Chapter 6
Claudia waited in the hall for Derrick’s assistant to see if Derrick was busy. Perhaps she should start making appointments before arriving. That wouldn’t be necessary though, she reminded herself, as this was a one-time meeting. She’d never before shown anyone her preliminary illustrations, but he’d been so curious to see them in the garden. It was so freeing having someone to discuss her illustrations with.
She felt the heat of shame color her cheeks. Derrick was deceiving her, pretending to court her. And allowing herself to be deceived in such a manner was foolish. But the vanity regarding her drawing was too much of a pull.
It felt as if he truly understood, truly appreciated her talent. Pride swelled in her chest, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling like a fool. It was unusual, this feeling of being recognized. Of course, he did have financial reasons to appear enthusiastic about her talent.
From this moment on, it would be strictly business between them. No more stolen kisses. No more fantasies about stolen kisses. She had a problem with Richard she needed to sort out, and she didn’t need Derrick Middleton and the girlish fantasies he evoked getting in the way.
She would show him the illustration, get his opinion, then be on her way. She tilted her chin and gave herself a little nod of approval.
Mason opened the office door and held it for her. “He’ll see you now.”
“Thank you.”
She walked in and noted for the first time how orderly his office was. A bookshelf lined the right wall and was filled with leather-bound volumes. Derrick sat behind a large mahogany desk that was clean of everything but the papers he was currently working on. He gave her a crooked smile.
“That will be all, Mason,” he said. “What can I do for you today, Miss Prattley?”
“Such formalities. I don’t recall you being quite so formal the last time I saw you, Mr. Middleton.” She hated to be haughty, but perhaps if she acted the prude he would cease his attentions.
He leaned forward. “Are you flirting with me?”
She couldn’t even successfully pretend to be a prude. “Heavens no.” She walked forward and sat across from him. This was a business meeting, and the sooner he realized that, the better. “I brought my preliminary drawing in. It’s only a sketch, but you expressed interest. I know it’s not customary for me to bring my work in personally; I usually send it by courier, but I was in the neighborhood.”
He walked around the desk and sat next to her. “You don’t have to make excuses to come see me, Claudia. My door is always open to you.”
His breath warmed her arm when he spoke. He was too close.
“I’m not making excuses.” She was, and she knew it. He knew it too, which made the entire situation embarrassing.
Her vanity, how little she had of it, would get her into trouble. She should keep her distance from him, but while she recognized that, she didn’t want to. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed their conversations. She also very much enjoyed their kisses, but she tried not to think about that.
She retrieved the drawing from her bag and handed it to him.
She watched him examine the parchment. He took the time to really look at it, didn’t merely glance at it, then put it aside.
“Excellent. Your detail gets better with every illustration.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m hoping to incorporate color into the paper soon. I believe your illustrations would be a perfect place to start.”
“Color? Oh, that would be marvelous. Of course, then I’d have to make detailed notes to ensure the right color was used. But wouldn’t it be splendid?”
He started to hand the drawing back to her, then stopped and fiddled with the edge of the paper. It separated, revealing another sheet beneath. He peeled the top drawing off and placed it on his desktop.
Heavens no! The drawing she’d made of them dancing. How could she have been so foolish? The pages must have gotten stuck together. It had happened a few times before with this particular parchment, and she’d neglected to check. It had never been a problem before, as she’d never shared her initial drawings with anyone. She reached for the illustration, but he pulled it away.
“I want to look at this.”
She should have burned it. “But that’s not an illustration I’m submitting. That was a mistake/’ she added quietly.
He looked at her, raised his eyebrow, then looked back at the picture. “Yes, it was a mistake.”
Now he would know she was an utter fool. Fantasizing about him when she ought to be thinking about Richard.
“This is not your best work,” he said.
His words pinched. “I realize that. I didn’t intend to draw you, but it just happened, and the likeness is sadly lacking. I think it’s the eyes, but I’ve never been quite sure.”
“It’s not my image that’s lacking.” He frowned. “It’s yours. This is you, isn’t it?” He pointed at the lady in the picture.
