Passion Wears Pearls

by Renee Bernard

  “How astute of you, Mrs. Dunleigh.” Josiah shifted his stance, a man completely comfortable in the midst of confrontation. “Thank you for not mistakenly offering me a pamphlet.”

  Eleanor’s face was burning in embarrassment, but his attempt to shield her wasn’t helping. It was all she could do not to burst into tears. “I should … call on you, Mrs. Dunleigh. It’s been so long since—”

  Mrs. Dunleigh’s charitable nature didn’t extend that far, and she cut Eleanor off. “My daughter is at an impressionable age, Miss Beckett. I’m afraid I insist on restricting callers at present. As you are unmarried and”—Mrs. Dunleigh’s upper lip curled in distaste—“independent, I think not. Good day, Miss Beckett.”

  The woman spared her a single curt nod, and then walked away as briskly as a woman departing a building on fire. Eleanor watched helplessly as the middle-class matron effectively gave her the cut direct and sailed off back to Orchard Street to no doubt spread delicious gossip about the encounter.

  “What must she be thinking? I was—letting you hold my hand and …”

  “What does it matter what she thinks?” he interjected calmly.

  “She thinks I’m your—mistress! She was looking at me with pity and disgust as if—”

  “Eleanor.”

  His use of her first name captured her attention completely.

  “Eleanor,” he went on softly. “Was she a dear friend?”

  She shook her head slowly. “An acquaintance of my mother’s. We were at her house on a few occasions for tea.”

  “Has she corresponded or expressed any concern for your well-being? Ever?”

  Once again, she shook her head. “No.”

  “She’s nothing, then. You’re standing there trembling and on the verge of tears because a woman of no consequence has crossed your path. Her opinions carry as much weight as a cobweb.”

  Eleanor shook her head, unsure of how to convince him that fear wasn’t a weightless thing; that she was sure it could crush her. “I’m afraid, Mr. Hastings.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m afraid that I’m not nearly as proper as I wish to be. It isn’t Mrs. Dunleigh and her opinions—it’s far more dire.”

  “Is it?” he asked gently. “Tell me. Tell me, what were you thinking before the old battle-axe came over with her pamphlets and dampened the green in your eyes.”

  She took one uneven breath before looking away. I was glad that Mr. Escher had gone. I was hoping it meant you might ask to kiss me again. Even now, with Mrs. Dunleigh’s looks of disapproval clanging across my nerves, I’m wishing you’d touch my hands as you did before. “Why do you always ask what I am thinking?”

  “Perhaps I’m hoping to hear the voice of reason I suspect is so eloquent in that beautiful head of yours—and praying it will drown out the voice in my head.”

  And there it was. He spoke openly of his desire and hers broke free of its prison.

  “And what are you thinking, Mr. Hastings? What is your inner voice saying right now?”

  “That I would be the Devil himself if I kissed you right now, in such a public place, and even so, I’m not sure I won’t.”

  She looked back at him, and without so much as a whimper, the voice of reason was silenced. “You won’t. But I, Mr. Hastings, will.”

  Chapter

  14

  “Eleanor—”

  She moved closer, her head tipping back to hold his gaze. “I’ve never been kissed before. I don’t want to be impolite, Mr. Hastings, so I shall use the word please and trust that you’ll oblige me.”

  Josiah didn’t hesitate to “oblige” her with a kiss. He lowered his mouth to cover hers, intending to gently taste the soft, ripe sweetness of her lips, satisfy his lustful curiosities, and be done with it. But at the first instant that his mouth met with hers, he knew he’d underestimated his hunger and need for the delectable and prim Miss Eleanor Beckett.

  She instinctively yielded to him, inviting him to take all that he wanted, parting her lips to let him feast on the soft honey warmth of her mouth and tongue, feeding on his touch with a hunger of her own that made his joints feel strange. Here wasn’t a proper tight little kiss, but a fiery passionate touch that melted into his and matched every move that he made, holding nothing back in shy reserve.

