Читать книгу An Uncommon Duke - Laurie Benson, Laurie Benson - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Morning sunlight streamed through the large windows of Mr John Manning’s portrait studio directly into Olivia’s eyes, forcing her to keep them closed.

‘Are you certain no one will recognise me?’ she asked from her reclined position on the crimson divan.

The artist took a long tendril of her dark unbound hair and adjusted it over her gown on the swell of her breast. ‘I assure you, with your head turned this deep in profile, no one will know it’s you unless you tell them.’

She felt a pull near her hip at the grey satin gown he had given her to wear. ‘It is to your credit that I trust you as I do. I feel quite foolish lying here like this.’

The pressure from his warm hand moved her left leg. ‘You look sinful.’

She wished she could swat his hand. ‘That is not helping.’

He laughed. ‘But it’s true. Any man would kill to have you in his bed.’

Now it was Olivia’s turn to laugh, knowing just how false his statement was. ‘How often do you suppose you have said those words to the women who sit for you in this very room?’

‘Not as nearly as often as I’d like.’ He retreated back towards his easel. ‘Many women require thought to discover what is beautiful about them, but you will make my canvas sing without much effort on my part. Thereby, your allure will help me create a masterpiece all of London is sure to talk about.’

‘I already agreed to sit for you for this experiment of yours. You have no need to work your charms on me.’

‘I only speak the truth.’ He was back by her side again, his warm fingers tilting her neck up just a bit more. When she squinted up at him, his dark brown eyes were smiling down at her and his unfashionably long black hair had begun to come loose from the leather tie that held it back from his face. His unpolished appearance was a sharp contrast to her husband’s fastidious grooming habits.

‘I am relieved you do not expect me to remember this exact pose each day,’ she said, taking note of the position of her arms.

His grin widened, and he moved a strand of hair away from her face. ‘My sketch guides me. You are always quite accommodating with all my poking and prodding. Once we are finished for the day, you may jerk my body into any complex tangle of your choosing.’

That created an amusing image and she closed her eyes again. ‘What a capital notion! Now if you don’t grant me the breaks I require, I will devise painful retribution.’

‘My, what a bloodthirsty duchess you are.’

The sound of his chalk scratching as he drew eased some of her tension. ‘Are you certain I do not appear large to you?’ she asked, trying to imagine what the sketch looked like.

Chuckling, he continued to draw. ‘You are far from large. Although even if you were, it would be of no concern. Men enjoy curves on a woman. It gives us something to hold onto when we are in the throes of passion.’

‘Then I believe I have so many places for a man to hold onto, he would be at a quandary where to begin.’

He laughed again. ‘I know where I would begin.’

How she wished she could turn her head and peak at his expression. ‘Where?’

‘I am sketching it right now.’

‘Well, that was not very forthcoming.’

‘No, it was not.’

Olivia began to laugh.

‘Do not move,’ he commanded.

He adjusted the folds of the silk by her thigh. She bit her lip and prayed he didn’t notice the catch in her breath at the unexpected contact.

‘You have the kind of body that tempts men to steal a touch.’ He moved her left arm a fraction of an inch.

Olivia opened one eye to study him. They had known each other for more than a year. Not once, in all that time, had he exhibited any form of inappropriate behaviour with her. Even now, she knew he saw her only as an object in his painting. He must be attempting to make her feel at ease, since she was sprawled out over his divan in a most unrefined pose. She was well aware what her body looked like and, as she had discovered from her recent encounter with Gabriel in her bedchamber, tempting was not how she would describe it.

‘So what exactly is one to interpret from this pose?’ she asked, fighting the urge to scratch her nose.

‘It is the pose of a woman who has just reached complete fulfilment,’ he replied as if discussing the weather.

Olivia raised her head and stared at him aghast, unable to voice a response.

‘You must stop moving,’ he yelled. ‘This will be a masterpiece of movement and light. But each time you shift, you force me to readjust the folds of your gown. I cannot sketch you in a timely manner if I have to continually walk over there.’

She rested her head back down and tried to move her head into the exact position he had placed it. Manning readjusted it a fraction of an inch and then adjusted the hair cascading over her breasts.

He raised his eyebrow at her and pointed his chalk at her in warning. ‘Do. Not. Move.’

‘Fine, but I honestly do not believe anyone would be interested in seeing how I look after...well, after...’ Olivia was certain she could not blush any deeper than she was. ‘I am not the best subject for this. You should have asked someone younger. Men would find that much more enjoyable to look at.’

‘You believe you know us that well?’ The sketching resumed.

‘There are many beautiful girls you could have chosen.’

‘True—however, I am not interested in girls. Their innocence colours their sensuality. A woman with experience in the activities of the bedchamber has an innate sensuality that is apparent to any man over the age of sixteen.’

‘I am not sensual.’

‘Of course you are. It’s in the way your body moves and the way your eyes acquire a wicked glint, as if you know the secret of bringing a man to his knees.’ His voice was so calm and nonchalant.

‘So you really prefer women of my age?’

‘And older, but if you tell that to any of the young women that sit for me, I will deny it.’

