An Artful Seduction (12 page)

Chapter Fourteen

The step was lowered for Eliza and she hurried from the carriage. She needed fresh air to clear her head and space away from Grayson to calm her racing heart. Looking up, she glanced at the bay window of the Bond Street dress shop.

Eliza had walked by the shop many times, but she’d never been inside. There had never been a need. The dressmaker was currently the premier modiste for the
beau monde,
and Eliza no longer mingled with its members.

Tiny bells chimed as Grayson opened the door and it closed behind them, alerting the proprietor to their presence. A tall, thin-boned woman with a long face and upturned nose came forth to greet them.

“May I be of assistance sir…”

“Lord Huntingdon, and yes, I hope you will be of great assistance.”

The dressmaker’s eyes widened when she realized an earl was in her shop. She quickly curtsied and smiled. “Of course, my lord. I’m Mrs. Gardner, the owner of the shop.”

Grayson motioned to Eliza. “May I present Mrs. Somerton. The lady requires a gown that must be at the height of fashion.”

If Mrs. Gardner thought it odd that an earl was accompanying a woman and giving fashion advice, it did not show on her face.
A consummate professional
, Eliza thought. The dressmaker could probably sniff out wealth from across the street.

Mrs. Gardner eyed Eliza from head to toe. “I have just the color in mind for the lady. Please follow me.”

When Grayson’s hand brushed Eliza’s low back and ushered her farther into the shop, she suspected Mrs. Gardner’s shrewd gaze didn’t miss the detail.

Eliza stood straight and tried not to flush at his intimate touch. Heaven only knew what the dressmaker suspected of her relationship to the earl. Mrs. Gardner must assume she was the earl’s mistress. And if so, she didn’t seem perturbed by that notion. Which made Eliza wonder if men brought their mistresses shopping that often?

Eliza trailed behind the dressmaker. The shop was elegantly decorated for its distinctive and rich clientele with Egyptian inspired chairs with lion paw feet, silk drapes, and Oriental carpet.

“The lady requires the gown in a week’s time,” Grayson said. “She also needs walking dresses, evening dresses, and undergarments just as quickly.”

Mrs. Gardner halted and whirled to Grayson. “A week! But I have other orders to fulfill, my lord. I would be forced to hire additional seamstresses.”

“I’ll pay double the cost if the clothing is ready in a week’s time.”

An avaricious gleam lit Mrs. Gardner’s eyes, and she nodded. “I shall do my best. Right this way, if you please.”

Eliza knew Huntington was wealthy, but the ease in which he offered to pay extra to have the clothing ready astonished her. She pictured her tiny print shop with its slightly faded curtains and settee in need of refurbishing.

The dressmaker motioned for them to follow her down the hall. Grayson glanced sideways at Eliza. “We’ll have to go to the shoemaker’s for the slippers and other shops for accessories.”

Eliza looked at him in alarm. “Is all of this necessary?”

“It is if you are to accompany me to the Royal Academy.”

“But the additional dresses and undergarments?” she whispered.

“I have no doubt the viscount will invite us to his wife’s ball,” he said dryly. “As for the other dresses, you may have to accompany me elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” What was he talking about? She knew about the Royal Academy, and even a possible ball if things worked out and Viscount Pickens invited them to his wife’s birthday celebration. But what else did he have in mind?

“You promised to help me find the painting, remember? It may require more outings,” he said.

Grayson considered everything a costume, she reminded herself, similar to his liveried footmen. She felt a moment’s dismay. But her thoughts fled when the modiste led them past racks of clothing and easels of sketches to the back of the shop where the bolts of cloth were stored.

Oh my!
Shelves stacked with colorful bolts of silks, satins, cashmere, crepe, brocades, merino, velvets, taffeta, and twill made her gasp in delight.

Eliza immediately thought of her sisters. Amelia would be drawn to the colors and textures like an artist to a varying color palette; Chloe would be ecstatic. Eliza suddenly wished they were here to experience the dress shop firsthand.

Mrs. Gardner reached for a bolt of sapphire silk and unrolled a yard to show Eliza. The material was so fine it felt like a waterfall between her fingers. She couldn’t imagine the cost to make a gown of such luxurious material.

“It’s lovely,” Eliza breathed.

“You will wear it well,” Grayson said.