  It was a dance of sensation with a rhythm all its own. Eleanor’s gloved hands slid up inside his coat against his back as she clung to him, and Josiah discovered that his maidenly Eleanor was a quick study in the ways of pleasure. If he’d half expected a spinsterly display metered out and dutifully followed by a ladylike slap … he was happily disappointed.

  Only the knowledge that his hands would feel like ice kept Josiah from giving in to an impulse to touch her throat or explore the hypnotic contours of her face. Instead, he gripped the wool sleeves of her coat, capturing her and holding her in place as every kiss surpassed the kiss before, like a string of perfect pearls.

  He left her lips for just a moment to bend over and trace the porcelain arch of her ear with his tongue, and was instantly rewarded.

  “Josiah.” She moaned his name, and it was a music he couldn’t ignore.

  He pulled her up into his arms, pressing her close until he was sure that she would be able to feel every thrum and pulse of his heart through the layers of winter clothing that separated their bodies. Desire lashed out across his skin, and Josiah’s blood reveled in the fiery heat that surged out from his core, quickening his pulse and tightening his muscles. His cock was instantly rock-hard, and Josiah groaned at the unexpected pleasure and pain of its presence. He’d abstained for months, and Eleanor’s kisses were proving to be unbearably powerful.

  To Eleanor, it was a sweet, slow slide into heaven. His lips were hot silk against hers, and her breath caught in her throat at the raw beauty of his touch. It was unnerving. From the vague descriptions in literature suited for young ladies, every hint had made it seem as if she would be transported into an ethereal state. But this—this was transformation of a very physical and grounded nature. This was a new awareness of herself as a fleshly being, and if her spirit was involved, it was only to underline that there was nothing she wouldn’t be willing to happily forfeit in a primal quest for pleasure. For this—this was bliss. Everything that had defined her before his lips touched hers fell away: etiquette and place, pride and presumptions, ambition and reserve.

  It was a freedom she had never known.

  Every delicate flutter of nerves newly awakened was followed with a gripping surge of need that jarred her very core. Her fingers dug into his back, contracting with the waves of hunger that shimmered through her body only to pool between her hips. She came alive as never before, and prayed that it would never end.

  He suckled her tongue, the rough velvet of it making her knees buckle. Eleanor opened her mouth wider, greedy for more, yielding to him and the lightning storm inside of her his touch evoked. A curious fire poured down her spine and across her skin, and when his teeth grazed the sensitive swollen peak of her lower lip, Eleanor trembled at the searing flash of lust that whipped through her frame, and waited for the guilt that never came.

  She felt light and hollow, and when his arms encircled her to lift her against the warm wall of his body, Eleanor nearly wept at the delicious ache between her thighs. She had a fleeting thought that no matter who had initiated this embrace, she was lost in it now.

  It was only when she realized that her feet had left the ground to cling to him like a desperate vine that her eyes opened in surprise.

  A lady wouldn’t … forget herself. … My goodness, I’ve nearly … in a public park!

  She turned her face away from his to try to gather her wits, and pushed against his chest to kick out with her feet and recover her balance.

  He disengaged reluctantly, forcing himself to release her. His mouth hovered over hers, their breath comingling, and Josiah knew that whatever natural curiosity or innocent impulse had driven her to make her reque
st—she would not appreciate him mauling her like a ravenous beast in a public park.

  Josiah looked down at her, waiting until her eyelashes fluttered open and the Eleanor he knew returned to her senses even while his body throbbed in protest at the sudden change in plans.

  “O-oh my!” She sighed, openly startled. “That was …”

  “Unexpected.” He finished her sentence, unwilling to hear her express her regret at the act. “We should get back, Miss Beckett, and see what we can make of the rest of the day. I should be mixing paints and finishing the preparations.”

  She stepped back, nervously tucking a stray curl back up into her bonnet. “Mr. Hastings, have I ruined all between us?”

