Painted Trust_Edith and the Forensic Surgeon
Page 30
Every inch of her skin was suddenly over-sensitive, as if she stood there naked. This was just ridiculous. She had never been so self-conscious about her body in her life. But this man, with his unwavering, enigmatic gaze, made her feel utterly exposed.
He lifted his finger and motioned to the ottoman at his feet. Indignation, and something else she dared not explore, burnt her cheeks.
He couldn’t be serious.
Her legs readied themselves to move, as if her body was willing to follow his confident direction, but she pushed the impulse down and out of her mind.
“I think you may have things mixed up. I’m the governess, not a Canvas. And if you mean to berate me because of a small note then you have misunderstood my intention.”
His fathomless gaze regarded her. “I take it you regularly expect a dressing down, Miss James?”
“Not at all…” she lied. Elspeth found that her hands were on her hips. She lowered them and looked around. She needed to leave.
Yet if she did, he would no doubt report this to the Hurleys as well.
He stood up.
Something rippled through her, a current of energy that reminded her all too closely of the way her body sang in the darkness last night.
Instinctively, she took a step back.
He prowled to the front of the platform, his eyes fixed upon her. Yes, just like one of those big cats.
“Turn around.” His voice was a soft growl.
What did he think he was doing?
“I will not.” Damn it, she sounded way too breathy.
In a few quick movements, he was up on the platform. Her hand came to her chest. Heat flooded her as she looked up at him. “You are supposed to stay down there.”
“No one gets what they want following the rules, Miss James.
“I’m sure many people do . . .”
“I’m sure they don’t want . . . the right things.” He leaned down.
Her face reddened as those unwanted, very private and heated memories flooded her.
She recalled the feel of her fingers as they glided between the damp folds of her sex, the way his face from the photograph had flashed through her mind as her pleasure built and she’d imagined all kinds of liberties being taken with her.
Her face got hotter.
Her gaze dropped to the ground and it felt like every thought she duelled to make return to its private dark recess raced into the well-lit space between them.
Would a man ever touch her like that? Or would she, like thousands of governesses across the country, only ever feel pleasure by her own hand?
Those forbidden thoughts pulsed through her. Lighting fires under her skin, under his see-everything-show-nothing gaze.
She swallowed.
She should never have taken the photograph out of the file. She should have left it there, and had her fantasies about an unknown mystery man.
Damn it, I am not a demure little Miss.
Elspeth raised her face to meet his and saw that his gaze had moved to her neck.
The beat of her heart thudded at her clavicle.
There was no discernible change in his facial features, but she knew he smiled somewhere in that vast cold interior of his. Knew he fully understood the meaning of the strange charge in the air between them.
Show no fear.
That was the best strategy when faced with a predator, and he certainly was that; that he had climbed as far and as fast as he had in the echelons of wealth and power were evidence of that, and the raw power he exuded was unmistakable.
“I read your file,” she said firmly. There was the slightest change in his face. Ha! Now she had him on the back foot.
“There could be nothing of any value or merit in a file about me that a mere governess would be able to get her hands on. I imagine you read my application to the Hurleys. A document of basic facts, most of which are common knowledge.”
Heat wrapped around her . . . again.
Arrogant sod.
Yet her traitorous heart raced and her tell-tale skin was on fire.
“I see . . . does that irrelevant knowledge include the fact that your parentage is unknown? That you have had at least five aliases? That you should be handled with caution? Why is that, Mr. Blackburn? Are you some underworld villain made good with a cut-throat dagger in the pocket of your dinner jacket?” Before she could retreat, he was right up against her, his face so close she could see the striations in his irises, the pores of his skin. He moved with surprising speed.
“Dangerous words for a governess.” His finger lifted her chin and his gaze dropped to her lips. This close she saw his pupils swell.
She tugged out of his hold and, finally, he moved back. She inhaled, a loud, ragged sound between them. Her body was suddenly and strangely rippling to life—her chest rose and fell. There was no point hiding it. And she couldn’t if she tried. He was unsettling her in a way she hated him for, as much as her body was suddenly and strangely rippling to life.
He stalked around her as if she were on display at The Tate. “So, Miss James, you are of average height. Your skin lacks the youth of the other girls but it does have an appealing luster. You have freckles, and I see small lines starting at the corner of your eyes. But,” he reached out and lifted the hem of her jacket, “you are, of course older.” He let the jacket drop as he moved behind her.
She spun to face him, turning as he ambled around her, no longer wanting to be passive as he peeled away at her dignity.
She would hate him. That would be the only saviour of her dignity. Hate him and hold him in disdain.
“So you read.” he asked.
“Of course I read. I’m the governess.”
“The classics? Philosophy? You can read Greek, Latin, French, German and Italian, I understand.”
“I am sure you are able to get your hands on any file about me.”
He loomed over her. “Oh, make no mistake, Miss James,” he leaned in closer and whispered, “my hands can get themselves onto any part of you they want.”