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t look anything like you. It’s like a caricature. A badly done cartoon from The Strand.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t look like me? It looks exactly like me. See, that’s my dress.” She tapped on the page.
“That might be your dress, but this is not you. Look at the features. The only thing you got right was the hair, and even then the texture looks off.”
Texture. What was he talking about? Her hair was curly. Too curly. That was the texture. And the features—she’d gotten them perfect. Right down to the extra flesh that hinted at a second chin. She looked back at him and still he stared at the drawing, his brow furrowed.
“You weren’t supposed to ever see this drawing.” She tugged on the edge, but he wouldn’t release it. “No one was,” she added softly.
Derrick shook his head. “If I could draw, I would show where you went wrong. Sorry to say that my illustrating skills are sadly lacking.”
“Hand it back to me, and we’ll forget about it.” She certainly didn’t want this to affect his opinion of her talent. “Not all of my illustrations are perfect, that’s why I draw more than one before I turn them in. This one was for me, merely a sketch. No one was supposed to see it. Least of all you.”
“Claudia, it’s not the quality I object to. Look at this. Look at your face. Do you see the difference in the way you drew yourself and the way you drew me? Or how about this?” He grabbed the other drawing from his desk, “The twins. Those girls are not what you would deem beautiful, yet you highlighted their best features in this illustration.”
She glanced at the drawing of the twins. He was right, they were not particularly handsome women, but she had taken careful consideration to not draw attention to their overly large noses or poor complexions. She looked over at the image of herself. It might not look exactly like her, but it was close.
“It’s not mine but rather your eyes that are lacking in this image. They have none of your sparkle and inquisitiveness.” He brushed his hand down the side of her cheek. “It’s difficult to capture the glow in your cheeks without color, I realize, but you could have hinted with some shading.”
Her cheeks were red all the time, as if she were an actress who had gone too far with the rouge. She found them to be yet one more thing to hate about herself. Yet he thought it was a glow.
“Had I drawn this, I would have focused on the subtle arch of your eyebrows.” He moved his thumb across her right eyebrow. “And that mouth of yours. The perfect and intoxicating mouth.” One finger feathered a touch across her lips, and she clenched her jaw to keep herself from giving in to the urge to nip them.
His finger trailed from her lips, down her jaw, across her collarbone to the top of her dress. “Where is your tempting cleavage?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“In the picture. Where is your tempting cleavage? Or your waist, for that matter?” He met her gaze, but didn’t wait for a reply before he continued. “‘Tis a shame, the way you see yourself, Claudia.” He leaned in so that they were merely a breath away. “I have a mind to strip away those clothes of yours, stand you in front of a mirror, and show you what I see.”
Chills scattered over every inch of her body. Her heart beat so rapidly, she was certain it would jump right out of her chest. She brought her hand up to hold it in if necessary.
She needed to leave. This conversation had become highly indecorous. She stood. “I should leave.”
He grabbed her arm. “Please don’t.”
“I only stopped to show you that drawing. I need to be on my way.”
“All right, I’ll let you leave, but only if you agree to meet me tonight.” He stood to face her.
She swallowed. “I cannot meet you. Someone might see us.”
“Of course they will! Tonight I’m going to an art showing for a friend.” He retrieved an envelope from his desk.
How humiliating. She prayed the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She’d thought he invited her for a rendezvous, and he was offering her a legitimate invitation. She truly was a harlot.
He handed her the invitation. “You would enjoy it.”
She would enjoy it. But she was so embarrassed right now, she wasn’t certain she could ever face him again. “I don’t know,” she finally said.
“Bring Poppy along. I promise I’ll behave. But there is something there I would like you to see.”
“I’ll talk to Poppy and see what she says.”
“Do you want me to send a carriage after you?”
“No. I can manage on my own, thank you.”
“Then I shall see you tonight.”
“Perhaps.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, all the while his eyes locked on hers. His warm mouth lingered a bit longer than was necessary, and a shiver went through her.
“I look forward to it,” he said and dropped her hand.
