated knot on his neckcloth. When it was loose, she unwrapped the strip and dropped it on the table atop their gloves. There was a small mother-of-pearl button holding the band of his collar in place. After releasing the loop, she pushed her hands inside his shirt, eager for the feel of his flesh. His chest hair was springy, but softer than she’d imagined, and his nipples sprouted like new buds as she teased them between her fingers.
“You will teach me how to please you, won’t you? I want to be a good wife to you, Matthew—and a satisfactory lover—not some fumbling novice who only tolerates her husband’s needs so she can bear him children.”
“Why, Jane, you shock me with your boldness.” There was mirth in his tone. “And of course I will teach you what I like—and hope you will return the favor.”
“I will if you are interested to know.” With a shy smile, she added, “Just as soon as I acquire the knowledge for myself.”
“Good.” He laughed—a lovely, musical sound. “Now, turn around. I want to divest you of this gown and see your pretty corset for myself.”
“As you wish.” She spun round in a rustling swirl of skirts. “And while you unlace me, would you be so good as to recite the poem on which you based your tribute?”
“I would be happy to.” He cleared his throat and untied the laces on her bodice, which was separate from her skirt. “Though there are quite a few verses. Perhaps it would be better to wait until afterward.”
She pictured herself lying in his arms on the daybed while he recited poetry to her in the moonlight. “I give you leave to delay.”
His hands trembled slightly as he began to undress her. When her bodice and skirt lay in a heap on the floor, he turned her around. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Miss Grey. Now, do me, if you don’t mind.”
She didn’t mind in the least. Pulse racing and fingers trembling, she pulled the coat off his shoulders and, as he wriggled his arms free of the sleeves, she worked the buttons on his waistcoat out of their snug enclosures. When it was off, she tugged his shirttails out of his trousers and then slid her hands underneath.
As she explored his chest, he seized her, pulled her down onto his lap, and kissed her deeply. As their tongues entangled, his hands roamed downward, finding the hook on her petticoat. When the waistband came loose, he set her back on her feet. The underskirt dropped to the floor in a billow of flounces, leaving her in only her corset, chemise, stockings, and slippers.
He pulled off his shirt, reclined on the daybed, and opened his trousers. Though she had a reasonable idea what to expect, it was still a shock when his erection popped out in the manner of a jack-in-the-box. She sat beside him, marveling at that wondrous part of his anatomy.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, grinning. “It rarely bites.”
She studied his cockstand for a few moments before gingerly touching the tip. “It’s a rather odd thing, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said, “I suppose it is.”
Taking great care, she ran her fingers down his shaft and back up again. The leathery hardness of it felt as strange as it looked. She looked up to find him watching her fingers glide over his member. When he lifted his gaze to hers, she asked, “Now what do we do?”
He smiled at her tempestuously. “Come down beside me, dearest Jane, and I’ll show you.”
Chapter Eighteen
As Jane reclined beside him, Matthew explored her body with a light touch and appraising fingers. She wasn’t what anyone would call voluptuous with her thin shoulders, small breasts, and narrow hips, but he didn’t mind in the least.
Her breasts fit perfectly into his hands (and only a greedy man could ask for more than that); her legs were slender, but shapely and sturdy; her arms were on the thin side, but far from twigs; and her hands…well, her hands were tiny, but also long-fingered, fine-boned, and graceful. They might have belonged to a highborn lady if not for the calluses. Elsewhere, her skin was as smooth as silk and smelled pleasantly of lavender water.
“Do you love me, Jane?”
“Yes, Matthew. Very much.”
Pleased with her in every way, he rolled toward her, ran his hand down the side of her face and pressed his mouth lightly against hers. As the kiss deepened, a strange feeling washed over him—a feeling of inner expansion, like the ice encrusting his heart had fallen away.
The sudden sensation of fullness made him achingly aware just how empty he’d been before she came into his life.
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br /> Feeling her shiver, he withdrew. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
“Nervous?”
“A bit.”
Suspecting she was more anxious than she was letting on, he lowered his head to kiss her mouth before moving to her ear. Drawing the fleshy lobe between his teeth, he nipped playfully before moving to the graceful column of her neck. He kissed her throat, then her collarbone, and then her breasts, one after the other. Returning to the first, he teased the nipple with his lips and tongue while rolling its mate between thumb and forefinger.
She remained tense, but not unresponsive.
He kissed her stomach through her corset before unfastening the hooks that ran down the front. The disengaged panels fell open, revealing the wrinkled muslin chemise underneath. He had thought he’d like her to keep both on, but had changed his mind. When he took her for the first time, he wanted to relish the sweetness of their bodies molded together, flesh to flesh.
He stripped off the chemise with only moderate maneuvering on her part. Then, while planting kisses on her belly, he slid his hand between her thighs. Locating her vagina, he was pleased to find her agreeably lubricated. As he ran a finger around the entrance, she drew a sharp inward breath.
“Jane.” Lifting his head, he looked into her eyes, keeping his hand between her legs. “Are you embarrassed?”
“No.” The high pitch of her voice suggested otherwise.
“There’s no need to be, I promise.”
She relaxed a little as he drew lazy circles around her bud of pleasure. “Does this feel good?”
“Yes.”
He suspected her tension stemmed from her mistaken self-belief that he found her slender figure unappealing. So, taking one of her hands, he curled her fingers around his cock. “Do you know what this means?”
“I believe so.”
“Then tell me.”
“It means you are…aroused.”
“Which means I find you desirable. I also happen to love you enough to want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“I know, but…you’re so handsome and I’m so…well, not.”
