Passion Wears Pearls

by Renee Bernard

  He shook his head. “She is, but … we don’t run in the same circles. I heard that she’d changed her name to Delilah and had done a few turns in the theatre. But I never cared enough to seek her out.”

  “Not all women are so false.”

  “Time has given me better perspective. Daisy wasn’t false. She never presented herself as anything other than what she was. I was the one who saw her differently and punished her for not living up to my expectations. I’d not have you think me that heartless, but I once was. That painting is proof that I’m horribly flawed.” He shifted to lift her up and sit her on the edge of the giant desk in the middle of the study and then stood facing her, nudging her soft thighs apart. “But you are not false, Eleanor.” And when you break my heart, it will be for exactly the opposite reasons as Daisy. She had none of your character. But because of that proud character I’ve come to worship, I care too much for you to humble you with a useless man for a husband.

  I am the one who is false.

  The Jackal will be in motion and I’ll let Fate intervene.

  But today, you are mine, Eleanor Beckett.

  He cradled her against his chest, but the tenderness of the scene gave way to the desire to claim her there and banish the ghosts of the past once and for all. Not Daisy in particular, but Josiah had the irrational urge to wipe every woman he had ever known from his mind. Each time he made love to Eleanor, they’d all faded a few more degrees until he was sure that there would be no memory of any woman he had been with—leaving only Eleanor.

  As it should be.

  He gripped the lapels of his own robe, admiring how much better it appeared when wrapped around Eleanor’s alluring body, and used the cloth to pull her close, the backs of his fingers deliberately grazing the peaks of her breasts.

  Eleanor leaned forward, increasing the contact as her nipples grew turgid and firm, snaking her hands upward to caress his chest and lick the sensitive lines of his throat. She loved the way his pulse quickened and his warm skin quivered wherever her mouth teased him with her tongue.

  His fingers lifted up each lace-edged strap of her chemise to push it off her shoulders, drawing the soft cotton slowly down across her sensitive peaks, and Eleanor abandoned her campaign to kiss his neck so that she could throw her head back and revel in his attentions.

  Her breasts were bare, and Josiah tasted each one, tonguing each circle of firm flesh until it pebbled at his kisses. She gripped his hair to beg him to suckle her, and Josiah obliged her without hesitation. He lathed and licked the ruddy tips of her breasts until she was shuddering and writhing against him. She became the sustenance his body craved, and Josiah’s appetite for his beloved Eleanor overcame a world of shadows and made him believe that happiness might be his.

  Her hands roamed over him, never still as she sought a way to please him, even as the first hint of her impending climax began to arc from her breasts and radiate out through her limbs. She fanned her hands out to massage his shoulders and map the hardened planes and angles of his chest and back. Eleanor tipped her head forward again, luxuriating in the sight of Josiah at her breasts, and felt every inch the pagan goddess for it.

  But the growing ache inside of her demanded participation, and Eleanor wriggled forward to free her hands and loosen his pants. The head of his cock was already straining for release, and Eleanor slid her hand down its length, lifting one of her legs to press her own wet core against the solid heat of him through the cloth of his breeches.

  “So beautiful …” He sighed, lifting his head to kiss her, shifting his hips forward as well, following her lead to add to the pressure and tease her with his shaft.

  The desk’s height was ideal, though Eleanor doubted the makers had intended it for such a purpose. But then another wicked thought occurred to her. “All this time, Mr. Hastings, I’d say you’ve spent far too much time surveying the view.”

  “And what do you suggest?”

  She shimmied off the edge and pressed against him, only to turn him around and guide him to lean back up against the desk. “It is my turn to survey beauty, Mr. Hastings.”

  She knelt down between his thighs, and kissed the bones of his hips, teasing him as he had her and demonstrating that she was an extremely quick study in the art of love. His pants were already loosened from their love play, and Eleanor eagerly dispatched with the buttons to free his cock for her attentions. The jutting prowess of his erection was a sight to behold, and Eleanor stared at it in admiration and wonder that such a thing existed. She wrapped her fingers around him, testing the marvelous weight and heft of him in her palm. The color ripened at her grip, and Eleanor experienced the thrill of newfound power.

