“We were lucky to find this space. It was once owned by an artist who converted the attic into this space,” Beth moved across the room and removed two framed paintings from one of the stacks against the wall. “These were the paintings that Mother was talking about.”
She held out the small portraits so that Michael to see them. “Beth, these are of you when you were a girl. How could you bear to part with them.?”
“The poor cannot hold onto things because of sentimentality.”
He hated the derision in her tone and the circumstances that forced her to give up such a possession. “Then I shall buy them from you. How much do you need?”
Beth put the paintings away. “I will not sell them to you.”
Her whisper had an anguished edge to it and Michael went to her and took the paintings from her hands and set them aside. “I want the paintings, Beth. I need to have them.”
Her eyes were liquid when they met his and he took her hands, squeezing them slightly. “Let me help you, Beth. Please.”
She pulled away from him and put some distance between them. It was more than the small bit of space in the room, Michael could feel her shutting him out as if she were wrapping herself in a cloak to protect her from the cold. He fought the urge to gather her into his arms, hold her, protect her from the ghosts that haunted her.
“I knew you would feel this way,” Beth said. “I knew you would just want to make everything right, but I cannot let you do it. I cannot.”
The agony in her voice destroyed him. “Are you concerned about what others might say?”
She choked back a bitter laugh. “I don’t care what others think. I cannot afford to. You feel as if our circumstances are all your fault and they are not. I can’t take your pity, Michael. Not now. Not ever.”
She spoke his name in an anguished tone and it squeezed at his heart. He moved closer to her, slowly, afraid she'd retreat again. “I cannot help how I feel, Beth. I should have married you and taken you with me. I should have never left you waiting for me. It was dishonorable. It was wrong.”
“Your mother was ill, as was my father. After you left, the palsy worsened and he could no longer paint. He needed me here as your mother needed you.”
Michael touched her face, his thumb brushing her soft cheek. “What of what we wanted, Beth? Shouldn’t that have taken precedence?”
She pressed her face into his hand then moved away, just far enough to move out of his touch. “You couldn’t have turned your back on your mother. I couldn’t have left father.”
“We could have made it work. Found a way.”
She pressed her lips together and pulled her eyes away from his. “Your father did not approve of the match.”
Michael lifted her chin to force her to meet his gaze. “We could have eloped.”
“The scandal would have ruined my family. I couldn’t take the chance.” She moved away from him and he reluctantly let her go. “Honestly, I was not ready to be a wife. You are a Marquis, heir to a dukedom and great estates. I was … am a nobody.”
“You really believe this?” Her lack of confidence shocked him. Beth was always fearless in his eyes. Hell, she’d handled her present circumstances with more grace and dignity than anyone else he knew. She pushed past the conventions of society without a thought.
“It is the truth. Society did not look kindly upon us five years ago. Can you just imagine what they would say if we had married?” She picked up the small canvases and lovingly wrapped the portraits in cloth before tucking them against the wall. Michael was at a loss as to what to say to her to convince her that this time would be different. He couldn’t leave. He wanted Beth. He desired Beth. He loved her. This moment was too important. He was on the brink of losing her. If he left now, she would slip out of his life forever.
“You are better off with someone like Cassandra Hamilton. She is a more suitable bride and I think she likes you well enough.”
Her voice was tight as if the words were pried from her lips and it gave him some hope that Beth had some feeling for him.
“She likes the thought of being a duchess more than she likes me. I think she would tolerate living with a toad if it allowed her to be called the Duchess of Stafford.” He wandered over to her easel and looked at the painting. “This is very good.”
Beth’s smile was genuine. She relaxed a bit. “I love painting the people in this part of London. They inspire me with their zest for life, for doing what it takes to put food on the table and a roof over their heads.”
