Passion Wears Pearls (10 page)

He smiled. “Thank you.” He rang the bell for the serving man, who answered the summons almost immediately. Josiah ordered for them both as if to give her time to gird herself for the next debate. Once they were alone, he leaned back in his chair. “May I ask you a personal question, Miss Beckett?”

“I suppose.” She was wary, taking new measure of her handsome petitioner. His honesty was disarming, and she was struggling to come up with firm objections to a man who offered the solution to all her present difficulties.

“How did you come to work for Madame Claremont?”

“It’s a long story and a bit complicated.” Eleanor looked away embarrassed but then lifted her chin. “My father was quite successful in his business until things took a turn for the worst two years ago. He was a chemist and an inventor and came up with an array of new smelling salts that might be vaguely pleasing to the customer.”

“Sounds like a clever idea. Not that I’ve ever been in the market for them, but I can see the appeal.”

She gave him a skeptical look but continued calmly. “He’d invested everything in them, but his partner stole the formulas and patented them as his own to sell to a drug company all too happy with the potential profits. Keller’s Gentle Smelling Salts have a display in almost every apothecary shop in England.”

“Your father must have had some legal recourse.”

She nodded. “He did, and the lawyers were also all too happy to take the last of my father’s money in the pursuit of his case. He kept most of his troubles from us until near the end, borrowing money from disreputable creditors to shield us from any hardships. But then my mother died of influenza. It was too much for him. His heart failed and he followed her within the week.”

“My God,” he exclaimed softly. “When did all of this take place?”

“Last summer.” She picked up her teacup, the illusion of her cool composure spoiled by her trembling hands. “The solicitors took everything to settle his debts, legal and domestic, and I was literally turned out. I have no relatives to speak of, and I refused to impose myself on family friends who had made their indifference clear by their silence when it was discovered that my father’s fortunes had changed.”

“You have no one?”

“I am very resourceful, Mr. Hastings. I’ve had a good education, possess some skills with a needle, and am not the sort of woman to sit helplessly on the floor and lament my fate. I’m not afraid of honest work.”

“You continually amaze, Miss Beckett.”

“Why? Because I sought work in a dress shop and discovered I’m as trusting as my father when it comes to other people and their true intentions?”

“Anyone with a good nature expects to find the same in others. You’re no fool, Miss Beckett, and don’t think for a moment that I’d mistake you for one.”

Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Mr. Hastings.”

“But it does make things more challenging if you don’t trust your own instincts. I very much want you to sit for me, Miss Beckett. I can’t hide my intentions, nor do I want to, but you will have to trust me.”

“You really want to paint
me
?” she asked, lowering her voice at the scandalous subject. “You’re sure?”

“Is it really so surprising a notion?”

“I am no great beauty, sir, and there is something—awkward—about presuming that I am worthy of … such attention.” Her skin warmed at the thought of such a man openly staring and studying her for hours on end. It didn’t seem possible to hold anyone’s interest for that period of time, but even so, the way he looked at her now, hungry and wary, eager and cautious—as if he feared she would bolt from the room and spoil his plans—made her want nothing more than to let him look his fill. She wanted to do whatever she could to ease the ache in his expression and please him.

And that alone was reason enough to refuse him.

I’m not myself when he looks at me like that. I become another woman who would sit on a dais and preen and hide nothing from him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His command was soft, but compelling.

“I’m wishing I were a stronger person. I’m wishing your offer didn’t appeal.”

“Why?”

“Because I think saying yes would reveal some great flaw in my character. It will make me less in other people’s eyes.”

“To hell with what other people think, Miss Beckett.” He leaned forward, the intensity of his gaze pinning her in place. “Say yes and become more. Become your own woman, independent again and unconcerned with the gossip of small minds. You’ll have the money you need to create any life you desire. If you never broke another rule
again for the rest of your life, so be it. But don’t deny me, Eleanor. Help me to achieve this work, and I’ll spend an eternity in your debt.”

Independent again. Any life I desire. It sounds too easy.

She took one deep breath, so aware of the sodden weight of her wet wool skirts, the tight, icy feel of her leather boots, and even the confines of her corset and clothing. She felt constricted and cold. To turn him down was to embrace a future without promise, as bleak as an English moor. To accept him was to let go of fear and pride and gamble her very soul for the hope of a life with security and comfort again.

“Fifteen thousand pounds,” she whispered. “I am not for sale, Mr. Hastings.”

“I’m not offering to purchase you, Miss Beckett. I would simply pay for the right to look at you, for as long as I wish—for the sole purpose of capturing your likeness.”

And there it was.

The right to look at you, for as long as I wish.

“I’m not taking off my …” She swallowed hard, unsure of how a person delicately addressed the subject of nudity with such a man. “I won’t pose without …”

“I’ll not ask you to remove a thing against your will.” His brown eyes blazed hotter than the embers of a fire. “And if that was your last objection, I take it that your answer is …”

“Yes.”

God help me. Yes.

Josiah felt like crowing the instant she’d agreed.

Thank God.

It had been a long, miserable day, pacing and worrying about how best to present his case and secure her agreement before she thought better of it or simply disappeared. The shadows had been unstable and troubling, and he had gotten a headache trying to be patient and distract himself with a walk and errands. Finally, he’d just given up and decided to
come to the inn, prowling in the sitting room and keeping Mrs. Clay and her staff on edge.

