The Art of Love

by Lacey, Lilac

  ‘My cottage,’ Leo said briefly. ‘You need to get out of those wet clothes.’

  What good would going to his cottage do? Tara wondered, but the rain, soaking her hair and running unchecked down her face, seemed to have numbed her brain and it was all she could do to slog through the saturated grass with Leo jogging at her side and impelling her forward.

  Thankfully, in just a few minutes, they were there. Leo flung open the door of his unprepossessing dwelling and ushered Tara inside. Tiny though the cottage was, as soon as she was out of the rain she felt better and she looked around with interest to see where Leo had been living these past few weeks.

  The cottage consisted on only one room, mats covered the packed earth floor, the walls were stone inside and out, and the only furniture was a table, a chair, a dresser and a bed. Despite that she thought it looked homely and welcoming. Leo’s easel was propped in the corner and a stack of canvasses leant against the wall furtherest from the hearth. Tara glimpsed scenes of glittering sea and rolling countryside peeping out from behind each other presenting a myriad view of Bournemouth and she realized Leo had been very busy since he got here. Some simple crockery adorned the one shelf of the dresser, pushed to one side to accommodate brushes and paints and the bed was layered with blankets in bright colours. Tara looked at them longingly.

  ‘Here,’ Leo said, apparently seeing where her eyes fell. He snatched up the topmost blanket and wrapped it around her, then he knelt by the fireplace and busied himself with lighting the logs and twigs which were ready laid in the grate. Tara huddled by his side, grateful for even the small warmth given off by the kindling, then the twigs caught and Leo stood up.

  Tara saw that he too was soaked through. He had kicked his boots off when they came in the door, but his untucked shirt rained a trail of drips as he strode over to a wicker hamper by the bed and dug out some dry clothes. He was going to change his clothes in front of her, Tara realized, with a shock which warmed her despite the chill from the damp satin sticking to her skin. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Leo stripped off his shirt. His chest was broad and well muscled, covered with a light sprinkling of hairs and a darker line of them ran from his navel down under the waistband of his pantaloons, drawing her eyes downward. He saw her looking at him and gave her a lazy grin, then casually removed his trousers and tugged on some dry breeches. Tara felt her eyes widen as she took in the long length of his thighs and the unmistakable bulge apparent through his underclothes. She had never seen a man dishabille before and Leo was a more than pleasing sight.

  Leo pulled on a worn shirt without bothering to do it up and came back over to her. Tara felt her lips part as she looked up at him. ‘You can’t stay in that wet dress,’ he said matter of factly as he knelt to face her.

  ‘What else can I wear?’ Tara asked faintly. With a flick of his head Leo indicated to the bed and for a moment Tara thought he meant she should climb naked into it, then she saw a pile of neatly folded clothes he had left on the pillow and her racing heartbeat subsided.

  ‘You’re never going to get warm if you stay like that,’ Leo said gently and he removed the blanket from her shoulders.

  Suddenly Tara felt a wholly inappropriate giggle rise within her. ‘I… I can’t manage without my maid,’ she said. ‘I can’t undo the buttons.’

  ‘Can’t you?’ Leo murmured and she saw her giggle mirrored in the wicked smile in his eyes. He took her by the shoulders and turned her, her evening slippers pivoting on the rush matting on the floor where she still crouched and began to undo the buttons at the back of her neck. Tara gasped. The buttons were close set and many, and as each one was freed from the little loop which confined it she felt as if Leo came one step closer to revealing her. ‘Stand up,’ Leo ordered as the last button popped, whispering in her ear, his lips just brushing her ear lobe. She stood up and her dress fell to the ground, leaving her just in her white cotton shift. It was plainly cut and she could not hide behind gathers and folds, the damp voile clung to her body, outlining it, leaving nothing to the imagination. Leo moved around to look at her from the front and as his eyes travelled slowly down her body Tara felt as if she stood naked before him.