Excitement and trepidation swirled through Claudia’s stomach, battling for dominance. She shifted on the carriage seat and fought to keep her hands still.
“Where did you tell your father you were going?” Poppy asked from across the carriage.
“To the Petermans’ soiree.”
“This early?”
“Well, he wasn’t home when I left, so he won’t know I left several hours before the soiree begins. If he asks, I’ll simply tell him I went to your house to get dressed. It’s not as if he’ll speak to your parents to verify my story.”
“True. What kind of art exhibit is this?”
“A private one, by invitation only. I’m not positive what that means, but nonetheless Mr. Middleton secured us an invitation. It’s a private society of painters. I can’t recollect what they call themselves.”
“Sounds mysterious,” Poppy said.
Claudia let her gaze fall to the window. The afternoon sun lingered, giving the street an ethereal glow. The calmness of dusk was in sharp contrast to her nerves. Her mind wandered back to what Derrick had said in his office. Strip her clothes off to show her what he saw? What did that mean?
It was utterly scandalous, that much she knew. No one had ever spoken to her in such a manner, and she knew she should be offended, but she felt nothing but shock laced with curiosity and something she could only label as intense desire. What did he see when he looked at her?
“He’s still courting you,” Poppy said. “I thought you were going to tell him you weren’t interested.”
“I’m not. I did. Well, that is to say, I told him he mustn’t court me.”
“Then why did he invite you to a private art showing?”
“Because I’m an artist and he appreciates that.”
“Did he invite all his illustrators?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps.”
Poppy narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think you’re being completely honest with me.” Then she smiled. “But if you want to keep your little secrets, I’ll be content to speculate from a distance.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. You never told me how your meeting with Richard went. Did you kiss him?”
Perfect. As if she wasn’t nervous enough, and Poppy had to bring up that dreadful incident. She recounted the story of her failed attempt at kissing Richard. Poppy simply sat across from her, staring with mouth agape.
“He pushed you off of him?” Poppy asked incredulously.
“Yes. He was quite offended.” Claudia shook her head. “It was a shameful idea. I shouldn’t have even thought it, much less attempted it. There is a reason men are the instigators in relationships. It’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“That’s foolish, Claudia. He’s a wretched man. There is no rule, unwritten or not, that says that only a man can instigate kisses. Richard is your beau—or is supposed to be. He’s been courting you for a year, for heaven’s sake, with the intention to marry you. There is absolutely no reason why he wouldn’t let you kiss him. Except pure meanness.”
“I don’t think that’s it, Poppy. I think he was affronted that I even attempted it. I think the thought of kissing me repulses him.”
Poppy smacked her hands onto her lap. “Well, that’s simply ridiculous. And even if it were true, then it’s a testament to how wrong Richard is for you.”
The carriage rocked to a stop, which was perfect timing because there was no reason to discuss Richard with Poppy. Her friend would never approve of the match.
“I suppose that means we’re here,” Claudia said, eyeing the carriage door.
“Yes, I suppose it does. Are we going to get out?”
Claudia put her hand on the door, then stopped. “If my father knew about this, he would kill me.”
“If you always did as your father instructed, your life would be dreadful. I’m here with you. I realize that doesn’t offer you much of a buffer, considering he doesn’t exactly approve of me, but it’s only an art exhibit.”
“I don’t know, Poppy.”
“Come on, it will be fun.” Poppy stepped down from the carriage and began climbing the steps to the town home.
Claudia quickly followed Poppy up the stairs, then handed their invitation to the butler who opened the door.
“The ballroom is on the second floor,” he said in a severely nasal tone. “That is where the majority of the paintings are hung.” He took their cloaks. “You will also find some hanging in the drawing room, the study, the library, and the billiard room.”
Claudia shivered from the lack of her cloak; the cap sleeves of her pale pink dress barely covered her shoulders. She and Poppy climbed the wide staircase. Poppy stopped in front of the marble statue on the landing. It was a man. A naked man—holding a lute or some sort of string instrument. Claudia felt her cheeks warm, so she quickly averted her eyes, only to find Derrick standing behind them.
“Ladies, I’m glad you could come,” he said.
