Page 21 of Dallying with the Diamond

“You’ve given this some thought,” Julia mused.

“She always does where His Grace is concerned.” Esme wrinkled her nose in distaste the way she always did when Honoria’s father was mentioned. However, her expression changed completely when Julia’s footman came into the room carrying a large tray bearing a fresh pot of tea and a large cold collation of meats, cheeses, breads, and fruits. The man carried the tray as if it weighed nothing at all.

“I wouldn’t worry about the duke troubling Mrs. Seaforth with this one here to bar the door,” Esme said as she directed the footman in question to place the tray on a table before the open French windows.

The footman’s expression did not change, but Julia blushed and hid behind her teacup.

“He won’t come by,” Honoria said as she put on her gloves and picked up her reticule. “He believes me to be far too well-trained and brought to heel to ever do anything even remotely improper.” Esme and Julia stared at her without saying a word. They exchanged a glance and Honoria suddenly realized she’d spoken aloud thoughts she normally kept to herself. A strange force was at work in her. So many things that had never bothered her before now made her skin itch as if she’d fallen into a bed of nettles.

“Well, my dearest friend,” Julia said as she stood and walked Honoria to the sitting room door. “You surpassedremotely improperseveral weeks ago.” She suddenly grew serious. “Are you certain you know what you are doing, Honoria? I have seen the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. If—”

“I know what I am doing because I must, Julia. I only have a little while longer to live my fantasies. I have no intention of allowing myself to be caught, by anyone or anything.” She kissed her friend’s cheek. “Keep Esme entertained for me. She worries so. I’ll come back for her after.”

“I’ll do my best,” Julia said with a grin as she and Honoria looked to where the lady’s maid was deep in conversation with the tall, handsome footman. “I think Ian is doing the entertaining for me.”

“Ian, is it? I’m not the only one who appears to want to lead some fantasies.”

“Honoria!” Julia shrieked.

The carriage ride was far too short. Honoria tried to concentrate her thoughts on Julia and the possibilities for her friend with the young footman. A complete waste of time as it was Julia’s words, not her possibilities, that filled Honoria’s head on the way to Leo’s studio.

I’ve seen the way he looks at you.

Julia had read too many of Honoria’s Gothic romances and naughty books. Life was not a novel, at least not for a woman of her place in society. Her life had been a foregone conclusion from the moment of her birth. The only freedom she had stolen for herself was the fevered imaginings she enjoyed from her wicked book collection and her exploration of her own desires with an all too willing Leonidas Atherton. Julia was mistaken. The scandalous artist looked at Honoria the way he would look at any woman he was currently fucking. She was an object of desire and a way to retrieve his lost journal. Nothing more.

There. Swathed in her hooded cloak she stepped out of the carriage in the little courtyard at the back of Albany confident in the truth she was using Leo to fulfill her fantasies and when their liaison was over that was all he would ever be—a fantasy. Her confidence never wavered as she ran up the narrow back stairs and rapped quickly on the door into the attic room that served as his studio. A plump orange cat sauntered up and began to rub against her leg.

“And who are you?” she asked as she bent down to stroke the affectionate fellow’s back.

“Prinny, the lady is taken. Leave off, you scoundrel.”

The cat scurried into the room even as Leo snatched Honoria into his arms and closed the door behind them. He turned the key with a resoundingclickbefore he pushed back her hood and seared his lips to hers. She put her arms around his neck and sifted her fingers through the long soft hair that spilled over the collar of his shirt. He fumbled to untie the ribbon that held her cloak together at her throat. This time he managed to hang the cloak on a hook before he pulled off her gloves and dropped them onto a little table against the wall.

When he finally slowed the kiss enough so that they could breathe, she moved her lips to savor every inch of his mouth. She sought to memorize him—the little scar at the corner of his bottom lip, the taste of brandy and raspberries on his breath, the hard line of his lips when his kiss grew punishing with passion, and the tender softness when he teased and tempted. She plunged her tongue into his mouth to mate with his in a breathless tangle of caresses and thrusts. She wanted to sink into this man and never come back.

Leo slowly and after several half-hearted attempts ended the kiss with small touches of his lips to her nose, her temples, and her chin. He stepped back and handed her the quilted banyan she’d returned to him by Dickie.

“Go behind the screen and remove all of your clothes,” he said briskly. “Everything is in readiness for your sitting, my lady.” He winked and as she walked past him toward the screen by the fireplace, he smacked her bottom.

“Ouch!” She rubbed the spot where he’d struck her. “What was that for, sirrah?”

“For leaving me tied to a chair naked and stiff as a governess’s backbone, you saucy wench. I should turn you over my knee and do a more thorough job, but I want to capture you whilst we have the afternoon light.”

Honoria had worn a gown she could easily remove and very little underneath in anticipation of posing for him. His portraits of women all had one thing in common—the subjects’ complete lack of clothing. She shrugged into the banyan and held it closed rather than bothering with the sash that was intended to belt the garment. She came around the screen and watched as Leo set out his paints, brushes, and other utensils on a stool next to a tall easel that bore a large canvas.

He had positioned a fainting couch on a platform covered with a variety of Persian carpets. The couch was spread with exotic silk shawls and swaths of silk fabric. Behind it all a backdrop painted on a huge canvas depicted a garden from her imaginings of the Arabian Nights.

When she really looked at him she noticed he wore a flowing linen shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and not tucked into the waist of the pair of worn buckskins he wore. His feet and legs were bare. This was the Leonidas Atherton no one knew. This was the man his Atherton father lost the opportunity to know, the man his mother must miss terribly. This was the man Honoria…

“Shall I take down my hair?” She reached for one of the many pins Esme had used to tame the heavy weight of her tresses. Her question startled him, so intent was he on his preparations. Frankly, she’d startled herself a little. Her question had lured her thoughts away from a place they’d need never go.

“No. Leave it up.” He stepped in front of her and guided her hands down to her sides. He pushed the banyan from her shoulders. Something about standing naked before him in the bright light of day made her a bit shy. Leo smiled and bent to kiss the top of her breast. “You are exquisite, Honoria.” He ran his palms down her arms and across her belly. “I should like to paint you as Venus, but as this is my only chance to capture you…” He studied her face so intently she wanted to look away.

Wordlessly he led her to the platform and lifted her in his arms. He placed her on the fainting couch and began to arrange her limbs as if she were a doll. A shiver ran through her as his hands and breath moved over her. His artist’s eye warred with his lover’s arousal, which made her smile. The rapid movement of his chest behind the thin gauze of his shirt told her he did not see her as a doll.

She lay half on her back, half on her side looking toward his easel. He piled several small pillows to position her head in a raised position. Her front leg he positioned flat. Her other leg he fixed behind the front one with her knee raised and her foot flat on the couch. This left her quim quite open to his view. He raised one arm behind her head which lifted her breasts and coiled her nipples in the cool air of the room.

“With your hair up your magnificent breasts are on clear display,” he murmured as he ran his tongue around the tautly furled flesh, first one and then the other. “But I need more color.” He caught a nipple with his teeth and tugged. Honoria gasped and arched her breast towards his lips. He pinched the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pulled for several seconds before he released both nipples and gave her a wicked grin.