  Lightly Leo placed his hands on her waist and Tara felt a quiver of anticipation. Then ever so gently he slid his fingers up over her ribs and to spread his hands over her breasts, teasing the taut nipples with his thumbs. Tara pressed herself into his hands and Leo’s mouth closed over her own. After a long minute he broke off the kiss and gripped her breasts with his hands, towing her over to his bed. ‘You need to take that off,’ he whispered hoarsely, sitting down on the edge of the bed and releasing her. Slowly Tara raised the hem of her shift. What use was modestly now? She asked herself wildly, after the way Leo had touched her she should not be afraid to bare herself before him, she had little left to hide. ‘Do you want me to be a gentleman and turn away?’ he asked, seeming to read her mind. Did she? No. Suddenly Tara realized that what she felt was not fear, it was anticipation. Her every sense seemed attuned to Leo, to his look, to his touch, even the scent of him, warm and masculine; she drank it up, revelling in his nearness and wondering what he might do next. Her heart in her mouth she slid her shift up, revealing her midriff and then fraction by fraction her breasts as Leo stroked them with his eyes. Then as she freed the garment from the damp curls of her hair and tossed it aside, he placed his hands around her bare waist and pulled her towards him, sliding his hand up to squeeze one breast while he took the other nipple in his mouth. Tara gasped at the exquisite sensation and reached for him, pushing his shirt aside and running her hands over his bare shoulders, the warmth and texture of Leo’s skin feeling so right under her fingertips, like rough silk. Then abruptly he spun her, laid her on the bed and covered her upper body with kisses. A delicious feeling seemed to envelop Tara starting from low down and spreading upwards and she knew at that moment that she would let Leo do anything he wanted. More than that, she would welcome him in, she belonged to him completely and utterly and he had every right to her. She was his.

  Briefly his hand caressed her inner thigh through her one remaining undergarment, pausing tantalisingly at the apex of her legs. Tara thrust towards him and he rewarded her by rubbing his thumb over her most intimate area. She pushed upwards, seeking more and for a moment he gave it to her, then he withdrew his hand.

  ‘We must stop,’ Leo said. His breathing was ragged and she knew he wanted to continue as much as she did.

  ‘No,’ she protested. ‘No.’

  Leo ran his hand through his hair, making it look even wilder than it had been made to look by the wind and rain outside. He himself was wild, Tara thought, and that was what made him so exciting. ‘It’s not too late to preserve your reputation,’ he said unevenly.

  Tara sat up, aware of how his eyes were drawn down to her breasts as she moved. ‘I don’t care about my reputation,’ she insisted.

  ‘Well I do,’ Leo said harshly. ‘I will not compromise you. God knows we’ve come close enough tonight. It stops here.’ For a moment Tara stared at him, unable to believe he meant what he was saying. Then she drew herself upright, tossed back her still damp mane of hair and reached behind her for the shirt Leo had left on the pillow. Wordlessly she drew it over her head but her thoughts were churning as she once more came up against the fact that Leo did not love her. If he did love her he would have no concerns about compromising her reputation because they could marry before the summer was out. But he had suggested no such thing. He did not love her.

  Tara was so proudly beautiful, Leo thought, as she tossed her head with as much dignity as if she were fully clothed in her finest evening wear and bedecked with jewellery. He was doing the right thing, he knew, but it was very hard. She had been ready to give herself to him and he had pulled back. It was not her reputation he was concerned about, but he did not want to get her with child and force her to marry him. He wanted to be able to come to her with his head held high and propose like a gentleman and
to do that he had to make his name as a landscape painter. He put aside the thought that in the cold light of day, when not on the brink of seduction, Tara might not wish to marry a painter. It was a risk he had to take.

  ‘You had better take me home,’ Tara said.

  The rain had stopped and Leo insisted Tara rode his horse while he walked along side. She had to ride astride as he had no side saddle, but as the clothing he had lent her was masculine, that presented no problem. Tara did as she was bid with disturbing meekness. Somehow Leo did not think that she was acquiescing to all that he said because she agreed with him, but she gave him no clue as to what she was thinking and their situation as they made their way back to Dogrose Cottage, one walking and one riding was not conducive to talking.