Michael fought the bubble of envy welling up as critical words on his tongue. He’d never felt that level of inspiration. He moved through the room looking at canvas after canvas depicting a life in the London streets that few of his ilk ever paid any attention. Beth had painted the grimy faces of the climbing boys and their chimney sweep master walking through the streets with their tools. Boys that looked as young as four hauling heavy metal buckets with them for soot. The ragged girls, feet bare in summer, selling their wares at the steps of the theatre. He pulled one canvas out and studied it. A man in simple clothes carried his son on his shoulders as he made his way down the lane.
“That’s Thomas. He watches the doors at the back of the theatre. He brings his son sometimes so that I can help him with his mathematics.” Beth’s voice was soft. She moved to the side and pulled out another canvas. “This is Miss Sally Morgan. She’s dressed as Juliet. I painted this as a gift for her.”
This art deserved to be seen especially by the ton, hell, the world needed to see it. Beth’s work was exquisite, her detail precise. “When do you find time to paint?”
“Mostly at night. It’s amazing how much time you have available when you aren’t attending balls and assemblies. I save at least two hours each evening just by not having to change into ball gowns.”
“Why didn’t your father realize your talent?”
Beth crossed her arms looking at the work as she spoke. “Had I been a boy, it would have been automatic for me to follow in Father’s footsteps. As a woman, my art was delegated to being accomplished. The subjects I was allowed to paint were flowers and landscapes, both of which I hate. I want to paint people. Show them in the world they live in, survive in.”
“This is some of the best work I’ve seen in a long time, Beth.” Michael leaned the canvases against the wall. Each one of them was worthy of being in the Royal Exhibition. She had thought her flower girl painting was her best, but he wasn’t sure now. There were so many to choose from. “You need to be in the Exhibition. You deserve to be there.”
Chapter Twelve
Beth’s heart tripped over at his praise. They weren’t idle compliments, either. Michael was serious. He was looking at her paintings and seeing her as a real artist. Not a set painter. Not an accomplished young lady, but a true artist, an equal. No one had treated her as an equal, not even her own father. Her heart did a funny kind of lurch. It was a heady feeling. “Thank you. That would mean a great deal.”
“We should probably have a place where you show all of these. How many pieces do you have?”
Her hand trembled as she replaced the portrait of Sally against the wall. “You mean my own show? My work on display for everyone?”
Michael nodded. “Beth, these are incredible and deserve to be seen by all of London. These have the potential to make you a rich woman, not to mention more famous than your father.”
Excitement warred with fear within her. What would people think? How would she bear it if people hated it? Michael was biased. He was a friend. To have strangers stare at the canvases into which she’d poured her soul. To have those strangers criticize her work would be like knives cutting her skin. “I don’t know.”
“Beth, at least trust me with this. Please.”
There was a level of exasperation in his tone that made her smile. He’d always been her staunchest supporter. “There are about ten canvases that are complete, but I cannot afford to have them framed.” She couldn’t keep
still. She flipped through canvases.
“I’ll take care of the framing.”
She paused. “I can repay you when they sell.”
“That would be fine.”
There was something in his tone that made her pause. Beth straightened and turned toward Michael. The candlelight caught the blond strands in his curly hair. His eyes were dark, dark blue and filled with longing as he looked at her. It was the longing, the loneliness that pulled at her. “Thank you, my lord. This opportunity means the world to me. It’s a dream come true.”
His smile was sad. “You deserve this, Beth. You’ve earned it.”
Beth wanted to twirl around with excitement. This was beyond her wildest dreams and Michael had made it come true. Yet there was an undercurrent of emotion coming from him Beth didn’t understand. He looked so lost, so alone she couldn’t stop the flood of feelings flowing through her veins. He’d found a way to give her dream. She pressed her lips together and moved toward Langston. She took his hand in hers and pressed a kiss to it. “I can still be grateful to a friend, can’t I?”
Langston looked down at their joined hands. “I don’t want your gratitude, Beth. And I don’t want to be just your friend.” His voice was deep and gravelly.
