The Art of Sinning (24 page)

“Blast it, Jeremy, it will take both owners to get loans, to expand, to make the necessary improvements to the mills that Papa was never willing to approve.”

Old duties tugged at him. He ignored them. “I'll sell you my half. That's the best I can do.”

She huffed out a breath. “But Mama has to allow it, and she won't.”

“I'm
not
going back, damn it! I'm staying in England.”
With Yvette, assuming she will have me.
“Mother will just have to accept it.”

“You don't know Mama very well if you think she's giving up on her only son.”

The words drove an arrow through his heart. He dug his fingers into his arms, fighting the urge to
run, hard and fast, away from the pain. He'd begun to realize that he couldn't run far enough to escape it. “I can't discuss this now, Amanda. Not here. But I will come first thing in the morning and speak to Mother, and we'll settle the matter once and for all. All right?”

She stared at him warily. “Do you
swear
to come to London tomorrow?”

“Yes. You'll see me as soon as I can get there in the morning.”

“I'll hold you to it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now that I know our relations run an investigative concern, if you run away, I'll hire them to find you wherever you go.”

He let out a long breath. He'd managed to postpone dealing with his family for another day, thank God. “I promise not to run this time.” But he would also not give in on the subject of returning.

He'd simply make that clear to Mother in a way she could finally accept.

Twenty-Four

It was well past noon by the time Yvette stood on the front steps with Edwin and Jeremy, watching as the visitors left. How had Jeremy managed to convince his sister to return to London without him? Whatever he'd said, when Miss Keane had walked out of Edwin's study with her brother, she'd looked entirely different from when she'd gone in. Deflated. Worried.

Jeremy, meanwhile, had vanished behind a wall of wry remarks and teasing. Since his sister had only participated halfheartedly, he'd turned them on Yvette, who'd been in no mood to suffer them, either.

And now he apparently thought to go back to working on the portrait as if nothing had happened. No doubt he meant to spend hours giving her his smoldering looks and tempting her into thinking wicked thoughts. He expected to get her so eager for him that she would agree to anything he asked.

Not a chance.

The dratted devil wanted to marry her without making any effort at all. Without saying why he wished to or telling her he loved her or even explaining why he refused to return to America. And all because she'd fallen into his bed.

Well, she might have been deplorably easy to se­­duce, but he would soon find she wasn't so easy to marry. Getting her assent would require more than kisses and facile flatteries. He would have to prove he actually cared about her. If he could.

“About your painting—” she began.

“Actually, I was thinking we might go for a walk,” Jeremy said. “It's too lovely a day to be cooped up inside.”

She gaped at him. “I thought you wanted to finish the portrait.”

“We've got enough time for that later on. I feel the need for some exercise first. I'm sure you do, too.”

She didn't know how to answer. They'd never been on a walk together. Strolling about the grounds sounded delicious.

So delicious that it raised her suspicions. Jeremy was proposing it precisely because he knew it would tempt her.

“I'd be delighted to go for a walk,” she said blithely. “And I'm sure Edwin could use one, too.”

When Jeremy glowered at her brother, Edwin blanched. “A walk? Why in God's name would I go for a walk with the two of you?”

She looped her arm through Edwin's. “As Mr. Keane says, it's a lovely day. And I know how much you enjoy walking with companions.”

“No, I don't,” Edwin protested. “Everyone moves
too slowly and stops too often. I prefer a solitary walk. You
know
that.”

Sometimes she could throttle her brother for his absolute inability to play along.

She frowned meaningfully at him. “But surely on a day like this . . .”

Edwin caught sight of her expression, and apparently the truth
finally
dawned on him. “Ah, yes. A day like this. That . . . changes everything. So, I suppose we're off for a walk.”

She shot Jeremy a triumphant smile. If he wanted her, he would have to work for it. And if he didn't work for it, it would prove he didn't
really
want her as a wife.

“Let me just fetch my bonnet,” she said.

“No need for that,” Jeremy said. “I thought we'd merely tour your deer park, since I haven't seen it.”

With a shrug, she let the two men usher her down the steps so they could stroll along the path leading into the woods. Although the men flanked her, it was Jeremy she was conscious of. She fancied she could feel his gaze scrutinizing her, feel his heat emanating toward her. Perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea.

