Portrait of a Lover

by Julianne MacLean

  “I can’t tell you to go,” she said. “I know I should, but I can’t. Not today.”

  For a long moment he gazed into her eyes, as if he were still contemplating it, attempting to convince himself he should leave, regardless of her response just now. Then he looked down at her moist lips.

  She waited, breath held, heart thundering in her ears. Reason and logic floated away. All that existed in her mind was the awareness of need—a fierce, fiery need…

  Then at last his lips found hers in a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss that sent an erotic yearning straight down to her core. His full lips parted hers. His tongue swept smoothly into her mouth—probing, plunging ever so slowly and gently. The kiss was soft and sensuous, and he groaned huskily at the pleasure of it.

  He leaned into her at the same moment his arms came down and slid around her waist. Annabelle made no conscious movements. Everything was instinctive, as if her body had a separate mind of its own. Her arms wrapped around his neck and somehow her lips knew exactly how to kiss him. Her hips knew how to push against his, and her hands knew how to travel down the firm muscles of his back and pull him even closer.

  He brought the kiss to a gradual finish, drawing his lips from hers but maintaining the intimate link of their bodies.

  “Now I’m done for,” he whispered, caressing her cheek with a finger.

  “So am I. My heart is racing. What are we going to do?”

  He rested his forehead upon hers. “I have no idea. Perhaps you should think further about this.”

  “I don’t need to think. I just want to see you again.”

  “Your brother would never approve.”

  “Let me deal with that when the time comes. If it comes.”

  His body went still. “You think he’d be reasonable?”

  Annabelle recognized the doubt in his voice. She detected a hint of bitterness as well. He did not believe there was hope.

  “My brother cares for me very deeply,” she explained. “He wants me to be happy.”

  But in all honesty, she was not sure he would permit her to marry someone like Mr. Edwards. Whitby would surely think him a very shrewd fortune hunter who was greatly overstepping society’s bounds.

  Mr. Edwards stepped back, looking almost ashamed of himself for doing something he knew he should not be doing. He seemed to be wrestling with the idea that he was taking something he had no right to take, and he looked almost guilt-ridden.

  Annabelle took his face in both her hands. “Meet me at the lake tomorrow. There’s a boat at the north end. We’ll take it to the island and have lunch there.”

  “You can get away like that?” he asked, still looking doubtful.

  She began to worry that he would change his mind again and fail to appear, that he would leave her waiting like he had at the gallery. He seemed so very hesitant.

  “I’ll bring my paint box and a canvas,” she replied, finding herself willing to take the risk. “No one will expect me back for hours.”

  He turned his back on her and walked to the other side of the rotunda, staring off into the distance, at the lush green hills and dense forests. “This is a beautiful place.”

  Annabelle swallowed hard over a lump of apprehension that had risen in her throat. There was something melancholy in Mr. Edwards’s voice, and she feared she would not see him again after today. She couldn’t let that happen.

  She crossed to stand beside him. “Yes, it is. I’ve been very happy here, but it doesn’t mean everything to me.”

  He shifted his gaze to her upturned face. “It should. You’re lucky to have lived a life like this, to have had so much. Not everyone is so blessed.”

  She was more than aware of that, and felt guilty for being disloyal to her brother, who had done so much for her. Yet she could not turn away from this.

  Mr. Edwards shook his head. “This is insane. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know it, but I don’t care. I’ve only ever been frustrated with my life as it is anyway.” Again she felt guilty for saying such things when she had been given so much, but she wanted so very badly to be free, even just for a day.

  He chuckled softly, almost bitterly. “I don’t quite understand that, but I certainly admire your spirit.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be there tomorrow?”

  Placing his hat back on his head, he faced her. “What time?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “Two o’clock. But you had best not keep me waiting. I won’t forgive you a second time.”

  She started to back away, but he caught her hand. With a seductive glint in his eye, he said, “One more kiss.”

  Annabelle grinned mischievously. “Not until tomorrow.”

  “Is that your way of making sure I’ll be there?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t want to kiss you.”

  Still holding her hand while she leaned away from him, tugging, he looked at her as if he were completely besotted, and Annabelle’s heart leaped with delight and a burning impatience for the next day.

  He smiled and placed his hand on his chest, as if she’d shot an arrow straight into his heart. “You’re killing me.”

  She dashed forward, rose up on her toes and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “There. Now go. Sneak out of here before someone sees you.”

  He followed her to the edge of the rotunda and leaned against a column again, watching her leave. “Don’t worry. I’ll be very sneaky.”

  And not really understanding the hidden truths in that statement, Annabelle darted excitedly back to the house.

  Chapter 5

  “Y ou didn’t keep me waiting this time,” Annabelle said as she emerged from the path through the woods and spotted Mr. Edwards already sitting in the rowboat, which was tied to the small dock. He sat on the floor of the boat, leaning his elbows on the transom seat, his hands relaxed at the wrists. He looked as if he’d been there for a while.

  “You said you wouldn’t forgive me a second time, so I was careful not to be late,” he replied. He rose and stepped onto the dock, the boat rocking and dipping as he did so.