  His breath whistled as he pulled it through clenched teeth. “You’re torturing me on purpose, aren’t you?”

  “No, but I might,” she said, then leaned forward to gently kiss his swollen head.

  She tasted the musk of his skin and boldly sampled the solitary pearl of moisture that heralded his deep arousal, savoring the salty-sweet flavor of his body. His cock jerked against her lips, and Josiah groaned as her tongue found the sensitive juncture at the underside of his swollen head. She licked him there, laving and teasing the taut skin, before she kissed him again, only to take him into her mouth. She moved against him, using her mouth and her hands, instinctively finding the rhythm and pressure to push him over the edge of rapture.

  Every texture of his sex, every ridge and silken line was explored. Her hands and mouth moved in a concert of friction and ardor.

  For Josiah, it was a glorious combination of heaven and hell. For he had to hold perfectly still while Eleanor took charge, her unpracticed attentions angelic in their perfection. He was a caged beast as every move of her mouth and hands against him stripped him of his control. When she took him inside of her mouth, the velvet pocket of that inner sanctum froze him in place, consuming him with a fever that threatened to wrest his release from his grip. Every kiss scalded him with honey that made his bones ignite with need.

  Josiah couldn’t take it anymore.

  He lifted her up with a groan to pull her onto his lap, throwing her petticoats up to sit astride him, and penetrated her with a primal growl, grinding up into the tight, wet confines of her body in a merciless stroke. He buried himself inside of her, until his cock was nestled up against the opening of her womb and they were both breathless. He began to rock upward, his hands locked onto her hips to seize and savor the white-hot release that danced just out of his reach.

  Eleanor cried out, wrapping her legs around his waist, but suddenly, Josiah’s eyes opened and he stopped moving, cursing under his breath as their love play took a very sudden stop. “Damn it.”

  “W-what is it?” She wriggled against him, hoping to spur him on, but Josiah seized her hips and forced her to be still.

  “I have no condoms in this study.”

  “Oh!” Eleanor bit her lower lip in frustration. “Should I—”

  He gripped her bottom, cupping her firmly, and Eleanor forgot what she was going to say. “Miss Beckett, hold on to my neck, please, if you don’t mind.”

  She complied, only to find herself lifted up completely from the desk, still wonderfully impaled by his magnificent erection as he stood and began to carry her out of the room.

  “J-Josiah?”

  “Bedroom,” he growled, concentrating on the issue at hand and praying he didn’t spill his seed from the delightful sensations of this unique form of transportation. It was an extremely unorthodox stroll back to the privacy of his room, but he was determined to reach his goal.

  Within seconds, they were ensconced safely on his great bed and he had withdrawn only for the brief moments it took to secure one of the French letters from his nightstand. “Where were we?”

  “You were going to punish me for torturing you.”

  “Woman. You have no idea.”

  Eleanor laughed as he swept her back into his arms and the “torment” began in earnest until they were bo
th lost in the fires of pleasure and pain. Every stroke and touch pushed them closer to the edge, blurring the lines between possession and surrender.

  She threw back her head, crying out shamelessly, and he could feel her orgasm flow over him, her muscles gripping him with exquisite spasms that sent his own release spinning out through his frame. Josiah couldn’t think as searing crème was wrenched from his body, and he plunged into her to ride out each crest and prolong the moment.

  Long moments of silence followed as they each tried to recover and collect their thoughts. Eleanor’s heart was pounding so loudly she feared if he whispered endearments she wouldn’t hear them, but from his own labored breathing, she doubted the problem would arise.

  At last, she was confident that her soul was once again safely tethered to her body, and Eleanor curled up against his side, tucking up to absorb his heat and savor his touch.

  She smiled up at the ceiling as a new mischievous thought occurred to her.

  “What are you thinking, Miss Beckett?”

  “I’m thinking you’ll recall the last time you went in that study now, Mr. Hastings.”