Poppy turned and greeted him.
He kissed both their hands, lingering a little longer on Claudia’s—which pleased her.
“Tell me, Mr. Middleton, who are these artists?” Poppy asked. “Claudia couldn’t remember.”
“They call themselves the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. I’ve known one of them since he was a scrap of a kid. I went to school with his older brother.”
“Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood,” Poppy repeated. “That’s quite a name.”
“Yes, well, they fancy themselves as anarchists against the Royal Academy. They’ve only just formed their group, and this is their first showing.”
He led them to the ballroom where they began their tour. A variety of paintings hung from the walls and sat upon easels for display. There were only a handful of people in the room. Claudia recognized a few, but wasn’t certain of their names. A young man with wavy blond hair waved at Derrick, then walked toward them.
“Derrick, who are these two lovely ladies?” he asked.
“Alistair Lambeth, may I present to you Miss Claudia Prattley and Lady Penelope Livingston.”
“What a pleasure.” Alistair kindly bent over each of their hands, but his hazel eyes remained fixed on Poppy.
“Alistair here is one of the painters in the brotherhood,” Derrick said.
“Yes, well, we must do what we must for our art,” the young man replied. “Lady Penelope, might you allow me to escort you around the ballroom? I could give you some background details on the paintings.”
It was rare for a man, no matter how charming and attractive, to make Poppy blush. But there it was, just a hint of color blooming in her cheeks.
“I would like that very much,” she said.
“It is a pleasure meeting you, Miss Prattley.”
Claudia nodded and smiled at him as he led Poppy away. “He seems charming,” she said to Derrick once they were left alone.
Derrick merely shrugged. “Shall we look at the paintings? ‘Tis why you are here, correct?”
“Of course.”
He stood too close to her. She could tell because she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. If she wanted, she could lean back and feel the strength of him against her. But leaning against him would be most improper, regardless of how few people were in the ballroom with them. She stood straighter and tried to study the paintings in front of them.
“These are quite lovely,” she said, trying to sound as if her entire focus was on the artwork.
“They seem to have an eye toward chivalry and the Arthurian legend,” Derrick commented.
She tilted her head. The painting in the center featured a round table with knights, their swords placed on the top of the table. The paintings on either side also depicted knights, one with a knight atop a horse holding a lady’s ribbon, while the other painting portrayed a knight kneeling beside a grave.
“So they do,” she said.
They were well-done paintings, full of emotion, with deep, rich hues of gold, purple, red, and green. But they were oh, so much more than that. Claudia’s heart clenched with longing.
These paintings depicted men in love.
Men so in love, they wielded a sword to protect their ladies. Claudia certainly held no fantasy about a man using a sword in her honor, but she very much wanted to be that special lady who was loved so grandly.
Derrick’s hand pressed into the small of her back to lead her forward. The heat in his touch was so intense, it was as if no material separated his hand from her skin. Her cheeks burned, and she wanted more than anything to lean into his touch, or to turn and lean in for a kiss.
He led her around the ballroom, stopping at each painting and allowing her time to look and study as long as she desired. All the images were beautifully crafted by true masters of their art.
Twenty years from now when she’d married and was living out her days in the country, she’d remember Derrick as the only person who’d ever seen her for the person she truly was.
“I want to show you one over here,” he said softly. He led her out of the ballroom and down the hallway, right past the statue of the unclothed man.
She tried not to look, but couldn’t help herself.
And she couldn’t help but wonder if Derrick looked like that without his clothes. Would his chest and arms be as chiseled, his abdomen as perfectly carved to outline each muscle? Would his legs be as sinuous? And what of that middle area? Well, obviously Derrick had one of those and presumably they all looked the same. Didn’t they?
They stopped right outside the billiard room. “Tell me, what do you think of that statue?” he asked as if he read her mind. Which it often seemed he did. Were her thoughts that transparent?
“It’s a lovely piece of art,” she said, trying to sound worldly and confident.
“Art?” He braced his hands on either side of her against the wall. They were alone in a poorly lit hallway. “Does art always make you blush like that?” His eyes trailed down the front of her.