  Annabelle stopped on the grassy bank, feeling her breath catch in her throat at the full sight of him. Wearing that familiar black jacket and trousers, he looked every bit as striking and manly, walking toward her with a wickedly flirtatious glimmer in his eye.

  He reached her on the bank, his appreciative gaze gliding smoothly down her body as he took the easel and paint box out of her hands. “You carried this here on your own?”

  Heart already atwitter from the aura of his sexually charged appeal, Annabelle was acutely aware of his fingers brushing over hers and how it made her skin tingle. “I’m used to it. I carry these everywhere.”

  She also wore a lunch sack strapped across her chest, so while he placed her painting supplies in the boat, she lifted the sack over her head. “I brought sandwiches, and I even snuck a bottle of wine from the cellar.”

  He turned to face her, his head snapping back in surprise. “My word, I hadn’t taken you for such an adventurer, Miss Lawson. Do you like to take risks?”

  “To tell you the truth, I never get the chance.”

  He walked toward her again—his dark, seductive eyes never veering from hers—and took the lunch sack out of her hands.

  He raised a doubtful eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

  His voice was laced with deliciously wicked teasing, and his look was so electrifying, Annabelle felt a rush of pink stain her cheeks.

  How in the world was she going to survive this without having a nervous fit?

  After he set everything in the boat, he looked out across the lake. “That’s the island?”

  Annabelle raised a hand to shade her eyes. “Yes. There’s a good spot to drag the boat onto the beach on the other side.”

  “Right, then.” He held out a hand and led her down the length of the dock, then assisted her into the boat.

  “You brought your fishing gear,” she said, noticing the
rod and creel as she sat down. “Can you show me how it’s done?”

  “That was the idea.” Mr. Edwards untied the boat and stepped in with remarkable agility. Then he sat down, picked up the oars and glanced over his shoulder before starting to row.

  Annabelle sat quietly watching him steer the boat, listening to the sounds of the water lapping up against the sides and the oars creaking in the oarlocks. She could feel the boat propelled forward with each strong, swift stroke.

  As soon as he had them slicing through the water in a straight line, he focused his attention on Annabelle, and they watched each other in silence. For her, it was a strangely erotic moment, as they were staring unreservedly at one another, studying faces and eyes and lips, feeling no need to look away.

  Annabelle had never stared at anyone like that before. In any other situation, it would not be considered polite, but this was like no other situation she’d ever been in. She was here with this man outside of all rules and social graces. She was here out of sheer natural desire, and no one—no one—knew they were together.

  “Did you come from London this morning?” she asked when they reached the center of the lake, where the water was deep.

  He was still rowing fast and hard, his big hands gripping the oar handles tightly, the muscles of his shoulders straining. “Yes. I caught the early train.”

  “And you’ll take the train back tonight?”

  He nodded. “I have to be at my desk at nine tomorrow morning.”

  He had to be at his desk…

  “I’m trying to imagine you at work,” she said. “Do you talk to many people? Do you arrange loans?”

  He looked over his shoulder again to see how much farther they had to go. “No, I work with numbers. I record figures, balance deposits, that sort of thing.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “Not really.”

  Annabelle’s brow furrowed as she digested the flatness of his reply. She shook her head at him. “Why do you do something you don’t enjoy? Why not try something else?”

  He looked over his shoulder again. “I need the income,” he said bluntly, seeming strangely distant.

  “Yes, but you never considered being a fisherman, for instance?”

  “I enjoy fishing too much,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to turn it into work.”

  He stopped rowing and pushed forward on the oars to slow the boat in the middle of the lake. His subtle aloofness from a moment ago faded away. “This looks like a good spot, if you’d like to give it a go before lunch.”

  “Give it a go?” Annabelle asked, suggestively raising an eyebrow.

  He reached for his fishing pole, which was lying flat along the side of the boat, and smirked at her. “That’s enough flirting, Miss Lawson, if you please. I’m going to teach you how to fish. Hold this.”

  She chuckled while he handed the rod to her, then reached past her to drop the anchor over the transom.

  “I hope you won’t mind baiting the hook. Do worms bother you?”

  Annabelle gazed blankly at him for a moment, until he faced her again with a smile.

  “I was teasing,” he said. “I’ll handle that part.”

  He reached for a small tin box with a lid, opened it and showed Annabelle what was inside.

  “Very appetizing,” she said, looking at a mass of squirming worms in a pit of dark earth.

  He reached for the rod, which Annabelle handed over. “Watch out, the hook is sharp.” Then he proceeded to harpoon a most unfortunate wiggly worm. Annabelle made a face, which Mr. Edwards seemed to find amusing. “You wanted me to show you,” he said teasingly, as if to say I told you so.

  “Yes, I did, didn’t I? What could I have been thinking?”

  Mr. Edwards wound the reel, then cast his line in an arc, sending the hook and worm sailing through the air. They plopped onto the water’s surface, and he wound the reel again. As soon as he had everything set up, he passed the rod to her.

  “Hold it right here. Both hands.”

  She took the rod and wrapped her hands around the well-worn cork handle. Feeling rather silly, just sitting there holding the rod, she glanced wryly at him. “Now what do I do?”

