Mistletoe Menage (4 page)

Anne had not spent an evening alone,
which pleased her as it meant that she fell into bed exhausted every night with
little time to think or yearn. Before she knew it, November had arrived, bringing
with it icy winds, gray skies, and snow showers.

And another
letter.

From Mr.
Harper.

He apologized once again for not
being able to accompany her when she travelled home in September but asked now
to be allowed to paint her portrait as previously arranged. Anne was thrown
into a fevered whirlpool of nervous doubts and moments of exhilaration once
more. Mr. Harper informed her that he was to arrive in Kent by the end of the
second week of November. If it suited her, he would call on her once he had
settled in to complete some initial sketches the following week.

And suddenly, the day of his
visit arrived.

Anne was in the library, her
favorite room—a large space at the rear of the house with floor-to-ceiling
bookshelves—when Mr. Harper was announced. He strolled into the room with the
elegance of a true socialite, an easel and rectangular black case tucked under
one arm. He removed his hat with his free hand and swept Anne a small bow.

“Mrs. Blackburn.”

“Mr. Harper.” Anne’s heart
thudded and she rose unsteadily, wondering if he would spot her traitorous
heart at the low neckline of her new gown. Though still dark in color, it was
purple, and she had allowed her seamstress to persuade her to experiment with
the style. No lace insert covered her neck and breasts and it left her feeling
somewhat exposed. Somewhat frivolous yet strangely excited as she wondered if
the newly arrived gentleman would approve of the color of the gown and think
her comely as it contrasted with the milky whiteness of her skin.

Mr. Harper approached her, then
looked down at himself and laughed. “Excuse me.” He placed the case and easel
on the floor near the window then laid his hat on a small side table.

Anne put out a hand to steady
herself as he approached her. She dug her fingers into the back of the chair as
he took her hand and pressed his cold lips against it. A shock of desire
spiraled through her body and she gasped. As their eyes met, she saw a glint of
mischief within his gaze.

“Pray forgive me for being unable
to come sooner. I had…pressing matters to attend to.”

“You owe me no apology, sir.”
Anne stared at her hand where he had kissed it. Her skin was on fire now as if
the chill on his lips had created some strange chemical reaction that set her
aflame, and she could have sworn that the heat was seeping into the rest of her
body.
Warming.
Tingling.
Rousing.
Her breaths came fast and shallow and she wondered
if she might actually faint.

“You are… I hope you will pardon
me for saying so…absolutely beautiful, Mrs. Blackburn. You look so well. The
country air must agree with you. It is every artist’s dream to paint such a
vision of loveliness.”

Anne smiled, knowing that the
gentleman no doubt spoke in a similar manner to all of his models. She really
needed to rein in her emotions and unusual reactions. The gentleman would think
she was a veritable wanton for being so aroused by his presence.

“Would you like some tea, Mr.
Harper?
Or something stronger to warm you, perhaps?”
That was better. Her manners had returned. Normality had been her savior many a
time since the passing of her husband. Would it save her now from her own
desires?

“That would be wonderful, thank
you, Mrs. Blackburn. A brandy would be perfect right now to take the edge off
the chill.”

“Of course.”
Anne rang for the butler and told him to fetch the decanter and glasses. She
did not usually partake of strong liquor herself but felt that it might steady
her nerves if she did so. More than anything, she feared falling into a faint
and embarrassing herself completely, so she would rather take a drink and
return to a sensible state of awareness.

When the brandy had been brought
to the library and poured, and the butler had left, Anne perched upon the sofa.
She expected Mr. Harper to take one of the chairs but he sat next to her
instead, his leg just inches away from hers. During one of her long discussions
with Lady Jane, the older woman had told her not to be shocked at Mr. Harper’s
behavior. He might, she had informed her, seem forward for a gentleman but that
was not to be frowned upon. As an artist, he had license to go where others did
not. As long as that was what Anne wanted, of
course.

And Anne knew that even though
she was as anxious as a bride on her wedding night, she did want this. She
longed to know what she was already convinced of deep down, if the heated
dreams that caused her to wake tangled in the sheets and with her hands between
her thighs were possible.

And, she hoped Mr. Harper would
be the man to show her how pleasurable things could be.

****

As the brandy warmed her inside,
and the fire warmed her skin, Anne began to relax. Mr. Harper made her laugh
with tales of his travels around England and she found that, try as she might,
she could find nothing about the young gentleman to dislike. Perhaps it was
because he was an accomplished charmer but even if that was the truth, she
found that she didn’t care. She had been a long time alone and she was well
aware that time waited for no man or woman. She longed to feel alive before it
was too late, and Mr. Harper was already lifting her spirits and slowly, but
surely, making her long for more than just his smiles or the gentle touch of
his hand upon her arm as he laughed.

Mr. Harper drained his glass then
placed it upon the small table to his right.

“Now, my dear
Mrs. Blackburn.
Are we ready to commence?”

Anne blinked. The brandy had left
her feeling bold and adventurous.

“Yes, Mr. Harper. But might we…as
we…I mean…as we are to be spending some time together over the next few weeks,
do you think that we might dispense with formalities and use our first names?”
She bit her lower lip as she waited for his reaction. What she was asking could
be considered scandalous but as they were both adults and she’d been married
and no one else was to know, she saw no harm in it.

Mr. Harper leaned forward and
took her hand. “I should like that very much.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Anne. Please call me Anne.”

“Anne.” He lifted her hand to his
lips and kissed her fingers gently. “Then pray call me Guy.”

“Guy.” Anne exhaled as he smiled
then released her before standing in front of her. He turned his head from side
to side as he stared at her and she grew hot beneath his intense gaze. She
reached for her fan but as she flicked it out, he stopped her by taking hold of
her arm.

