Two Shades of Seduction (40 page)

Of course, what she wanted and what Morgan St. Claire wanted were two different things. The man wouldn’t disappear from her life until it suited him. And
that
was what worried her.

S
tanding in the loft overlooking the warehouse floor, Morgan watched the spirited party below. The building had been emptied for the annual St. Claire Fete, and at one end of the large storage facility, the band he’d hired was playing an Irish jig. On the makeshift dance floor, his employees and their guests danced with an exuberance that pleased him. There was an unrestrained freedom in the boisterous antics of the dancers as they cavorted to the music.

Like the partygoers, he wore no jacket, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows. He wanted his employees to feel comfortable. Dressing in the same manner they did removed the barrier of wealth that usually existed between them. His father was no doubt rolling in his grave. The man had always worked his employees hard, never realizing that people tended to work harder when they were treated well.

When his father had died, Morgan had made changes almost overnight. His actions had propelled St. Claire Shipping forward until it was even more successful now than it had been in his father’s time. A grim smile of satisfaction tilted one corner of his mouth. It would have irritated his father immensely to know that his son had proven to be a better business man.

Morgan’s shoe tapped lightly against the planks of the loft floor as his gaze scanned the activities below. Across the dance floor from the band, temporary tables made out of sawhorses and planks lined the wall. Covered with colorful blue-checked tablecloths, the tables sagged with a bountiful assortment of meats, vegetables, breads and the Clarendon’s famous cranberry scones.

It was a sight never seen in his father’s time, but then his father had never been one to coddle the workers. His father had thought solely of his own amusement. Morgan clenched his jaw as he remembered the lack of interest his father had shown in him until he came of age. Then the man had wanted him to take on the family business. Originally, Morgan had thought to refuse, but short of funds, he’d had little choice.

When his father had died only a few months after Morgan joined the company, he’d had the opportunity to rid himself of St. Claire Shipping. Something inside him compelled him not to sell, and the decision to keep the business had made him a wealthy man. For all intents and purposes, he was content with his life, but occasionally he felt as though something were missing. He frowned.

What could possibly be missing? The word
home
whispered its way through his head. He immediately scoffed at the notion. The idea that he needed a place to call home was laughable. The Clarendon was all that he needed in the way of a home. A miserable childhood with an indifferent father and a mother who found the sight of him unbearable was enough to convince even the hardiest of souls not to wish for a place to call home. His jaw tightened at the unpleasant memories.

On the floor below, he saw an older couple enjoying the party from the sidelines. The man had an arm around his wife as he spoke into her ear. It amazed him how many of his employees were happily married despite their harsh lives. On occasion, he’d visited their homes to check on sick employees. Despite their woes, there was a warmth in their homes that he’d long for until he’d remind himself of his childhood.

As a boy, he’d believed a home of his own would be someplace he could escape to, but when he was old enough, he realized it wasn’t possible. A house symbolized marriage and all the discord that went with it. And marriage was an institution to be avoided at any cost. Shrugging off the morose images, he folded his arms across his chest and studied the party goers.

From this height, he could easily see the comings and goings of everyone in the building. Several of his investors stood around the large keg of ale he’d brought in for the occasion. His most important investor had yet to arrive, and he shrugged his shoulders in an impatient gesture. He didn’t like the fact that he was so eager to see Julia.

The woman was occupying his thoughts far too much for his comfort. He simply needed to bed her and get his lust for her out of his system. In the same instant, he knew that wasn’t possible. If he forced her into his bed before he’d wooed her sufficiently, the result wouldn’t be to his liking.

He needed to take his time with her. Julia was a complex creature, but he was certain of one thing. Fear kept her wrapped up in that mantle of repression she wore with such vigor. But she’d not been able to completely suppress her curiosity. It was there in her eyes, in the way she responded to his kisses. Even more intriguing was that she didn’t seem to fear society’s judgment. If that were true, she never would have dared to invest her money in St. Claire Shipping or any other business venture.

Not to mention her active involvement with her investment. No, she wasn’t frightened by society’s opinion. If anything, she demonstrated her determination to flaunt the restrictive rules of present day mores. No, something else frightened her. The key to unlocking Julia so she became the woman in Peebles’s painting was finding out what really frightened her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of his younger clerks bow to a partner before sweeping her into his arms and out onto the floor. Again, his gaze swept over the crowd below him searching for some sign of Julia. Damn it, where was she? The muscle in his jaw tightened at the thought she might not have any intention of coming despite her words to the contrary. His fingers bit into his arms as he glared down at the dancers. Christ, one would think he’d lost his senses when it came to the woman.

He caught another glimpse of his clerk spinning his partner around the dance floor and frowned. There was something familiar about the woman’s dark hair. The way the light caught the golden highlights in the dark red—
damnation
. With a grunt of exasperation, he wheeled on the back of his heel and strode along the loft’s landing to the stairs leading to the floor.

She’d lost her mind. It was the only explanation. Why else would she dress like one of his employees and dance with Bentley? The woman obviously didn’t realize how easily her presence could stir up trouble with men who’d been drinking. Not to mention the potential for jealousy where the womenfolk were concerned. The music came to a halt as he reached the dance floor.

Weaving his way through the crowd, he saw the clerk bow once more in front of Julia. Flushed from the exertion of the dance, she was radiant. Hell, she wasn’t just radiant—she looked exactly like Peebles had painted her. His groin immediately tightened. She was laughing at something the boy had said when he came to a halt in front of them.

