River Of Fire (43 page)

Smiling, she took his arm so they could continue their tour of the exhibition. Only as they moved away did she realize that Lord Frazier had been waylaid by someone a few feet away from them. All she could see was his stiff back, but it was possible that he had overheard Kenneth's criticism.

She hoped he had not. After all, being mediocre did not make an artist any less sensitive.

The day of the Strathmore ball had arrived, and Kenneth and Rebecca were sharing a light meal in the drawing room to take them through until the late supper. As he took another piece of spice cake, he said, "I'm looking forward to the ball tonight. Now that the exhibit has opened and we are both certified successes, we're entitled to a night of frivolity."

Rebecca smiled indulgently and divided the last of the tea between their cups. "I must admit that I'm looking forward to it, too."

He studied her fondly as he sipped his tea, thinking that she looked as delectable as the cakes. Now that he wasn't working himself to exhaustion, his desire to bed her was rapidly getting out of hand. He had better start work on his engraving series. That should absorb some of his unruly energy.

His thoughts were interrupted when Sir Anthony came into the drawing room, resplendent in full evening dress.

Rebecca glanced up. "Hello, Father. I thought you had left for dinner already."

"George and Malcolm will be here to collect me in a moment, but I wanted to pass on some news," he replied. "Rebecca, today at the exhibition, two people asked if you did portrait work. Expect to hear from them. There have also been several outrageous offers to buy
The Corsair
, all from women. I assume it is not for sale?"

"You assume correctly. Still… how outrageous?"

"Five hundred guineas."

She spilled her tea. "That's a fortune!"

"That was the highest firm offer," he continued. "A certain elderly duchess said she would give a thousand guineas for it, but I believe she was jesting."

Rebecca grinned at Kenneth. "You're famous, Captain."

He stared gloomily into his cup. "Perhaps I'll grow a beard so no one will recognize me."

"There was also considerable interest in your two paintings, Kenneth. I advise you not to accept less than three hundred guineas apiece. You should be able to get more."

"You think they're worth that much?" Kenneth said, amazed.

"A painting is worth what someone wants to pay. Don't undervalue yourself." As Sir Anthony opened the door to leave, he said with regret, "I assume I'll need a new secretary soon."

Kenneth thought of his still unfinished investigation. "Yes. But not just yet."

At that moment, Hampton and Frazier arrived. Since the drawing room door was open, they came to say hello.

Hampton said, "You two young people have done brilliantly with your exhibition pieces. Rebecca, your pictures are superb." His gaze went to Kenneth. "I feel vastly pleased with myself for having contracted you to do the Peninsular series. Any chance that when the first prints are offered, I can borrow
The Corsair
to hang in my shop window? It would do wonders for sales."

While Kenneth groaned and Sir Anthony laughed, Rebecca said firmly, "I think not, Uncle George."

"A pity," Hampton said, his eyes twinkling. "A fine marketing opportunity lost."

Lord Frazier watched the interplay with a faint expression of distaste. The man needed a sense of humor, Kenneth decided.

"Time we were off. We're dining with Benjamin West tonight." Sir Anthony paused, his expression commanding everyone's attention before he continued,

"West wishes to talk about my succeeding him as president of the Royal Academy."

There was a moment of profound silence. Kenneth noted that Hampton looked surprised and Frazier looked downright shocked.

Then Rebecca exclaimed, "That's wonderful!" She bounced up and went to hug her father. "With the backing of the current president, your election is assured when the time comes."

"That's still a few years away, I trust. I'm fond of West and in no hurry to see him die." Sir Anthony smiled. "But when a new president is needed, I would be honored to serve."

"Perhaps Tom Lawrence will have something to say about that," Frazier drawled. "Still, if West makes his preference plain, your chances are excellent."

"Anthony is by far the best choice," Hampton said warmly as he shook his friend's hand. He glanced at Rebecca. "Who knows? Perhaps someday Kimball will head the academy in his turn. There's already talk of making him an associate when the next vacancy occurs. You'll have the distinction of being both daughter and wife of presidents."

It was a flattering thought, but Kenneth saw a look of authentic rage in Frazier's eyes. He said deprecatingly, "Such talk after only two pictures exhibited is highly premature. Besides, my artistic education is deficient in many areas."

"I'm glad you're aware of that," Frazier said acerbically. "It would be a pity if your head became turned when you are still the merest novice."

Hampton gave the other man an annoyed glance, but said only, "Time we were going. Good night, Rebecca, Kimball."