“Anne. You do not need that right
now.
‘Tis
a habit, no doubt.
Do not, please, do not be bashful with me. As an
artist, I need to stare at my subject. I have to assess what light is suitable to
sit you in, what pose will bring out your very best features. Do not suffer
beneath the intensity of my gaze but enjoy it and appreciate it, for I wish to
try to show the world your true beauty.
Though that will not
be difficult with you as you are a true beauty indeed.”

Anne flushed and fought the urge
to use her fan. Instead, she dropped it onto the side table and placed her hands
in her lap. No man, other than…no, don’t think of
him
now…had ever gazed at her so openly and with such undisguised
admiration. The freshness of Guy’s approach and the candid manner in which he
spoke to her was exhilarating and she was not surprised that he had won the
favor of the ladies of the beau monde. When so many were playing games,
counting their cards, and plotting their next moves, such openness was truly
invigorating.

****

Guy took hold of his black case
and opened it. He pulled out his paper and graphite sticks then laid the case
back on the floor. He was glad of the brandy he had requested because it dulled
the raw edge of his nerves. He didn’t suffer from anxiety and had played out
this charade with ladies of the upper classes many a time, but with Anne, it
was different. He wanted to believe that it was because so much rested upon him
playing this adeptly but he suspected that it might also have another source.
Something about Anne was different. Maybe it was because he knew that his
patron had cared so deeply for the lady during their courtship. It could be
that. And it was, to a certain extent, he felt sure. But he also found that he
actually liked her. Him! He had warmed to the woman during their short
acquaintance and enjoyed making her smile. She didn’t smile enough, he was
certain of it, but when she did, her whole face lit up. Right now, her emerald
eyes shone and her cheeks glowed with the warmth from the fire and the brandy,
no doubt, and she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was older
than him by some years yet she could easily have been younger than him, and he
felt an unwonted desire to protect her from all that had brought sorrow to her
life. As an artist who also provided certain extras to the ladies of the ton,
he was used to acting in a certain way, playing a role, and offering fulfillment
to the ladies that they did not find elsewhere. It was what he did, though he
didn’t really enjoy it in the way that other men might have. The sexual act was
just that for him when it involved a woman—an act. He only really, truly came
alive and let go when he was with Edward—when his patron took him into his
strong arms and took total control of him.
Yet this Anne
Blackburn, with her female charms, her generous curves, and her sweet
fragrance…
Guy believed that she might actually be a woman he could
become fond of.

And that startled him as much as
it pleased him. Though, to be candid, knowing her background as he did, and
knowing what Edward wanted him to do, Anne truly was the wrong woman for him to
fall for. Edward had told him of how she’d made him fall in love with her then
abandoned him for another within days. And Guy knew that Edward had never
recovered from her betrayal. Everyone had scars of some kind but some were
deeper, more jagged than others.

He had better continue with her
seduction and stop wallowing in his fantasies about love and fulfilment. For a
man such as he had no right to wish for anything. He was lucky that Edward had
lifted him from the gutter and given him the status he now enjoyed. He would
not fail Edward.
Even if it meant hurting this apparently sweet,
gentle woman.
According to his patron, Anne was a wanton who had
betrayed him many years ago. She had broken Edward’s heart and made a fool of
him. Therefore, if Edward wanted to repay the hurt and humiliation, then Guy
would help him to do so, in spite of any misgivings he might harbor.

“Anne, I think it might be best
if you take a seat on the chaise before the window. That way we can make the
most of the winter sunlight.”

He watched as she stood and
smoothed out her skirts then followed his instructions. When she was seated, he
pulled a footstool in front of the chaise and placed his artist’s tools upon
it.
Now to test Anne’s boundaries.

“Do you mind if I just…” He
gestured at her hair which was pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck. She
followed the direction of his hands and shook her head. “Thank you.” He reached
around her and began unpinning her waves until they fell down over her
shoulders. He dropped the pins into her waiting hands and hoped that she
wouldn’t see how his own hands trembled. He ran his fingers through her hair to
check that he had removed everything,
then
he knelt
before Anne. Her pupils were dilated and her lips were crimson. He yearned to
lean forward and kiss her but it was not yet time. He took the pins from her
instead and put them in a bowl on a dresser by the door.

“Now, Anne, I would like you to
recline on the chaise so that your head rests upon the arm. Could you do that
for me?”

He approached her and helped her
to make herself comfortable, then gently took hold of her hair and let it fall
over her shoulder and down over her chest. As he laid it there, he allowed his
hand to brush against the exposed skin at her neckline. She gasped and he bit
the inside of his cheek to hide a smile. She wanted this.
But not yet.

“Is this right?” she asked as he
perched on the footstool and began to sketch her outline.

“Perfect, Anne.” He flashed
her a
grin then continued his work. They sat that way for
almost an hour until he had captured her form and filled in some of the
details. Then he paused and sighed.

“What is it?” She sat upright and
frowned at him.

He shook his head and slammed his
graphite stick onto the paper on his lap,
then
he rose
and reached for the decanter and filled their glasses. He handed Anne hers then
swigged from his own, savoring the heat as it warmed his gullet. He lowered
himself back onto the stool and sighed.

“Please, Guy. Tell me.” Anne
finished her brandy, then lowered herself to her knees and placed her hands on
his wrists. She was so close that he could smell her light floral perfume and
feel the heat from her body as it radiated over him.

“It would not be right to ask.”

“To ask what?”
She moved closer so that her skirts fell over his feet and her stomach pressed
against his hands.

“This sketch.
It does not do you justice. I believe that it needs more detail. I need to…” He
worried his lower lip and waited.

“You need to…see more of me,
perhaps?”

He met her gaze and his pulse
rate increased at the desire he saw there.