She knew at that moment why he looked the way he did. He wanted her. He cared about her. He made this happen because he knew it would make her happy. Her heart raced as her fingers brushed the hairs on the back of his hand, back and forth. “It’s not just gratitude, Michael.”
It was the truth. Gratitude was just on the surface of something much deeper. Butterflies filled her stomach and she could not stop the deep trembling going through her. His blue eyes heated as they gazed down at her. He was close, so close she could smell the spicy sent of his soap, feel the warmth of his body. She ached for him. She needed to feel the brush of his hand against her skin, the press of flesh upon flesh. She craved his touch, his fingers on her skin.
“Are you sure, Beth?”
His gaze captured hers. His voice rough and tender. Beth licked her dry lips and his eyes followed the movement. She was on the edge of a precipice in this moment. She could fall into his arms and banish her loneliness. Or she could step back into the cold emptiness without him. Could she risk her heart, knowing she’d have to give him up afterwards? Could she live with herself if she said no, if she walked away from him now without knowing the feel of his skin against hers? Could she live with regret?
The stove snapped and crackled in the silence of the room, as if demanding her decision; give into the wild feelings inside of her or be the proper miss. In the end, her choice was simple. She was never one to be completely proper, especially where she loved. She caressed the rough texture of his face with her fingers. Such a strong face, kind face. Her heart was his, even if her mind still questioned. “Michael, kiss me.”
“Beth, I won’t be able to stop at one kiss.” His tone was guttural, forced as tension vibrated from him. “I’m going to want more, a great deal more. It’s been too long.”
Beth snuggled closer. She lifted onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his in a gentle, seeking kiss, before shifting back onto her heels. “Michael, there should be honesty between us tonight. There’s not a day I don’t think about you and remember what we had between us. Remember the way your skin felt against mine. These past years have left me feeling hollow inside. I don’t want to feel that way any longer.”
Michael groaned, his mouth against her forehead. “Sweetheart, you are killing me.”
“Then love me, Michael. Make me feel alive again.”
His hand came up to her face, his fingers tracing her mouth, her jaw before moving to remove the pins from her hair. He combed his fingers through the dark mass before cradling the back of her head and bending down to kiss her, hard.
Beth wrapped her arms around his neck and enfolded herself into his warm, strong body. She hadn’t felt this closeness since the last time they were together. She hungered for his touch, his mouth, his heat. She needed him to push away the loneliness, the fear of the last five years. Her lips parted as she nipped at his lip then soothed it with her tongue, in a demand for more.
Michael chuckled and raised his head. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the sheet covered chaise by the fire. He gently placed her down. “Let me stoke the fire.”
Beth’s heart thumped in her chest, other places, lower places, thrummed as well. She trembled on the inside as she watched him stir the coals in the small hearth coaxing more warmth into the room. He replaced the poker and stood and looked down at her, his eyes hot. He removed his jacket and waistcoat, then undid his cravat. The more clothing he shed, the less like the austere marquis he looked. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside with the rest of his clothes. He sat on the chaise and removed his boots and stockings.
Beth’s mouth went dry. He was handsome when they were young, but lean. Now his muscles were honed, his stomach flat, his shoulders broad. Brown hair curled across his chest before narrowing in a trail that disappeared inside his trousers. This wasn’t the boy she’d loved all those years ago. She shivered with anticipation.
“You’re a bit over dressed, love.”
His voice rumbled along Beth’s nerves, rough and warm. She swung her legs over the chaise and stood. Slowly, she turned to present her back to him. She moved her hair out of the way. “The dress fastens in the back.”
Michael moved close, so close his breath was hot against the bare skin of her neck. She closed her eyes and tilted her head forward as he pressed warm lips to her exposed skin. She felt as if she’d run all the way up the stairs. His fingers brushed her back as he unlaced her gown. She clutched the fabric to her breasts as she turned to face him before releasing the bodice and letting the dress fall. She stepped out of the dress, then undid her corset and tossed it aside. Her chemise and pantaloons were old, patched where the fabric had worn. She crossed her arms feeling embarrassed and uncertain for the first time, the old clothing a reminder of reality.