Unless . . . “So,” she said brightly, “if I'm to marry you, Mr. Keane, how would we live? For that matter,
where
would we live?”

Edwin stiffened. “Perhaps it would be better if I went over to—”

“No, indeed,” she cut in. “These are questions
you
as my guardian should have asked.”

To her surprise, Jeremy laughed. “She's got you there, Blakeborough.” He stared warmly down at her.
“We'll live in London or somewhere close. You can choose the house. I don't really care where.”

“As long as it's near the bawdy houses, right?” she quipped.

“Yvette,” Edwin ventured, “he says he only goes to the brothels to find models.”

She ignored her brother, her eyes fixed on Jeremy. “I know what he says. But they're still brothels.”

Jeremy's eyes gleamed at her. “Once we marry, the only female model I'll need is you.”

The words were so unexpectedly sweet that her throat tightened. “So all your paintings will be of dark-haired Amazonian females?” she said archly.

“Junoesque,” he corrected her. “Beautiful, Juno­esque females with clover-green eyes and porcelain skin and imperious posture.” He punctuated the husky words by gliding his gaze down her in a slow perusal that set every part of her on fire.

Curse him. He was too good at this. “And what about your family?” she asked, to put the shoe on the other foot.

“Oh,” he said blandly, “I don't think they'd enjoy modeling for my paintings at all.”

She eyed him askance. “I mean, what about the fact that they live in America? Surely you'll want to visit from time to time. Will you take me with you?”

A shadow crossed his face. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said noncommittally.

“Because if you ever intend to return there to live—”

“I don't.” His expression was cold. “I can't.”

Why?
she wanted to ask. If he hadn't loved his wife, why was seeing the site of the woman's death
so painful? But she couldn't ask that in front of Edwin. She didn't feel right revealing the intimate details of Jeremy's past without his permission.

She took another tack. “You still haven't said
how
you intend for us to live.”

That made him smile. “Are you fishing for information regarding my finances, Lady Yvette? Because that is usually handled in the settlement arrangements. But if you insist upon discussing it here, I can assure you—”

“Ah, look!” Edwin cried, pointing to a speck at the top of the hill opposite the woods. “It's our gamekeeper. I've been meaning to speak to him regarding the . . . the . . .”

“Snipe?” Jeremy supplied helpfully.

“The snipe, yes.” And before Yvette could stop him, her brother was stalking away from them toward the speck he claimed was their gamekeeper.

The moment he was out of hearing, Jeremy chuckled and offered her his arm. “You should have known better than to involve Blakeborough in our quarrel, sweetheart. He doesn't like quarrels. Or being in the middle. Or parrying your dizzying array of thrusts.”

She glared at his arm. “We'll see about that.”

When she started after her brother, Jeremy caught her about the waist and tugged her back onto the path. “Leave him be. This is between us, and you know it.” He challenged her with a thin smile. “Unless you're afraid you can't handle me by yourself.”

Drat the man. He was daring her again. She should tell him to go to the devil.

She didn't. “Fine,” she said, and marched into the park.

For a short while, he just followed at a leisurely pace as she barreled along the graveled path in an attempt to vent her temper. But when they came to the picturesque bridge over the stream that separated their land from that of Clarissa's family, Jeremy put a hand on her arm to halt her.

“This looks like a nice spot for our discussion,” he said quietly.

It was, actually. The summer sun barely penetrated the overhanging trees, but where it did, it danced on the stream's surface like fairy lights. The warble of the water twined with the croak of the toads to soothe her agitation and settle her nerves. And because of the bends in the shallow stream on either end, they were entirely private so long as no one else came along the path.

Propping his elbows on the stone parapet, he gazed out over the water. They both stood there, silent, before she drummed up the courage to ask the most crucial question. “Why do you wish to marry me?”

He hissed out a breath. “Because I ru—”

“Do
not
say it's because you ruined me. I've already warned you of the insufficiency of that argument. And if that's your only reason, I see no sense in our marrying.”

There. She'd laid her cards on the table. It was his turn.

As the silence stretched out between them, she looked expectantly at him. In profile, he wasn't just handsome but beautiful, like a marble bust of some unknown Greek youth contemplating his future.

“The truth?” He angled his body toward her, one elbow still propped on the parapet.

“Always.”

His eyes glinted diamond-bright in the shadows. “I've never wanted a woman as much as I want you.”