  He shook his head. “No, Miss Beckett. But I vowed to behave, remember? Not to trespass or take advantage? So, you’ll have to be patient with me, for I’m not sure how far honor extends or where the limits of my self-discipline will fall away. You are unharmed and I wouldn’t apologize for that kiss for an emperor’s ransom. But, Eleanor …”

  “Yes?”

  “How did Mrs. Dunleigh know I was a painter?” he asked, deliberately provoking Eleanor’s laughter and easing the tension between them.

  “You have paint on your shirt collar, Mr. Hastings.”

  He glanced down, opening his coat to inspect the linen of his cravat. “A few splatters, but it’s a work shirt, so there’s no harm.”

  A few splatters?

  Eleanor reached out to touch his coat sleeve, holding up what could only be described as a ruined elbow of scarlet and black. “Josiah …”

  He reacted to his name as if there’d been a gunshot, his brown eyes instantly blazing with an emotion she didn’t recognize. He pulled his arm away and took a step back. “That’s enough for today, I think. Let’s get back and I’ll get Escher to send for the carriage to get you home.”

  “I’ve offended you.”

  “No, God, no. You could never overstep, Miss Beckett.” He took a deep breath. “But I’m not fit company for a lady today. I’m—we’ll start work again tomorrow if the light allows. Please. Be merciful and let’s end the day while I have a bit of self-control left, yes?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hastings.” She’d nodded and shyly allowed him to lead her back to the house. A quiet overcame them both until the carriage arrived and he was left alone in his studio with his demons.

  Holy mother of bleeding fools …

  She said my name and I nearly unmanned myself.

  Hell, when was the last time a woman said my name and I felt like that?

  Answer: never.

  Not once.

  Not even with the witch who broke me so many years ago.

  He was determined to put the kiss behind him and reassure her that he was a man of his word. But there was more than that behind his retreat. That kiss had proven to him that his emotions were far from his control and that the danger of losing his heart was immediate and very real. The obvious tragedy ahead loomed, and Josiah wasn’t sure he had the strength to weather more loss.

  Lose your sight but keep your heart, Hastings. Hell, I can’t think of anything more pitiful than a heartbroken blind man shambling about and mumbling over a woman he can’t have. Use your head, man! Borrowing trouble is a fool’s game.

  “I’ve taken my last leisurely stroll outside of the house.” He leaned over the table and put his head into his hands, then had to groan at the miserable irony of realizing he’d just smeared paint into his hair.

  Damn! What a day to keep a man humble! Between scraping my knees and this—I’d say it’s a lesson learned. I’m as fit for romance and suited for seduction as a bell-capped jester!

  Josiah sighed, straightened his back, then finished sealing up his pigment jars for the next day’s work. He rang the bell for Escher to try to warn the man that he’d need help drawing a hot bath downstairs, and left the studio without looking back.

  “Ah, there you are Miss Beckett!” Mrs. Clay greeted her with her usual enthusiasm. “Was it a shorter day, miss?”

  Eleanor removed her bonnet. “I cannot complain, Mrs. Clay.” She could feel the heat flooding her face as the memory of her first kiss washed through her. Luckily, the cold had already colored her cheeks apple red so there would be no telltale signal for her concerned landlady to see.

  “Will you eat in the common room tonight or—”

  “Not tonight, Mrs. Clay. I think I’ll just … read quietly and stay warm by the fire, if I can.”

  “Of course! Tally’s got you all set for coal and cleaned the grate today. He’s sweet on you, I’m sure of it! I’ll send you up a nice hot tray later and see that you’re not disturbed.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Clay.” Eleanor retreated to her room without looking back and leaned against the closed door for a few minutes, determined to shut the world out. She could see the familiar tome of Lady M’s advice on her bedside table, the sight of it mocking her.

  Because today she had accepted that she was not as mindful of her reputation as she’d long believed. Eleanor’s worst fear had been faced and discarded in one single brazen act. All her life, she’d fought so hard to be correct in her behavior and careful of the rules. She’d believed that stepping over the line would lead to some kind of black oblivion.

  But kissing Josiah hadn’t been oblivion. It had opened a universe of sensation and desire that she’d never imagined existed. And she didn’t want to retreat from the discovery. Eleanor wanted more.