Managing to laugh without moving a muscle, Olivia considered what he said. She had spent years after their estrangement wondering what Gabriel found attractive. The notion of what other men preferred never entered her mind.

* * *

When he finally broke the long stretch of silence, it felt as if hours had passed. ‘I am almost finished with my preliminary sketch. Have any parts of you lost all sensation?’

‘My right arm is beginning to grow numb. This really is an indulgent pose. I believe I may have dozed for a few moments.’

‘I believe you did. Your breathing became quite rhythmic.’

He approached her side, then rubbed her right arm. The warmth and pressure felt heavenly.

‘What the bloody hell is going on here?’ bellowed a deep, angry voice from the other end of the room.

Olivia jerked her head towards the doorway and closed her eyes, pretending her husband was not standing there looking as if he wanted to toss them both out the window.

Manning groaned at her movement and stared daggers at the imposing man who had interrupted their sitting. ‘Who are you to intrude in my studio, sir?’ he asked.

‘I am her husband. Now take your damn hands off her.’ Gabriel’s voice was commanding with no room for negotiation.

Manning backed away, raising his hand in surrender. ‘I am simply adjusting her body for the portrait.’

‘I know of no respectable portrait that requires such a pose.’

She would not move her body to inconvenience her friend. ‘What are you doing here?’

Gabriel’s fiery gaze shifted to her. ‘I had an appointment not far away. I thought I would escort you home.’

How could he possibly have known where she was? And, why in the world would he want to escort her home?

‘I believe your sitting is over for the day, Duchess,’ Gabriel commanded.

‘Nonsense, there is still more to do. Isn’t that correct?’ She turned her head towards her friend, who appeared pale.

He shifted nervously. ‘There isn’t much more to do. You are welcome to stay until I am finished for today.’

She was not about to allow that to happen, but before she could voice her opinion Gabriel walked to the easel, crossed his arms and studied the sketch.

‘Continue,’ he said with a nod.

‘I will have to touch her to adjust her form.’

‘He does not care,’ Olivia murmured.

But the artist’s eyes were fixed on Gabriel, who nodded his consent and watched as Manning went back to the easel to study Olivia’s pose. He approached her and hesitantly moved her neck and arm. Very carefully he adjusted the folds of her gown.

The sketching resumed and Olivia could hear Gabriel move towards the chair near the door. Suddenly the pose she was in was not as relaxing as it had been a short time before. Why had she ever agreed to sit in this ridiculous position?

* * *

Although it probably only took fifteen more minutes of sketching in silence, to Olivia it felt like hours. Finally she heard him toss his chalk onto the table and she picked up her head to gauge his reaction. His grin was infectious.

‘You’re pleased?’ she asked, smiling back at him.

‘Exceedingly so. I’ll need you to come back to begin painting.’ He walked to the divan and held out his hand to help her up.

Gabriel rose abruptly. Both Olivia and Manning turned his way.

Immediately, her friend dropped her hand. ‘Will you be able to arrive before eight? I would love to capture the early morning light on the folds of the satin.’

She rolled her shoulders to relieve some of the stiffness. ‘Yes, I believe I can.’

Manning walked to a cabinet and began removing bottles of pigment. She was about to enter the dressing room when she paused at the sight of Gabriel approaching his side.

Her husband picked up a dish with something brown resting in it and held it out. ‘You smoke while my wife sits for you?’ Gabriel asked, arching an intimidating brow.

‘No, I would never.’

‘See that you do not.’

Olivia shook her head as she walked into the dressing room, wondering why it should even matter to him. A short while later, she emerged wearing her very proper bonnet and cinnamon-coloured walking dress with Colette at her side. As her maid walked towards the door, Olivia approached the easel, curious about the composition. What she saw surprised her.

Her face was turned away from the viewer so only her neck and the outline of her left cheek were visible. Her hair was fanned out around her with one dark curl sloping down her neck and gliding over her breast. The fingers of her left hand appeared relaxed as if they had no strength left in them. True to his word, no one would know who the subject was.

‘Well?’ Manning asked, approaching her side.

‘I do not even recognise myself.’

‘I told you to trust me. It will be breathtaking when I am finished. Mr West will be begging me to exhibit it.’

She hoped for his sake that would be true. The man was a highly skilled artist. The more people exposed to his work, the more commissions he would receive.

There was a distinct clearing of a throat from the doorway where Gabriel stood, looking down at his watch. If he was so impatient to leave, he could do so without her. For years he had completely avoided her and last night he interrupted her dinner with Andrew. Now he wanted to escort her home. What was he about?

* * *

As they walked out onto the pavement, Gabriel had to squint to adjust to the bright sunlight. After last night’s discussion with Andrew, he was curious about this artist Olivia had taken an interest in. Luckily it did not take James long to find where the man’s studio was located.

‘Where is your carriage?’ he asked, scanning the busy road.

‘Colette and I walked. One of the wheels of my carriage required some work this morning and I saw no reason to wait on such a lovely day.’

‘My carriage is always at your disposal should there be a need.’

He took her by the elbow and steered her around some young boisterous bucks. The moment they passed them, she shifted her arm out from his grasp.