“Am I blushing?” She released a weak giggle. “I do find it a little warm in here.”
“No, you’re blushing. You blush often, and I must say you have me wondering.” His finger trailed up her bare arm and landed on her collarbone.
“Wondering what?” she asked, her voice sounding strange and breathy.
“Just how far down that blush goes.” His finger left her collarbone to snake its way to the edge of her bodice, where it slipped just a snippet inside and tantalized her sensitive flesh. “And precisely what is on your mind that evoked such a blush.” “Oh my.”
He leaned in and kissed her hotly on the neck, just below her left ear, then grabbed her hand and pulled her into a room.
“The painting I want you to see is in here.”
Painting. Right, that’s why she was here. Not to be fondled in the hallway in front of everyone. Granted no one had been there, but someone could have been. They entered the room, and thankfully were no longer alone, else she feared he might take advantage of her on that billiard table. But what scared her even more was that she doubted she would stop him.
His hand was warm over hers, their fingers laced together like those of lovers, and something in her heart swelled. He was touching her in public. Aside from dancing, Richard never touched her in public. He’d held her hand once when they were sitting in her garden, but that had been a long time ago. Derrick seemed not to care whether something was appropriate. Despite how much she enjoyed it, she pulled her hand from his.
He didn’t seem to mind, and instead put his hand at the small of her back again. “It’s this one right here.”
She looked up at the painting, and her breath caught. The size alone made it magnificent, but the portrait shocked her. It was a woman, fully nude and reclining on a chaise longue, her blond hair hanging loosely.
Most of the paintings she’d seen that evening had women in them, but all had been fully clothed, and all had been looking off to the side or with a downward gaze, but this woman faced the front boldly. She had looked straight at the artist while he painted her, proud of her body, daring him to look. Daring everyone to look.
Derrick’s hand slid from her back around to her waist, and he pulled her so that she leaned against him. “I thought of you when I saw this portrait. Look at her body.” His words brushed against her cheek.
How could he see such a creature and think of her? She was physically perfect, the kind of woman all other women secretly wished to be. “There is nothing about her that resembles me.” Her mouth had gone dry and words seemed hard to form. “Except perhaps the color of her hair.”
“It’s not her body. It’s her passion. Look at her eyes. See the boldness there. I see that in you, simmering just below the surface.” He leaned in closer and nipped at her ear. “I long to release it.”
Shivers danced through her blood and pooled at the apex of her thighs. Oh, to be that bold.
“She’s proud of her body, Claudia. Comfortable with it. That’s what makes her beautiful, not the shape of her breasts or her narrow waist.”
She fought the urge to close her eyes.
“You would see your own beauty, if you saw yourself through my eyes.”
No words found their way to her brain or her tongue. She simply stood there staring at the painting and feeling Derrick’s hands and his breath and his heartbeat. It would be so easy to believe him, but wouldn’t it also be foolish? As tempting as his words were, she knew that if she believed them she’d be gambling with her heart. She could not afford to lose her heart to Derrick Middleton, as she was certain she’d never recover.
She needed some distance before something happened they both regretted, because all she wanted was to find a secluded room and see if he really could unleash her simmering passion.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to relish his embrace. She inhaled his scent, willing it to brand itself on her senses. But too much more of him and she wouldn’t be able to walk away.
“I think I should go,” she said.
“All right. We’ll find Poppy, and I’ll have a coach take you to your soiree.”
Very shortly, she found herself sitting next to Poppy in the carriage. Poppy chatted nonstop about Alistair and his many wonderful and interesting attributes, but Claudia heard none of it.
Her mind wrestled with Derrick’s words. Did he really think she was beautiful? How could he look at a painting of a woman like that, a woman who no doubt was not untouched, and think of her? The thought exhilarated and confused her.
If he was right, and she was beautiful and had that simmering passion, why was he the only man ever to see it? Why hadn’t Richard taken the opportunity to release it? Didn’t he see it too? If one man could see it, couldn’t anyone?
Perhaps Derrick saw it because Derrick was looking.