A satisfied smile crossed the dressmaker’s face. “I have sketches you must see and pick the design of your gown. Whatever you decide upon, this silk will be ravishing.”

“Mrs. Somerton also requires an evening dress for the day after tomorrow. Something suitable for a visit to the Royal Academy,” Grayson asked.

The dressmaker halted. “All my clothing is made to order; however, I do have something a customer never picked up.”

Mrs. Garner motioned to a forest green dress on display in a corner. With a high waist and rounded bodice adorned with crystal beading, Eliza’s breath caught. She longed to feel the satin against her skin. Years ago, when Chloe was a child and her father was knighted and selling his own original paintings, they had worn fine, fashionable dresses.

“This is the one,” the dressmaker said. “Simple but elegant, and with a few adjustments it can be ready quickly.” Removing the garment, she held the fabric to Eliza’s cheek. “See how the color brings out her emerald eyes. Exquisite!”

“Exquisite, indeed,” Grayson said softly.

His attention was riveted on Eliza’s face, not the dress. A shiver of excitement ran down her spine at the intensity in his eyes.

“If you would follow me to the fitting room, you can try on the dress and I shall make adjustments,” Mrs. Gardner instructed.

They followed the dressmaker to the back of the store into a chamber with four closed-off spaces with curtains. A round pedestal was in the center of the room before a cheval glass mirror.

Mrs. Gardner pulled back a drape, hung the dress inside, and motioned for Eliza to enter the space. “I shall help you with your stays.” Turning to Grayson, she said, “My lord, you will be comfortable sitting in the showroom.”

“No, I want to see it,” Grayson said, choosing a chair in the corner.

Eliza’s gaze flew to Grayson, then Mrs. Gardner. Surely the dressmaker would protest?

But Mrs. Gardner didn’t blink. “Of course, my lord.”

…

Grayson didn’t know what he was doing sitting inside the dressing room. He felt like a fool. Waiting for the curtain to open like a child at a magician’s show, he sat on a dainty, rosewood chair that was far too small for his frame. Only he was no child and a magician was not hidden behind the curtain.

He could come up with all manner of arguments to explain his behavior. He needed Eliza to accompany him to the Royal Academy. He needed her to engage Viscount Pickens and obtain an invitation to his upcoming ball.

But none of those arguments could explain why he sat and waited.

He wanted to see her in a beautiful dress. He wanted to see her out of the dress.

He wanted to see
her.

The curtain opened and Eliza emerged, followed by Mrs. Gardner.

He sucked in a breath as Eliza stepped up onto the pedestal.

The dressmaker clapped her hands in excitement. “Just as I thought! The color is lovely and the seams can easily be taken in.”

Grayson’s mouth went dry at the sight. The dressmaker had pinned the dress so that it fit Eliza like a second skin. The low beaded neckline accentuated her magnificent breasts and the high waist revealed the feminine curve of her hips and made her legs look endlessly long. He imagined those long legs wrapped around him as he slid inside her body. He became instantly aroused, and his tailored trousers grew tight.

Eliza’s face was flushed with happiness. She spun around on the pedestal, revealing a glimpse of slender ankles.

Grayson shifted restlessly in his seat and looked away.

A scrap of sheer, black silk hanging from a sewing basket caught his eye. He envisioned Eliza wearing undergarments made from the silk, and his heart pounded.

Why the hell was he torturing himself?

The dressmaker retrieved her pincushion and hovered around Eliza like an overzealous mother hen. “Stand straight for the hem.”

Eliza ran her hands down the skirt lovingly. “It’s such a beautiful fabric. It’s been years since—” She stopped midsentence and a flush crossed her face.

A true professional, Mrs. Gardner did not comment on Eliza’s slip.

Grayson wondered when was the last time Eliza had purchased a dress or any new item for herself. He experienced satisfaction in seeing her happiness. She was so unlike the spoiled ladies he normally associated with at society functions. His prior mistresses would never protest if he spent money on their wardrobe. To the contrary, they had demanded it.

But Eliza demanded nothing.

He was amazed by her integrity. She was a struggling shopkeeper, a young woman who was thrust into the role of providing for her younger sisters. Desire for a beautiful woman like Eliza was understandable, expected even. But admiration and respect were entirely different emotions—uncomfortable emotions that complicated his already perplexing feelings toward her.

“A pin has come loose. Raise your arms and I’ll refasten the bodice,” the dressmaker said.