  She was rewarded with his laughter, an uncontrolled burst that made her realize how rarely he’d done so in her presence. And Eleanor marveled that victory could be this sweet and come with a simple jest.

  I’ll win his heart, yet.

  Chapter

  18

  “Here, let me help you with that.” Rita’s offer was delivered in her usual curt tone as Eleanor dressed to leave, but she was all smiles when their eyes met in the vanity’s reflection. Eleanor yielded her fight with her buttons, grateful for the woman’s intervention. “You headin’ back to the Grove, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “A lot of wasted time, if you ask me, all this back and forth the last few days,” Rita said.

  “Wasted time?” Eleanor nervously adjusted the ruffles of her shirtfront. “Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Escher?”

  “I ain’t as young as I once was, miss, but I know enough. There’s never enough time to be happy, if you ask me. Mind, I’m no fool. There’s always a crowd ready to judge, but they’d do that even if you walked about with a prayer book on your head and never stepped a toe out of line, wouldn’t they?”

  It was all Eleanor could do to nod mutely in shock. So much for our secret!

  Rita finished with the last button. “Not that it’s my business! Mind, I’m just pleased he’s eating!”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Escher. I’m—I’m not comfortable staying … I’m struggling with my conscience, and as silly as it seems, I have to keep my own rooms.”

  “Right enough!” Rita stood back, hands at her hips. “Suit yourself. It’s all art and mystery around here and I can’t keep track of it. I’m no gossip, so you mustn’t worry on that account. Mind, I’ve never been one to exchange banter while I’m haggling over the price of eels. What a bunch of bothersome biddies at that market!”

  Eleanor struggled not to imagine what kind of gossip could be heard in a fish market, but kept her curiosity to herself. “I’m grateful to you, Mrs. Escher.”

  Rita laughed, a rough music that made it clear she wasn’t generally a merry person. “I never thought to see a woman take him in hand, what with him holed up like a hermit and avoiding the world all these long months. But I’m sure as much I never dreamt I’d care one sniff for any wench that did. But here you are, all the same! I like you, miss.”

  “Oh.” Eleanor stood to smooth back her hair nervously. “I don’t think I—no one is taking anyone in hand, Mrs. Escher. I wouldn’t presume to—”

  “That’s what I like about you.” Rita sobered slightly as she located Eleanor’s gloves and bonnet. “A tyrant wouldn’t suit, and a weak little thing would just grind on the nerves. Love’s not a trinket, and you’re clever enough to hold your ground, I’m guessing. So there you are and I can’t find fault.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Escher. I’m grateful for your confidence.” Eleanor took her gloves and hat, hating the heat that flooded her cheeks after such a strange and unexpected assessment. “But it isn’t what it appears—”

  “It’s none of my concern,” Rita interrupted her easily. “Naming a cat doesn’t make him any less of a cat, miss, but if you prefer to stay mum, I’m your gal. I won’t mention it again, mind, and Samuel’s as dense as a tree and happy to be left by the fireplace all day. I just wanted you to know that while I ain’t no ladies’ maid, I’m happy to know you, that’s all.”

  “Oh,” Eleanor said breathlessly, touched and horrified in the same instant. “I’m … happy to know you, too, Mrs. Escher.”

  Eleanor held her things a little tighter and hurried from the room, wondering if her feelings for Josiah and current predicament were evident for all the world to see or if Mrs. Escher was simply more perceptive than most.

  God, am I so transparent?

  Her desire for him increased with every encounter, heightened with each passing day. Nothing was dulled by familiarity, but rather sharpened to a razor’s edge that cut into her every waking thought. Eleanor wasn’t sure how any woman of sense managed to carry herself calmly in the public eye with a storm of want raging inside of her. She feared that her problem was unique since it was hard to imagine the matrons she’d known losing themselves in erotic daydreams or craving a man’s touch until there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him.

  He was waiting for her on the landing to walk her down the stairs to the carriage. Eleanor studied him in an unguarded moment as he habitually pressed his fingers against his eyes. He was leaning against the banister, the very image of masculine strength and beauty, but there was something about him that made her think of a lost boy.