Her face bloomed with heat again.
Don’t think it, don’t dare think it.
But she did, and a flash of Addison’s electricity flared between her legs and up through the center of her torso. It lit up her breasts causing such sensitivity that the press of fabric against them became a hundred carnal things instead of clean, sturdy cotton.
Damn him.
She stepped away, put more space between them. “Perhaps you can refrain from crude innuendo. Besides, I don’t see how any of this is your concern.” Then it dawned on her. “Are you questioning my ability to train the girls because they don’t meet your standards?”
Her voice was a little shrill. “I can assure you that I am ably qualified and have ushered out some of the most talented Painted Sisters on record.”
He held up his hand to interrupt her.
“No, that isn’t what I am questioning.”
He stopped his pacing and stood in front of her.
“For future reference Miss James, do not seek to guide me in any of my decisions. When I give you a directive, no matter how unpalatable, you will undertake it to the best of your ability.”
Her brows pulled together.
What was he talking about?
He must have read the query on her face because he held his hand up again to silence her.
“Your reading will need to increase, and your wardrobe will need a total overhaul as, I imagine, will your hair.”
He was making less and less sense; she needed to get this conversation back on track.
She pushed away his hand, which was still held up to silence her, causing him to raise an eyebrow.
“We will have little further contact sir, so I do not see that any of these highly offensive suggestions are pertinent. Now if I can suggest that you request an audience with Annabelle. After I read your file, I think she would be most suitable for you, and I am very rarely wrong in these matters, knowing the girls as intimately as I do.”
“Annabelle? The one whose cheeks were flushed, her dress hurried and her eyes over-bright?”
Elspeth’s brows came down.
“Yes . . .”
A lone eyebrow raised itself and a mocking expression settled on his face. “A girl captivated by the attentions of another is not high on my list.”
She went to refute him. But small facts rushed from the shadows and lined up to support his assessment. An assessment she had missed, but one he had made in moments.
Elspeth could guess where that flush on Annabelle’s cheeks had come from. The Hurley’s nephew, Count Bernard Von Schneider, was residing in the house. More than a few of the Count’s acquaintances—young, handsome and well-to-do—had come to see him and, as a consequence, some of the girls were exposed to men.
Her heart beat faster in her chest. Her gaze flicked to the door. She needed to talk with Annabelle, warn her away. “You could still have taken the time to talk to a few of them.” Her hand came and rested on her hip, but her gaze went back to the door.
Cool fingers hooked under her chin and dragged her gaze back to him. He’d moved closer. Held her face tilted up to his six-foot-three height.
“Miss James?”
“If we are done, I need to leave.” She tried to turn away, but his hand held her still. Indignation spiked through her chest at the restraint.
“I wasn’t interested in any of the girls, so I was not going to waste either time—mine or theirs—pretending.”
She jerked her head away. “I’m sorry I really must leave you. Perhaps you will consider another viewing at a later date when you know what you want.” She whirled around and headed for the door.
His hand whipped out and clamped her upper arm. “Oh, I know what I want.” The heat of him pressed at her back as he leaned down to her ear.
Her heart pounded at the proximity of his body against hers. “Who do you have in mind?”
He ignored her question as he leaned in closer. “I have a question of my own, Miss James.” The warmth of his breath stroked the side of her face.
“Yes?” her voice was a whisper.
“Have you been with a man?” he whispered over the shell of her ear.
The words shot through her body. A blazing path burned across her breasts, over her belly and curled over her sex.
No.
Every ripple of awareness his question created pulsed with the need to know exactly what it would be like when a man and woman came together. All the knowledge she had gained, all the touches she’d given herself, had only added to her deep seated need to find out. Meeting men and women of such passions and focus had created her own hunger for life in so many ways. She had pursued many interests, done so much and yet she had not been kissed, she had not been caressed, and she had not been penetrated.
His hand turned her just enough for him to see her face. He gazed at her, his features unreadable. He saw far too much with his dilated pupils. His gaze dropped to her lips. A pulse raced under her skin. She writhed on the spot, trying to move and yet only managing to stay exactly where she was. He looked back into her eyes. His pupils now looked to fill the whole of his irises. Dark black, fathomless pools looked into hers.
“Have you?” his voice was a growl.
“That is absolutely none of your concern.”
There was a strange possessive current moving in the space between them; it was heady, it was unexpected and yet when she looked at his intense unreadable face it made no sense.
He drew her closer. The heat from his body at her back lit up the front of her.
“Have you?”
“Stop it.” She wriggled to get away. His hand tightened pulled her back against him.
“Have you?”
Damn him. “No!” Fury stormed through her body as mortification ate through every muscle. She moved to stomp on his foot and missed. He let go and she bolted for the door.
“You have abominable manners.” She snapped at him not even bothering to look back.
‘Have you been with a man?’
What an indelicate and rude thing to ask her. Damn it, she felt as if saying no was more a failure than to lie and say she had.