All worth it!

“You won’t regret it, Miss Beckett. If I can make one more promise, I hope you’ll allow me to make that one.”

Her chin lifted, and she took another sip of her tea. “It’s not necessary. I shall stand by my own choices, and if there is a consequence, then I’m not going to shirk it or blame you.”

Proud. You’re so marvelously proud, Miss Beckett. I think I’ll personally want vengeance on anyone who tries to break that spirit of yours. Now if I can only trust my eyes to allow me to paint it. …

Josiah decided to waste no more time. “I took the liberty of visiting my lawyer today to try to assure you that you wouldn’t have to trust my word alone if it came to it. As to payment”—he took out a contract from his coat pocket—“everything is arranged for your protection.”

She took the folded paper from him, her eyes taking on a sheen of unshed tears. “You move quickly, sir.”

“I had no wish to leave anything to chance, Miss Beckett.” He waited, deliberately holding his place to avoid looking overeager. “The offer is honorable, and I thought if you saw it in writing, it would be reassuring to you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hastings.”

The man returned with their dinners, and Josiah was grateful for the interruption. Eleanor tucked the contract into her skirt pocket and had a few moments to compose herself. When they were alone again, except for the young boy, who was now dozing by the fireplace, he poured her a glass of wine.

“I do not drink, Mr. Hastings.”

“Oh.” He stopped the flow of the ruby liquid immediately. “Of course you don’t. I’ll take this glass, then, and we can ring for more—”

“The tea is fine. I don’t want to trouble Mrs. Clay’s man more than need be.”

“What trouble? I’ll just move this over and—damn it!”
Josiah tried to catch the goblet before it tipped, but he’d misjudged the distance and instead of retrieving the glass, he’d knocked it over, splashing everything on the table, including his coat and shirt. He stood quickly, but his thighs struck the table’s edge, and for a moment, he envisioned the entire dinner ending up on the floor. “I’m … so sorry. That was …”

“No harm done,” she said, also standing to stem the tide with her napkin and come to his aid. Her young chaperone bolted up to hand her a towel, and between the three of them, things regained a semblance of order. “You are human enough, Mr. Hastings. I confess, I’m a little comforted to see it.”

“Are you?”

“You’ve been bounding around corners and saving my life ever since I met you. It’s a bit … overwhelming, don’t you agree? Whereas this—makes me think you are just as subject to mortal woes as the rest of us!” She smiled at him, and suddenly he was lost in the column of clear lines and stunning color that was Miss Eleanor Beckett. “There, that’s the worst of it.”

The urge to bolt from the room faded as he kept his eyes on her. “If that’s the worst, I can’t complain. But I’d prefer not to demonstrate any more of my humanity, so let’s hope I can keep my elbows out of the gravy boat.”

“A reasonable goal, Mr. Hastings.” She resumed her seat, and he took his.

It was humbling to think of all the social graces he’d lost and never mourned until this moment. The meal seemed far more daunting than it had a few minutes ago, but Josiah wasn’t about to forgo her company. “Well, let’s see if we can make enough of a mark on this feast so that Mrs. Clay is satisfied! She is a true favorite of mine, and my friends, and I hope you don’t find her too … motherly. Rutherford growls all the time about getting too soft under her care, but he’s not exactly rushing out to find another place to live.”

“She mentioned him. She said something odd about him being her ‘own dear mystery.’ And since you spoke of him
earlier, I take it that Mr. Rutherford is your friend as well, then.”

Josiah nodded. “He is. One of my closest, in fact. But Rutherford would never forgive me if he found out that I’d made him the subject of conversation, much less divulged any of his secrets to please a lady.”

“Do you know his secrets?” she asked.

“Mutton?” Josiah held up a platter, redirecting the conversation. “I’m starving, aren’t you?”

Eleanor laughed and accepted the ceramic platter. “Very well. I will ask you about your painting and you can tell me when we’ll begin.”

“Agreed.” He held out his hand. “I’ll send a carriage for you in the morning.”

She gasped in shock at the speed of the arrangement but took his hand shyly to seal her fate. Josiah shook it as solemnly as a bishop and allowed himself to hope.

“
This
is your home?” She tried not to sound leery of the building as she leaned forward to peek out of the carriage window. For instead of the hackney carriage coming to some residential square and pulling up in front of a brownstone or house, the driver had traveled eastward into the city and stopped in front of what could only be described as an industrial brick ruin.

“Such as it is.” He opened the carriage door and settled with the driver, tipping him generously for his patience. “I live and work on the top two floors, and my steward and his wife have a portion of the third.”

He held his hand out to help her down from the carriage. “Please.”

She took his hand, reluctantly leaving the sanctuary of the carriage behind. “You live here?”

He smiled. “I believe I just said that.” He tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm, and then gestured grandly with his other hand like a man proudly showing off a local landmark. “Don’t let her rough looks fool you! She’s
seen better days, but she’s as sound as Gibraltar and has a good deal of character. Why would I want to live in an ordinary brownstone when I can have five stories of solitude? Well”—he amended the description—“near solitude. As I said, there’s old Escher and his wife.”