‘Where are you planning on hanging the portrait?’ he asked, clasping his hands behind his back and redirecting his thoughts away from the idea that she could not bear for him to touch her.

‘We hope to have Mr West agree to exhibit it at the Royal Academy.’

Gabriel froze and Colette almost collided with his back. He could not have possibly heard her correctly. That portrait of his wife—looking as though she had just been thoroughly and completely satisfied—was to be on display for all of London to see? Like hell it was!

‘No,’ he stated firmly and resumed walking. At least that was taken care of.

Olivia caught up to him and did her best to keep pace with his long strides. ‘What did you say?’ she asked.

He glanced down at her. She was not pleased.

‘I said no. That portrait is not leaving our house.’

‘The decision is not yours to make. I did not commission it. I am sitting for him as a favour.’

Again Gabriel stopped abruptly, and again Colette pulled herself back from knocking into him.

He must have misunderstood. ‘Pardon me?’

‘I said that portrait is being painted with the intention for exhibition to show the breadth of his skills as an artist.’

‘And you agreed to be his model? Why would you agree to such a thing? That portrait is indecent.’

She snorted. His refined wife actually snorted at his statement. ‘You are one to say what is indecent?’

They were turning onto Bond Street, bustling with servants and members of the ton. He was aware they were garnering attention simply by walking together. The last thing he needed was gossip about this argument—and this was going to be an argument. She was much too stubborn for it not to be.

He directed his attention ahead of him. ‘We will discuss this at home.’

‘I’m not going home.’

‘Yes, you are. We are going home to finish this discussion.’

‘Then I suggest we finish it now because I. Am. Not. Going. Home.’

His nostrils flared when he looked down at her. ‘When did you become so defiant?’

‘When you showed your true colours,’ she replied with clipped movements.

She didn’t know him at all. If she believed he was going to allow that portrait to hang in the Royal Academy, or anywhere else outside one of their homes for that matter, she was sorely mistaken. ‘Very well, you want to discuss this now, we will.’

Guiding her by the elbow, they walked past Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon and into William Gray’s Jewellery Shop. The moment the bespectacled proprietor spotted the impeccably dressed couple, he came hurrying over.

‘Leave us,’ Gabriel commanded.

The mouse-faced little man retreated behind the curtain to the back of the store.

Next he turned his attention to her maid. ‘You are to wait outside.’

It was of no surprise that Colette glanced at Olivia for her approval before she walked out the door. He was surrounded by women who seemed to have forgotten he was the Duke of Winterbourne.

Now he would settle this matter with Olivia once and for all. He tugged her into a corner of the shop away from the windows overlooking the street. ‘You are the Duchess of Winterbourne, a respected member of the ton and my wife. You cannot display yourself for all of London in such a fashion.’

‘No one will know it is me.’ Her voice was low but strong.

‘I will know.’ He kept his voice down as well, but it wasn’t easy.

When he had walked in on the roguishly dressed man standing over his reclining wife and touching her, Gabriel wanted to carve out the man’s bollocks with a butter knife. ‘You are not to go back there.’ There! Now there would be no question where the painting would be hung since it would not be finished.

‘You are mad and have lost all sense of reason,’ she whispered sharply.

He wasn’t foolish enough to deny what this was. He was feeling proprietary over a woman he hadn’t taken to bed in years. And maybe he was just a little bit mad. ‘No one should see you that way. I am the only one who should see you that way,’ he bit out.

Yes, mad. He was definitely mad.

‘But you don’t. You cannot even bear to take me to bed.’

‘Now who is mad?’

She fisted her hands at her sides and leaned closer so their foreheads were almost touching. ‘It’s true. So what if he thinks his study of movement and light is also a testament to female sensuality? So what if he believes I am striking? You do not.’

Now, she definitely was the one who was mad. He grabbed her by the back of her neck and crushed his lips against hers in a claiming kiss.

* * *

Olivia intended to push him away, but she had forgotten the feel of the curve of the muscles in his arms. A slow glide of his tongue against her closed lips had her weakening. And when he pressed his body into hers, all rational thought left her brain and her body took over.

She had missed him—missed the time they’d spent together early in their marriage.

Reluctantly she slid her hands over his shoulders and threaded her fingers through his thick hair. It was shorter now than it had been years ago. She deepened the kiss.

He groaned low into her mouth and slid his hands over the curve of her bottom. And then, just as quickly as it began, he let her go.

‘Let that put to rest your false assumption,’ he said, breathing deeply. He stepped away from her, spun on his heels and stormed out the door.

Olivia peered at him through the large shop window as he walked down Bond Street as if he owned the world. She rested her hand on the display case beside her, trying to steady her wobbly legs.

What had just happened? One minute he was being the most insufferable man and the next he was kissing her senseless.

And she’d kissed him back.

She pressed her hand against her forehead, silently berating herself for her foolishness. It must have been her discussion about sensuality with Manning that had caused her to give in to his unusual behaviour. It definitely was not the taste and feel of her husband. Those feelings of wanting him were long dead.

Weren’t they?