“In your bed, you mean.”

A fiercely tender expression lit his face. “Not just in my bed. Everywhere, doing anything. Presiding over dinner, driving my curricle, accompanying me on my trips to wherever. You stimulate me, body and soul, as no woman ever has. Surely that counts for something.”

It did. It counted for quite a lot. Indeed, she was so surprised that she couldn't swallow past the thickness in her throat.

When he continued, his voice held a fervent certainty. “You make me feel things I don't want to feel, make me yearn for things I don't want to yearn for, hope for things that seem impossible.” He pushed away from the parapet to loom over her. “You're annoying as hell, yet every time I'm near you, I want more. Does that make any sense? Because it damned well makes no sense to me.”

There was a certain belligerence in his tone and stance, as if he were sure of being tossed aside after that odd little speech. As if he
feared
being tossed aside.

Perversely, that convinced her of his sincerity . . . and of the depth of his feelings. It might not be love, but it was something to build a marriage upon. At least she could hope that one day his feelings
might
blossom into love.

“So if that answers your question—”

She stretched up to give him a soft kiss.

He froze. And when she drew back, he stood there motionless, seemingly stunned.

Then hunger lit his face and he swept her into his arms.

His kiss was a sweet and fiery answer to all her fears, reminding her that he stimulated her, too. That he, too, made her want and yearn and hope for the impossible. That he made her love.

With her heart in her throat, she threaded her fingers through his dappled golden hair, glorying in the soft silk of it as she clasped him close. He delved deep with his tongue to probe and caress and seduce. The kiss went on and on, until they were both forced to break it in a desperate bid for air.

He shifted her so she was sandwiched between his body and the wide stone parapet, then planted his hands on either side of her, making a little thrill flash through her. “I've thought of nothing but this since last night,” he murmured. “Hell, I've thought of nothing but this since the day I met you.”

Then he returned to kissing her as if his life would end if he stopped, and she wrapped her arms about his waist. She knew it was unwise. They hadn't by any means settled things. But the way he was holding her, touching her, was too intoxicating to resist.

Only after he dragged his mouth from hers to kiss a path down her neck did she summon the will to chide, “What do you think you're doing?”

He tongued the hollow of her throat. “Answering the question of why
you
should marry
me
. Aside from the argument that I took your innocence.”

When his hand swept up to cover her breast, she gasped. “And I suppose you think . . . seducing me is the answer.”

“One answer.” His palm kneaded her through the fabric with a deftness that made her mouth dry and other parts of her wet. “But there are others.”

She found it hard to breathe, much less speak. “Such as?”

“I'm willing to put you into any number of my famous paintings.”

“What if I don't . . . want to be in your famous paintings?”

With a smug smile, he bent to nip her ear. “I could tell how much you hated it by how eagerly you posed for them and how readily you dressed for them.”

Beast. “I had a reason for complying. We had a bargain.”

“Right. Your brother. And that's another reason you should marry me. How many of your En­glish gentlemen would bring you to a brothel if you requested it, no questions asked?” His free hand slid tantalizingly down her ribs to her waist.

She shivered deliciously. “You did ask questions.”

“And you didn't answer them. Yet I took you there, anyway. Wasn't that sporting of me?” He undid her sash with one hand and dropped it onto the bridge.

Oh, Lord. “Y-yes. Very sporting. But not a situation likely to be repeated in . . . the future.”

“So you say. From what I've heard of him, your brother could have fifty by-blows. We might have to visit any number of brothels in the future.”

When he began to unfasten the front buttons of her redingote dress, she made a feeble attempt to stop him, ignoring the wild anticipation pulsing through her. “Are you mad? Edwin could be back any minute.”

With a snort, Jeremy continued what he was doing. “I'll be much surprised if your brother shows up again before dinner. He was itching to get away from us.”

Grudgingly, she admitted the truth of that. Ap­­parently, Jeremy had begun to know her brother almost as well as she.

“And besides,” he went on as he undid the last of her buttons, “if he did find us together, what could he do? Make us marry? That's an even better reason to risk it.”

He lifted her onto the parapet, and her gown fell open to reveal her corset and petticoats shamelessly exposed to the air. His gaze drifted down to where her breasts were pushed high within their corset cups, and his voice turned guttural. “I can think of several excellent reasons to risk it.”