  “Josiah, are you … unwell?” she asked quietly, praying he would trust her to tell her the truth.

  He lifted his head, dropping his hand with a dismissing wave. “Just a headache. I’ll have Rita make one of her concoctions and set me right.”

  “Rita made it clear that she knows about us.”

  “Did she approve?” he asked with a mischievous smile.

  “Wholeheartedly, Mr. Hastings.” Eleanor smiled as a curl of fire snaked through her at his playfulness. “It was one of the most startling conversations I’ve ever been privy to. She thinks I should stay.”

  It was a bold thing to say, and she knew it. It was a subtle bid for him to agree and to ask her to stay. Eleanor held her breath and waited for him to speak, prepared to cheerfully complete her fall from grace.

  “I told you that she was as sweet as a kitten.” He pulled her forward, tipping her head back gently. “You could melt the heart of anyone, my dearest muse.”

  And what of your heart?

  His fingers caressed her cheek, and the faint smell of linseed oil evoked a nostalgic urge to lead him back up the studio and make love yet again. “Kiss me, Josiah.”

  It was a gentle command that didn’t require repeating.

  His mouth touched hers in a whisper-light caress, teasing her by dragging the silk of his lips against hers. He hovered there, their breath mingling in a kiss of souls that liquefied her core and made her heart race. Eleanor pushed up onto her toes to silently end the prelude and achieve the kisses she desired.

  She couldn’t get enough of the warm velvet of his tongue, taking control to sample and explore the magic of his mouth to hers and the paradox of endless satisfaction that only fueled a growing hunger to have more of him. Slowly, she leisurely surveyed the power of his kisses, reaching up to run her hands up his chest and absorb the beating of his heart through her fingertips.

  It was meant to be a kiss of farewell, but Eleanor conceded that there was very little inside of her that wished to go.

  Each kiss began to grow in momentum, and Eleanor recognized the familiar flare of desire that snaked down her spine and made her thighs damp. It was paradise to touch him, and she would have asked for more, but Josiah gently broke away and set her back on her heels with a playful nuzzle against her neck an
d ears.

  “Now, let’s get you downstairs before Mrs. Clay sends out the police in search of her new favorite tenant.” He nipped at the shell of her ear and then stepped back to straighten her coat collar. “Did you have a scarf, Eleanor?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll—be warm enough.”

  It was a bittersweet moment when she accepted that there would be no declaration or change in their illicit agreement. They would be together until the painting was completed and then …

  Eleanor couldn’t even imagine what might come next.

  Josiah limped back up to his studio, his blood raging with arousal and his cock so stiff it bordered on pain. He locked the door and then leaned against it with both hands. He’d come within a hair’s breadth of forfeiting all his vows for independence and begging Miss Eleanor Beckett of Orchard Street to never leave his side.

  Rita had meant well, he was sure, but the hopeful look in Eleanor’s eyes had made her departure almost impossible—and had threatened to unman him.

  He walked over to the easel and uncovered the painting.

  It was nearly done.

  Whether he liked it or not, the decision for her to go or to stay was about to be taken out of his hands.

  “You look worn out, miss,” Mrs. Clay exclaimed as she helped Eleanor with her coat. “He’s a tyrant to keep you so late!”

  “No,” Eleanor protested quietly as she removed her gloves. “I … enjoy the time, Mrs. Clay. It’s going by so quickly and I’ll—miss it.”

  “Of course you will!” Mrs. Clay sighed. “He is charming enough to make an old bird like myself remember the thrill of a good man’s company. Not that I’d trade in a single day of my dear Mr. Clay’s presence, rest his soul, but I can admire the view out my window, can’t I?”

  Eleanor halfheartedly pretended to be shocked, but she prayed that her dear landlady wasn’t about to repeat Rita’s endorsement of illicit affairs with handsome painters. The illusion of propriety was a shield she wasn’t ready to entirely drop, not without Josiah at her back. “Mrs. Clay!”