  ‘Shall I inform Lady Penge that you have returned home?’ Leo asked as he helped Tara down from his horse. For a moment she seemed to quiver in his arms and he longed to kiss her almost trembling lips, but her eyes were downcast and she was not encouraging him.

  ‘If you would be so kind,’ she said distantly and slipped inside.

  Not feeling as in control of the situation as he would have liked, Leo rode back to Davenham Manor. He was right, he repeated to himself. He needed the success of an exhibition to regain his status in society before he proposed to Tara. The spring would be the right time to make his offer, not a moment before. Tara would never consent to marry a nobody, she had made that quite clear and he no longer saw that as snobbishness but rather as an endearing awareness of her own worth. But the season being barely on the heels of summer, the spring seemed like a very long time away.

  Aware that he was hardly now dressed for a ball, Leo hoped to slip in unnoticed and ask a footman to convey his message to Lady Penge. But luck was not on his side, Mark was on the front steps as he approached, apparently taking the air. ‘Leo, old chap,’ he said as Leo’s horse clopped to a halt in front of him. ‘Leaving already? I must say, you’re looking rather the worse for wear.’

  ‘Caught in the rain,’ Leo said briefly, looking around for a hitching post, he didn’t intend to stay long enough to make it worthwhile stabling his horse.

  ‘You haven’t seen Tara, have you?’ Mark asked. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for her, but she is nowhere to be found.’

  Mark’s omission of Tara’s title did not by-pass Leo. He narrowed his eyes wondering if his cousin really did harbour any hopes in that direction. ‘As a matter of fact I have,’ he said, he wanted to dissemble, but could not see how he could avoid giving Mark at least part of the truth. ‘She was caught in the rain while walking in the gardens. Her dress was soaked. I escorted her home.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ Mark said after a moment and Leo wondered if he suspected there was more to it that Leo had let on.

  ‘Perhaps you could inform Lady Penge of her daughter’s whereabouts,’ Leo said quickly, forestalling any questions. Maybe he would not need a hitching post after all. ‘She could well be concerned, it might be a good idea to go to her now.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mark said and hastened inside. Leo smiled inwardly, he had always been able to count on Mark’s unfailing decency. Then his good humour faltered. Mark was a very decent person, Tara had been quite right when she had said Mark would make a better husband than he would. Grimly he dug his heels into his horse and turned for home. He had a lot of work to do.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Leo rose before dawn, full of energy and rode down to the cliffs, determined to begin a painting of the sunrise over the Isle of Wight. He sketched in the grey of the pre-dawn light, and then, when the sun tipped over the edge of the island and its rays swept like a golden curtain across the bay, he began painting in earnest quite sure that this would be a beautiful painting. He could imagine Tara, at the opening of his exhibition, pausing before it in wonder and then turning to him and knowing that this was the painting which had followed their shared night of passion. Last night she had glowed like the sun and Leo was determined to prove himself and make her his own.

  He worked all day and in the evening he wrote to Lord Seaforth, suggesting a meeting the following week. He managed to resist painting in the evening as he did not want to ruin his eyes, but he was up with the sun again the following morning, finishing off his sunrise. Almost immediately he began another watercolour of the island. He had had another idea for exhibiting his work and he would need a lot of paintings.

  ‘Tara!’ Tara turned at the sound of her name as she made her way out of church the morning after Lord Davenham’s ball. She had seen Mark and his family of course, occupying their customary place in the second row, but she hadn’t felt up to more than nodding a greeting. It seemed, however, that she had no choice.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said to Mark and smiled as brightly as she could. She must have been convincing because he proceeded to chatter to her as though he had noticed nothing amiss. Mark seemed to be in a particularly good mood that day and shortly Tara found herself agreeing to an excursion that afternoon to nearby Christchurch.

  ‘There’s a castle to see and we can picnic beside the river Stour,’ Mark said enthusiastically. The bad weather from last night had rained itself out and Tara could not deny that the trip sounded like a pleasant way to pass a sunny summer afternoon.