Eliza complied, and the already snug bodice stretched across her ample breasts. Grayson thought he would burst with need. He realized he wanted to buy her pretty things, and experienced a sudden desire to lavish her with silks, satins and jewels. He pictured her as his mistress, dressing for his pleasure.

His mistress.

Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

It was a simple solution. He would buy a town house where they could spend long, lustful afternoons and sizzling evenings—far way from her business, her sisters, and his tedious estate ledgers and the bevy of hounding aspiring artists who sought his constant attention.

He couldn’t marry her. He must consider Sara’s reputation and future as well as his title. But he needn’t offer her a ring. Men of his status wouldn’t blink an eye at the notion of him claiming Eliza Somerton as his mistress.

“That should suffice,” the dressmaker said, interrupting Grayson’s erotic thoughts. “For the other garments, you must choose from sketches and fabrics. Excuse me a moment while I fetch the sketches.” Mrs. Gardner rushed off.

Eliza stood perched on the pedestal. With the dress pinned, she was forced to wait until the seamstress returned. She bit her bottom lip, obviously uneasy alone in his presence. She was such an enigma to him. She acted the part of an experienced, worldly widow, but there was such sexual innocence in her eyes. He couldn’t remember a time he wanted a woman so badly.

A sudden need to learn more about her compelled him to sit forward in the dainty chair.

“Was it a love match?” he asked.

Her delicate brows furrowed. “Pardon?”

“Your marriage. Did you love him?”

She hesitated and glanced at the tips of her stockinged feet. He thought she wouldn’t answer, but then she raised her eyes. “As I explained, Mr. Somerton was much older.”

He stood. “Ah, I understand.”

Even perched on the pedestal, she had to look up to meet his eyes. Her hair was pinned at her nape revealing her cat-like green eyes and elegant neck. “What do you mean by that?”

“There was no passion between you.”

Her eyes sparked. “There was passion!”

“I’m not speaking of mere consummation of the marriage vows.”

“Then what?”

He took a step forward. “Lust. Desire.”

She stiffened, and for some reason her nervousness aroused him further.

“You speak out of place, my lord,” she said.

“It’s Grayson. Call me Grayson,” he demanded.

Her stubborn little chin jutted forward. “Fine. You speak out of place,
Grayson.”

“I don’t think so, Eliza,” he said softly. He stepped closer, until he could see the pulse beating rapidly at her nape. He wanted to make her heart beat faster, and an image of her gasping for breath as she climaxed beneath him flashed through his mind. “I’d like to teach you about passion.”

Her full lips parted. “It’s wrong,” she whispered.

“An attraction this strong cannot be wrong.”

She was poised before him like a piece of ripe fruit. He was starving, he just needed to reach out and touch her.

He cupped her cheek. “You feel it. Don’t you?”

Her green eyes widened. “No.” Her voice broke.

“You remind me of rare art. Beautiful and exotic at once. Meant to be viewed for pleasure and handled with utmost care.”

Her breasts rose and fell in her bodice. “Stop.”

“I’d like that privilege,” he said huskily. “I’d treat you well. Teach you about the pleasures of the flesh, teach you everything you haven’t experienced and always yearned to learn.”

Her eyes were like liquid pools at his erotic words. Her pink lips parted.

Nothing could stop him from kissing her at that moment. A flash of eager anticipation mirrored in her eyes when she realized his intent, and he felt a thrill of male satisfaction. He’d kiss her and convince her of his plans to make her his mistress.

It was brilliant. It was perfect.

He pushed aside a nagging guilt about his intent to bring her father to justice. At that moment his heated blood was focused on
her.

He dipped his head, his lips inches from hers…

She inhaled deeply, then suddenly winced and grasped the edge of her bodice. “Ouch!”

Startled, he swiftly pulled back.

She raised her arm to reveal a protruding pin. A trickle of blood oozed from a scratch on the tender skin of her underarm. “The blasted pin!”

“Hold still,” he commanded.

He studied the fabric and realized the head of the pin was inside the bodice. Reaching inside the dress, his fingers touched the soft, warm flesh of the side of her breast. His nostrils flared as the delicate scent of lilacs filled his senses. Careful not to cause her more pain, he slid the pin from the fabric. The satin gaped slightly and revealed a glimpse of rosy nipple above her chemise.