From the way Bentley blanched as their eyes met, Morgan knew his expression was forbidding. Christ Jesus, the boy didn’t deserve his anger. The only person deserving of his ire was himself. From the beginning, Julia had twisted him into knots, and his fascination hadn’t abated. If anything, it was growing in a way that made him feel possessive of her. Determined to put his clerk at ease, Morgan forced a smile to his lips. “I see you managed to persuade Mrs. Westgard to take to the floor, Bentley.”

“Yes…yes, sir, Mr. St. Claire. I didn’t like seeing her standing on the sidelines. Wasn’t socially polite.”

The firm resolve in Bentley’s voice made him widen his smile. The lad would go far in the company. It wasn’t often one of his employees had the gumption to politely tell Morgan to go hang himself.

“I like a man who does the right thing, Bentley. Now off you go to get something to drink. I’ll see to Mrs. Westgard.” Jerking his head in the direction of the keg of ale, he sent the clerk on his way.

As the young man disappeared from view, the band launched into a new song. Without asking her permission, he pulled Julia into his arms. Her gasp of surprise made her mouth form a soft moue, and he grinned as he whirled her about in several quick turns. She wasn’t wearing gloves, and he liked the way her fingers clung to his arms.

He half expected her to protest angrily, but she didn’t. Instead, she tipped her head back and smiled. He inhaled a sharp breath. When she smiled like that, he was close to offering her the world. Somewhere an alarm went off in his head, but he crushed it into silence. Whirling her around in another small circle, he dipped his head toward her.

“Perhaps you would care to explain your manner of dress for this evening.”

“My dress?” She frowned in puzzlement before understanding cleared her furrowed brow. “Oh—you mean my borrowed clothing. I didn’t want the women comparing their own dresses to anything I wore. No one should ever be made to feel inadequate. It’s not a pleasant experience.”

He was stunned. He couldn’t find any other word for it. No other woman of his acquaintance would have ever thought of doing such a thing. For some reason, her actions pleased him enormously. His arms tightened around her as he pressed his body into hers. She was warm and soft against him.

“You say that as if someone has made you feel inadequate at one time or another.” He watched her eyes darken with a pain that made him want to comfort her.

“My late husband made it a habit to point out my numerous faults.”

“Numerous?” He chuckled. “I find it hard to believe he could have found that much to find fault with, Julia.”

“Oscar took exception to a great many things,” she said with a quiet bitterness that surprised him.

“Would he have taken exception to your attending tonight’s event?”

“Most assuredly,” she said. There was a pronounced echo of satisfaction in her voice as she smiled tightly. “Oscar would have been appalled by my investing his money in St. Claire Shipping, and he would have…been horrified that I was here among the common folk.”

Something about the way she stumbled over her words told Morgan she had been about to say something entirely different. Once again, she aroused a protective instinct in him. How her husband could have found anything to disapprove of in Julia puzzled him.

She wasn’t just beautiful. Her actions showed a compassionate heart. Helping the poor was a cause many of the wealthy took up. But something told him the orphanage was more important to Julia than it was to others of her social status. Even her manner of dress this evening illustrated her consideration for the feelings of others.

The fact that she’d dressed specifically to avoid making his employees uncomfortable didn’t just impress him. It made him like her. He’d never met any woman quite like her. As Morgan swung her around the dance floor, he smiled at the look of pleasure on Julia’s face.

“You enjoy dancing.” His observation didn’t require her response, but her smile made his heart race like a steam engine pounding its way down a railroad track.

“Very much, unless of course my feet are being trampled by a terrible partner,” she said with a laugh, the haunted look in her eyes gone.

“And do you find me a bad partner.”

“Not at all,” she said with a small laugh. “You’re an excellent dancer.”

“So you like being in my arms then.” He flashed her a wicked grin, enjoying the blush that rose in her lovely face.

“Somehow I think you mean something entirely different.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” he said with soft deliberation.

The thought of holding her naked in his arms made his muscles tighten. Their eyes met, and he saw the tip of her pink tongue flick out to wet her lips. His mouth went dry at the effect such a small action had on him.

“You’re an extraordinary woman, Julia.”

“You’ve been in the ale already.” She averted her gaze, her voice stiff and cool. “There’s nothing special about me at all.”

“Ah, but you’re wrong. I’ve seen the woman beneath that shroud of repressed emotions you wear.”

“I don’t know
what
you mean.”

“You’re a bad liar, Julia. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I just want to know why you like hiding behind this cool façade.”

“I’m not hiding from anything,” she snapped. “I am being circumspect.”

For a moment, he just stared down at her in amazement before he laughed out loud. With a shake of his head, he laughed again at her irate expression. “Do you call your portrait circumspect? And I’d hardly call the theft of my handkerchief a discreet adventure, would you?”

“I told you why I took the handkerchief.”

“Yes, but I’m not convinced you stole my handkerchief simply to raise funds for that orphanage of yours.”

He pulled her closer and deftly whirled her out of the path of an overly exuberant couple on the dance floor. The swell of her breast pressed into his arm, and he realized he liked holding her in his arms. It felt right. Morgan wasn’t sure how he knew that. He simply knew he’d never felt this way before when holding a woman.

“What other possible reason could I have for stealing your handkerchief?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you enjoyed the excitement of doing something a
respectable
husband might disapprove of.” Her eyes widened with surprise, and she recovered quickly, but not before he knew he’d hit a nerve.