After the door closed on the three men, Rebecca said, "Poor Frazier—he obviously resents the fact that his star is in eclipse when everyone else's is rising." She danced over to Kenneth, who had just resumed his seat, and threw her arms around him exuberantly, almost spilling the teacup he had just lifted. "But the rest of us are so wonderfully successful that I can scarcely believe it."

Faced with a choice between cooling tea and a warm armful of femininity, the decision was easy. He set the cup aside and pulled her onto his lap. "I owe this all to you, Rebecca. If you hadn't bullied me into painting, I would never have tried."

He gave her a kiss that was intended to be light, but which swiftly turned serious. Her arms slid around him and her mouth opened under his. She tasted of spice cake and delight, a heady, intoxicating blend that aroused him in seconds.

He pulled his head away and tried to pretend that he was unaffected by the embrace. "We really shouldn't do this in the drawing room. Or anywhere else, for that matter."

Briefly he saw his own indecision in her. Then her expression changed as exuberance transmuted into reckless passion. "You're right. My studio is a much better place." She raised her hand and caressed his cheek with sensual promise. "Lavinia said
The Corsair
depicts every woman's dream lover, dark and dangerous and irresistible. That it is pure passion."

It was becoming hard to breathe. He set her on her feet and stood. "Lavinia has a colorful imagination."

"On the contrary, she's very acute." Instead of moving away, Rebecca stepped so close that her breasts almost touched him. As he stared at them, mesmerized, she continued, "Lavinia said the painting shows how I see you, and she's right."

He should move away. He didn't. "How do you see me?"

"Dark." She slid a cool hand around the back of his neck and caressed his nape, her fingertips tangling in his hair and her breasts a warm, insistent pressure against his chest.

His pulse began hammering with desire and dismay.

"Dangerous." Standing on tiptoe, she lightly nipped the lobe of his ear.

Sensation blazed through him, tingling in his limbs and pooling in his groin.

"Irresistible," she murmured against his throat. Her lips feathered across his cheek and her mouth slanted over his.

He exhaled roughly and drew her into his embrace, thirsting for the rich liquor of her mouth. She was like ginger wine, soothing and sizzling all at once. Lilith, the demoness of desire. His hands glided down her supple spine and came to rest on the sculptured softness of her hips. He drew her against him, feeling every lovely feminine curve.

It had been hard enough when he had only guessed what lay beneath her gown. Now he knew, and the knowledge was physical pain. He wanted to bare her shapely limbs to his hungry gaze. He wanted savagery and tenderness. To sink into her welcoming body. To see the wildness blazing in her eyes, and the deep contentment that would come later.

No.

"Lilith the demoness indeed. Sent to steal my soul and succeeding admirably." Aching with regret, he set her away from him. "To be fools once might be forgivable. Twice would not."

"What is so foolish about making love?" She reached back and jerked loose the ribbon that secured her hair so that it fell about her shoulders like a sun-gilded auburn veil. "And let us have no nonsense about you being a lowly secretary. You are a viscount and a rising young artist."

He tried to think what other barriers he could put between them, apart from the truth of his duplicity. "Having escaped a forced wedding once, we'd be fools to risk our luck again. I can't swear I would be able to withdraw when I should." He stroked the delicate arc of her cheek with the back of his hand. "You are too intoxicating."

She caught his hand and pressed the open palm to her breast. He went rigid, unable to pull away.

"If that's all, you needn't worry. Lavinia explained how to prevent unwanted consequences." Color rose in Rebecca's face, but she didn't drop her eyes. "I have what I need to to… protect myself upstairs."

His fragile control collapsed like a house of cards. Why should they deny what they both wanted so much? His responsibility to Beth was fulfilled, his obligation to Bowden nearly so, and he'd found no evidence that Sir Anthony had killed his wife. Within a matter of weeks, perhaps only days, his life would be his own again. The return of the jewels should save him from bankruptcy no matter what Bowden decided to do with the mortgages. Though there would still be debts, he would finally be Kimball of Sutterton in a meaningful way.

When that happened and he could speak freely… Well, he was willing to rethink his feelings about heiresses if Rebecca would reconsider her distaste for marriage.

As for this present moment, they both burned, and there was only one way to quench the flames.

This time he would not allow the swift madness of their first mating. She knew how to give; he must teach her to receive. He took her face between his hands. "If the corsair is a dream lover, you are a dream mistress. Passionate. Open. Lovely beyond belief." He gave her a long, soul-draining kiss. When he broke for breath, he whispered, "Prepare yourself, Lilith, for you are impossible to resist."