  “Reel it in slowly to drag the bait. Not too fast.”

  Annabelle followed his instructions.

  “Look, there’s a falcon,” Mr. Edwards quietly said, pointing over the treetops on the other side of the lake.

  “I see him. Look how graceful he is.”

  They smiled at each other, and Annabelle felt like she was floating, until Mr. Edwards touched the rod. “You can jiggle it every now and again, like this. That’s right. Now reel it in a little more.”

  “How will I know if I’ve caught one?” she asked, struggling to focus on the matter at hand.

  “You’ll know. You’ll feel it.”

  She continued to slowly bring the hook back to the boat, and when it came out of the water, there was no fish, nor was there a worm swinging on the line.

  “Where did he go?”

  “He appears to have made his escape.” Mr. Edwards reached for the line and speared another worm on the hook. “Would you like to cast this time?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “All right, let me see…”

  The boat rocked as he leaned forward and reeled the hook up to the end of the rod. Then his large, warm hands curled around hers. Annabelle felt a quivering of excitement in her belly, just from his nearness. He was so much of a man, so strong and capable. She remembered the intoxicating sensation of his lips touching hers the day before, and wondered with fiery anticipation if he would kiss her again today.

  “Hold it here,” he said, seemingly unaware of her thoughts about his lips. “Then tip it back, but be careful not to snag your clothing. That’s it. Now swing the rod forward so the hook goes as far as you can cast it.”

  She did as he instructed, hearing the whizzing sound of the reel spinning and the line slicing through the air, then the quiet splash of the hook and bait as it hit the water.

  “Well done,” he said softly. “Now bring it in like you did last time and—”

  Just then, the rod tugged in Annabelle’s hands, and a sprightly thrill zipped up her spine. “I think I caught something!”

  The rod was pulling and bending and she began to squeal. “What do I do?”

  “Reel it in!” he said, laughing.

  “Oh!” She panicked and began winding the reel at an alarmingly fast pace, and the rod continued to tug and pull in her hands. “Oh, my goodness! Here!”

  Before she knew what she was about, she was trying to pass the rod back to Mr. Edwards.

  “You’re doing fine!” he said, raising both hands in front of him. “Just keep reeling.”

  She squealed again, and suddenly, the fish at the end of the line flew up out of the water and flopped around in the air. Annabelle was swinging the rod back and forth in all directions, and the boat was rocking. “Help!”

  Mr. Edwards laughed and finally took the rod from her. A brief second later the fish was in the boat, bouncing around while Annabelle was still screaming. The fish flopped onto her feet until Mr. Edwards finally grabbed hold of him.

  “It’s a perch—and a dodgy one at that.”

  Hands braced on the seat, Annabelle met his gaze. They stared at each other intensely before they both burst out laughing.

  “I thought you said fishing was a relaxing affair!” Annabelle managed to say between chortles.

  “And quiet!” he replied. “I can’t say I’ve ever had a fishing experience quite like this.”

  They continued to laugh until Mr. Edwards realized he was still holding the fish. He freed it from the hook, then tossed it back into the lake with a splash.

  “What are you doing? That was my first fish!”

  Mr. Edwards could barely speak, for all his laughing. “I don’t quite know how to break it to you, Miss Lawson, but he was too small. He’ll be better off maturing a bit before he succumbs to the s
ad fate of becoming someone’s dinner.”

  Annabelle was laughing so hard, she had to bend forward and hold onto her stomach.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Never better. But what are you doing? We just got started.”

  He was closing the bait box and setting the rod back down in the boat. “There’s not much point casting again, Miss Lawson. We’ve surely scared every fish within a ten mile radius all the way to Kingdom Come.”

  Annabelle continued to laugh while he drew up the anchor, still chuckling as he set it in the boat and picked up the oars. “We’ll have lunch—quietly, please—then try again later.”

  Annabelle wiped the tears from her eyes and watched Mr. Edwards steer the boat toward the island. “That was so much fun.”

  “It’s not usually as exciting as all that, but at least you experienced the thrill of the nibble.”

  She grinned. “It’s rather addictive. I can’t wait to try it again.”

  “Patience, my dear. You will.”

  Annabelle managed to calm her laughter as the boat coasted along smoothly. She leaned to the side and let her fingers glide through the cold water.

  “This boat rows like a dream,” he said.

  Annabelle admired the graceful movement of his muscular arms. “You’re a strong oarsman.”

  “Lots of practice.”

  He winked at her, and another thrill zipped up Annabelle’s spine, just as it had when she hooked the fish.

  She had never met a man more exciting than Mr. Edwards, and that very awareness inspired a sensation of dread—because they were forced to sneak around like this and meet in secret. But perhaps that was part of the excitement.

  Within minutes he was dipping the oars into the shallow water, pushing on the gravel as the boat scraped onto the shore. He hopped out with a splash and pulled the heavy boat—with Annabelle in it—up onto the beach.

  Annabelle passed the lunch and her painting supplies to him, then stood up and put her hands on his shoulders. He grabbed hold of her under the arms, lifted her out of the boat, and deposited her effortlessly onto the dry shore.