“Good night, Miss James.” His tone revealed his satisfaction. Although she couldn’t see him she was certain he was smiling. She looked over her shoulder, caught his gaze. He was not smiling. His face was as closed and hard to read as ever and yet . . . it felt like he was very pleased indeed.
* * *
The summons came in under an hour. Elspeth knew it would. She hadn’t even bothered to get ready for bed, waiting for the Hurley’s inevitable castigation, and knowing that sleep would elude her. Every inch of her steamed, making her insides feel more acidic by the moment. Her useless, passionless life stretched before her.
There were many verbs in all those languages that she knew to describe what she wanted to do to that arrogant face of his.
‘Have you been with a man?’
The hungry need that rushed through her body at the question was upsetting and unsettling. While the Collectors often had eccentric, and socially irreverent, traits, none who came through the Hurleys’ doors had been improper with her. All had allowed her the invisibility her appearance strove to achieve.
Until Mr. Blackburn.
He alone had insinuated inappropriate wanderings of his fingers, had indicated he would be able to access her at his will. He alone had leaned down and scorched her with his heat. He alone had cloaked her in his scent and asked the very question that no one before had cared to know the answer to—Have you been with a man?
Following Evans downstairs, Elspeth conceded that she had been equally offensive in return. There was something about that manner and posture of his that set her off, not to mention the liberties he took with her. Entering the front parlour, Elspeth saw the Hurleys sitting, as they always did, in facing black velvet sofas. A small chair was placed between them where she was motioned to sit. There was no way to look at them both at once. Her back stiffened as she lowered herself into the seat.
The twins had developed a symbiotic communication between them that meant, when they wished, they could act in unison. It had the effect of an omnipresent grilling. The last time they had called her in, one of the girls had run away with a stable hand, and they pushed her for every detail she had on the affair.
Luckily it had been a surprise to her as well. If she had aided and abetted, as they were insinuating, each taking a word in turn, the consequences would have been dire. Loyalty was the first, and most important, quality demanded of staff in this household. Two staff were let go under suspicion of aiding the affair, but the house received no further news of what had become of the runaways.
“You had an unusual night, Miss James.”
Experience had shown her that honesty and forthright communication was the best approach in these situations, even if she was going to be the only one in the room doing so.
“He was surly, and offensive. I have no idea why you allowed him to see me alone in the viewing room,” she said.
“Nonsense; a man with decided tastes,” said Aiden Hurley.
“A man of real affluence and style,” added Sissy Hurley.
“Learned,” continued Aiden.
“None of the girls would have suited him, and he could tell immediately,” Sissy said.
“That’s a bit hasty. All of them have mastered an excellent range of languages and could be tutored in a full array of his reading pursuits by the time he had them painted. We’ve done that before. Besides Annabelle or Chloe would have been wonderful candidates for him.”
“Why wait?” Aiden said.
“When you can have what you want now?” Sissy added.
Well, that makes no sense.
“If you have someone you think will suit him other th
an our girls, I suggest you give her to him and get him out of our hair,” Elspeth said. They were silent. Elspeth looked from one weathered, over-indulged face to the other. There was something about the eyes of elderly people; they saw the world from a completely unique perspective, one which she failed to comprehend.
Then the twins smiled. “So we are agreed?” Aiden said.
“Excellent,” Sissy concurred.
Elspeth put up her hand, “Wait? What have we agreed?”
“Why, that if there were someone who did suit . . .”
“ . . . we’d hand them over to him as quickly as possible,” the Hurley twins said as one started and the other finished the sentence. Then they both rose simultaneously. ”I think he made it clear what he required from you, Miss James.”
Then, what they were inferring hit her; how could she be so dense not to pick up on it earlier? It was just that the idea was so inconceivable. She stood up so suddenly the chair fell back and thudded on the carpet.
“Me? You want me to be the Canvas for him? For me to be his Painted Sister?”
“Decorum, dear.” Aiden looked disapprovingly at the fallen chair.
“But the girls?” Elspeth cried.
“There are others who can do what you do for them Miss James, but it appears only you will do for Mr. Blackburn.”
The twins headed to the door.
“I will not do it. I was never employed to do that. I am a governess. Besides—I don’t have perfect skin!” They stopped at the door and smiled at her.
“We can’t be selfish and keep you from a torrent. Can we dear?” said Aiden.
“No dear, torrents are a rarity.” Sissy said.
“We are lucky.” Aiden reached out and stroked his sister’s weathered cheek.
“Yes dear, very. And so are you, Miss James.”
“I don’t even like him,” she shouted as the door closed after them.
There were another two meetings to discuss the matter; her ongoing refusal to entertain Mr. Blackburn’s request had resulted in her being locked in her room—with intermittent lectures on how Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina was not the only path of passion.
With the promise that she would speak with Mr. Blackburn, Elspeth had eventually been permitted the run of the house, but no further.