  She wanted Josiah Hastings.

  “I am not a proper lady,” she said softly, and then waited for lightning to strike.

  Chapter

  15

  The next day, Josiah paced the wide, open floors of his studio, anxiously listening for her footsteps on the stairs. Despite reading that losing one sense heightened the others, Josiah didn’t believe his hearing had improved in the slightest—or any of his faculties. Even so, he crossed the floor again, quietly praying that he’d be able to detect her presence on the stairs and have a few seconds to prepare. He wasn’t completely confident that Eleanor would actually return after the previous day’s intimacies, but he’d braced himself for an awkward morning.

  He was anxious to use the rituals of work and avoid any further misunderstandings. She’d invited a kiss with the most innocent solicitation he’d ever heard, but Josiah knew what was at stake far better than Eleanor.

  Escher had brought in a new box of candles, and Josiah began adding them to the waxen forest as best he could. Gaslight had a steadier glow, but renovations on the house had ceased before he’d added lines to the studio. Before long the smell of beeswax candles all merrily lit and flickering away permeated the room and made him wonder if he should heed his houseman’s warning about setting his worktable on fire.

  “Mr. Creed was almost cheerful this morning!” Eleanor’s voice carried from the doorway as she breezed in, already dressed in her red velvet for the day. “I brought him some of Mrs. Clay’s cheese muffins and I swear the man almost smiled.”

  His relief at her arrival was so sharp it took his breath away for a moment.

  So much for those heightened senses of the blind!

  “Did you know he worked in this very building before the fire?” she continued gaily. “He was a woodworker of some kind and helped maintain the milling machines. Poor man!”

  Josiah couldn’t remember ever being so on edge around a woman in his lifetime. All he wanted was to finish before his baser nature robbed him of his chance—or destroyed his peace of mind.

  “You’re not supposed to distract Roger with tins from Mrs. Clay’s kitchen, Miss Beckett.” Josiah straightened his coat as he came toward her. “The man is a watchdog, not a pampered pet.”

  “He is not a canine you’ve tied to a post!” she protested. “Be civil, Mr. Hastings.”

  “You are right, of course. But please don’t spoil his surly disposition, Miss Beckett. How can Mr. Creed frighten away intruders if you ruin his wretched demeanor?” Josiah teased.

>   “Nothing will make Mr. Creed less intimidating short of dressing him in petticoats, so I will ignore you and bring the poor man gingerbread biscuits on the morrow.” She held her ground.

  “And none for me?”

  “We shall see,” she said in a very good imitation of a headmistress addressing an errant pupil. “We shall see.”

  He shook his head, aware that the humorous exchange had undermined all his plans to usher her directly to the dais without small talk to make a professional start to the day. “Let’s get started, then.” He held out his hand to escort her to the settee.

  “Is the light better today?” she asked.

  “No, not really, but I’ve mountains of fresh candles and I’m determined not to lose another day.” A growing sense of urgency spurred him on. His vision was better today, and something primal in him needed to paint and put brush to canvas. Josiah was determined to work until he couldn’t stand anymore. He would work by candlelight alone, if need be, and use his imagination to finish what his eyes couldn’t convey.

  She settled into position, smoothing out her skirts. “Then I will do my best to be still, Mr. Hastings.”

  “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward her hair.

  She nodded. “As you wish.”

  He rearranged a few tendrils, loosening the silken mass at the nape of her neck and then resecuring it with a tortoise comb to recreate the inspiring effect of a woman not quite unbound. “There.”

  Josiah accepted that no amount of icy resolve was going to mute the impact his siren had on his senses, but it did hasten him to withdraw to his own position in front of the canvas.

  “I am ready, Mr. Hastings,” she said softly.

  By God, so am I.

  Yesterday’s kiss was like a dream to her.

  Eleanor did her best to sit quietly and imagine that the man sitting across from her wasn’t sending spidery waves of heat through her with every studied glance of his intense brown eyes.