“Honey, look at me.”
Beth lifted her eyes to him, drawn like metal to magnet and her heart thudded. Emotion darkening the blue of his eyes until they appeared black. She bit the inside of her lip to keep her eyes from welling up. It had been too long since she felt this cherished, loved, protected.
“You are beautiful.” His fingers pulled at the frayed ribbon at the neck of her chemise. He loosened the fabric and brushed it down her hips leaving her breasts bare. His hands found the drawstring at her waist and repeated the motion until she stood naked before him in only her old woolen stockings. She refused to give in to the urge to cover herself from those heated eyes of his. Instead, Beth’s hands went to the buttons of his falls, pushing them through the button holes. She could feel his breath quicken with each brush of her hand against the skin of his abdomen. His hands brushed hers away and he finished removing his clothes until he stood naked in front of her.
Her breath caught. She flushed all over. He was the temptation she could never resist. Her hands smoothed over his skin, memorizing the feel of his warm, hard body. She would remember the tickle of the hair on his chest against her palms. She brushed her lips against his chest, absorbing his taste and smell. She would treasure these moments in the years to come.
“Beth,” Michael murmured as his mouth brushed softly down her neck. His hands were busy too, cupping her breasts, thumbing her nipples until she could barely stand. His mouth found hers in a deep, long kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her, urging her on. She met him kiss for kiss, brushing her breasts against his skin, needing more, needing the weight of his body upon hers.
Michael drew her down to the chaise and followed her, his body pressing hers into the cushions. She raised her hands, brushing her fingers through his hair as he stared down at her. She raised up and kissed him, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips in invitations. His mouth opened to hers, his tongue tasting, rubbing against her own. The kiss pulled her
deeper into this fire burning through her, pushing all thoughts out of her head except Michael—his warm skin, the roughness of his whiskers against her hand on his face. Her whole universe was this moment.
His hands traced her curves, moving down her body in a slow, deliberate tease as he barely brushed her breasts, her turgid nipples, her hip before coming back to brush his thumb across her lips. “God, you are so beautiful, Beth. I just want to lose myself in you.”
His words melted her. He moved down her body, now hungry, his mouth nipping at her stomach in a rough passion. He sat back on his heels, his hot gaze moved over her body spread out before him. His hand moved to her garters, releasing each one to roll down her ugly stockings. He tossed them both to the side, his hands brushing the skin of her legs opening her to him.
His gaze held so much emotion, Beth couldn’t stop her racing heart nor her shallow breaths. He had never shown her this much of himself before. She reached for him with open arms needing to feel his body against hers again, feel his heated skin against her own. “Make love to me, Michael.”
Chapter Thirteen
Never had Michael thought he’d be holding this woman in his arms again. His heart overflowed with a tenderness she’d never felt with anyone else. He was teetering on the edge of his future happiness and there was an edge of desperation in his touch as he traced Beth’s slight curves. Her scent tangled him in memories of when they’d last made love, the last time he’d felt as if he were home where he could be himself. In her arms, he was Michael and nothing else mattered. It was a precious gift she’d always given him: total acceptance for the man he was, not the title or the inheritance. It was a heady feeling and he wanted to hold on to it forever.
Beth’s skin was soft, smooth, like silk beneath his trembling hands. He wanted to curse the consequences that had pulled them apart five years ago. He should have married her. He should have taken care of her and her family, not put their life on hold. He could have found a way to be with his mother and with Beth. Had he married her, she would have been his for five years. Five years of tasting the sweetness of her skin as his mouth moved along her jaw. Five years of imagining her growing heavy with his child. The loss made him desperate to have her feel the same.
The Art of Seduction (Kings of Industry) Page 8