  When Mark collected Tara after lunch for the expedition, she found that Caroline was joining them, which was a blessing, Tara thought, because she was so full of the ball last night that there was really no need for anyone else to make conversation. ‘I suppose I should be most pleased that Lord Davenham himself asked me to dance,’ Caroline burbled, ‘but really the best dance I had was a waltz with Mr Farnham. He works in Mark’s office,’ she added presumably for Tara’s benefit.

  ‘You shouldn’t have waltzed!’ Mark said, his genuinely scandalized tone bringing Tara out of the reverie she had allowed herself to sink into as they rode in the open carriage through the countryside. ‘You haven’t even had your come out!’

  ‘It sounds like she is quite out now,’ Tara observed. Caroline threw her a conspiratorial look, which once more left Tara feeling that Caroline was not really such a child as she first appeared.

  As the Reeves dropped Tara off at Dogrose Cottage at dusk, Tara was surprised to find that despite her despair over Leo, she had quite enjoyed the afternoon. ‘There is another concert on Tuesday evening,’ Mark said. ‘Shall I see you and your mother there?’

  ‘I expect so,’ Tara said, unable to think of anything else she might be doing.

  ‘Then I hope you will both sit with us,’ Mark said and Tara agreed that they would.

  On Tuesday Leo painted as he had every other day since arriving in Bournemouth. It was only when a carriage rumbled past on the lonely coast road below him and he was deciding whether or not to add it as a detail in the painting that he remembered practical matters. He had arranged to meet with Lord Seaforth, the curator of the gallery he had approached, on Friday and he needed to transport his work to London before then. Cursing mildly under his breath because the light was still good and he was loathe to stop painting, Leo packed up his equipment and deposited it back at his cottage. The he changed into a jacket that was not flecked with paint and strode down into town to hire a carriage.

  There seemed to be an unusually large number of people congregating in the market square, Leo thought as he concluded his negotiations. ‘It’s that Tuesday night concert,’ the stable boy volunteered, evidently seeing the direction of his gaze.

  ‘Oh, of course,’ Leo said. He had forgotten about the concerts, having only been to one, and that only briefly. He had seen Tara there and at that moment found himself still too angry to speak to her, at least not in public, so he had left. Would she be here tonight, he wondered? Almost certainly, Mark had told him that anyone who was anyone in Bournemouth attended these summer concerts. It would do no harm to stay and see her, he thought. He was unwilling to trust himself with her alone, it had been almost impossible to rein in his passion on Saturday night and he was
not sure he would have such strength of mind a second time, but here there would be chaperones in their hundreds, it was a completely different situation. Of course the light was still good enough for him to get in an hour’s painting if he left immediately, but he found that now the possibility of seeing Tara dangled before him, he could not resist staying. He went into the nearest inn for a quick bite to eat and then returned to the gathering crowd.

  Seated next to Mark, waiting with no real enthusiasm for the concert to start, Tara felt her heart lift as she saw Leo pushing his way through the crowd of August holiday makers towards her. She couldn’t stop a smile creeping over her face at the sight of him, even though she knew such feelings were futile. Tara, I’ve come to my senses and I’ve realized I can’t live without you. Those were the words her elated mind conjured up for him to say even while the rational part of her brain protested that nothing he could say was likely to match that.

  Leo stood before her and tipped his hat. ‘Good evening, Lady Tara, Mark, Caroline. I trust you are all anticipating enjoying the music?’

  Oddly, Tara thought, it was Caroline who took the initiative. ‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘won’t you please join us? Do sit here between me and Tara.’ Out of the corner of her eye she thought that Mark looked less than pleased with that suggestion, but she was too distracted by Leo, accepting Caroline’s chair and seating himself beside her, to consider the implications of that. The opening bars of the music were struck and Leo shifted subtly so that the long line of his thigh rubbed against hers and Tara suddenly found herself aware of nothing else. The warmth of his leg seemed to burn through the light muslin of her dress, then the orchestra moved onto a second piece and Leo stretched back, resting his arm across the back of her chair. For a moment she froze in anticipation, wondering if he were going to touch her or if he planned to leave her dangling, then as the music built in volume, his fingers brushed the bare skin above the neckline at the back of her dress.