An Artful Seduction

by Tina Gabrielle

  Head raised high, Eliza tried to move past him, but Grayson grasped her arm. “It’s not what you think.”

  She blinked. “Don’t be silly. Your affairs are none of my concern.”

  “Damn it, Eliza. It’s over between us. I haven’t been with Leticia in months.”

  She shot him a haughty stare. “Who you cavort with means nothing to me.”

  “Oh? That’s not what it looked like to me.”

  She refused to allow him to see how much he’d wounded her. “Then you are mistaken, my lord.”

  His fingers tightened a fraction on her arm. “It’s Grayson, remember?”

  “Don’t worry, my lord. I gave my word.”

  His brows drew downward. “What does that mean?”

  She pulled her arm back and he released his grip. “I still intend to accompany you to the Royal Academy and help you find the stolen Rembrandt. But do not think you can take liberties. I may work for my living, but I’m not a whore.”

  …

  Things couldn’t have worked out worse. Grayson couldn’t believe Eliza’s change in demeanor. Just moments ago she had responded to his caresses and her body had instinctively arched toward him.

  Everything had been going well. He was sure of his seduction. Certain she longed for his touch as much as he craved to touch her.

  Leticia’s unexpected arrival had changed it all.

  Grayson stared at Eliza’s stiff back as she marched down Bond Street. She’d been polite and cool and had barely spoken to him after the dressmaker had assisted her out of the green dress and back into her drab shopkeeper’s garb.

  He’d had plans for them. He wanted to take her to a dining establishment and share a hot meal and a glass of fine wine. He wanted to hear about her upbringing, her marriage, her past. Not because he wanted to coerce information from her about her father, but because he wanted to learn more about her.

  It was all impossible now. She’d uttered one-word syllables to him since leaving the dressmaker’s shop. They ventured into a shoe establishment and ballroom slippers were ordered to match the gowns they had ordered. At another shop, fans and accessories followed.

  This time Eliza didn’t protest at the cost.

  Neither did she speak to him.

  But she did freely converse with the shopkeepers. She smiled gaily and enjoyed the items they brought forth for her inspection. Grayson was forced to watch helplessly as the male shopkeepers were entranced by her smile, her easy laughter, and her quick praise of their shops.

  His participation was limited to standing in the back, nodding in approval at her selections, and paying the bill. If Brandon were present, his friend would laugh and say he had turned into a brooding and jealous man.

  Both foreign emotions for him. Since when was he jealous over a woman?

  At last they returned to his carriage. She settled on the bench across from him as beautiful and as untouchable as an ice queen.

  “Do I have everything I need?” she asked.

  It was the first full sentence she’d spoken to him other than “yes” and “no.”

  “Everything for the Royal Academy. We’ll have to return for the fittings.”

  “Are you certain Viscount Pickens will invite us to his upcoming ball?”

  He was. But he didn’t share the full truth. “I believe he will find you delightful and charming,” he spoke with light bitterness.

  She must have misunderstood his tone for she shook her head. “I agreed to help you and I shall.”

  “I never doubted you.”

  “But this,” she said waving her hand at what he could only assume was the tangible bond between them, “must cease between us. We cannot keep kissing.”

  “I disagree.”

  “That woman—”

  “Is in my past.”

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say. She is a lady, a woman in your circles. I don’t belong in your world.”

  He didn’t expect the argument. Leticia may be a titled widow of a marquess, but she didn’t consume his thoughts. His logical mind understood Eliza’s argument, but it didn’t matter when two people were so strongly drawn to each other.

  “We can’t fight it.”

  “I have to. Don’t you see? You have nothing to lose. You’re the Earl of Huntingdon. Wealthy. Powerful. Society wouldn’t blink an eye to learn you had an affair with a lowly shopkeeper, while my reputation would suffer. Do you mean to harm me?”

  Her question took him off guard. She was right, her reputation as a shopkeeper would be damaged if it were discovered she was his lover. Many men would think she was freely available and make their lurid intentions known.

  But no one would know, he told himself. He had no intention of shouting the news of their liaison off the rooftops.

  “What happens between us will remain secret. I mean you no harm,” he told her.

  But could he honestly make that promise? When he finally found her father and sought his arrest, he couldn’t promise that the full truth wouldn’t be revealed. If it were discovered she was Jonathan Miller’s daughter, she’d be destroyed along with her sisters. No one would frequent the Peacock Print Shop if they knew the infamous forger’s daughters owned the establishment.

  She shook her head. “Go back to your lady friend.”

  He was stopped from arguing when the carriage halted and his footman jumped down to open the door. Grayson waved the footman aside and helped her alight himself. “I shall see you soon, Eliza.”

  He waited until she was out of sight and in her shop.

  Grayson climbed back in the carriage and leaned against well-padded squabs. Her words turned over in his mind. Go back to your lady friend. No doubt Leticia would welcome him with open arms.

  The problem was he didn’t want Leticia. He wanted Eliza.

  His desire for Eliza Somerton was maddening. He was angry and frustrated with his lack of control whenever she was near. He should respect her wishes and keep his distance. But how much could a man take? How much longer could he work closely with her, have erotic fantasies about her, and not entice her into his bed?

  The need for justice still burned in his gut. He was more determined than ever to find Jonathan Miller and see him tried for his crimes. And he still wanted to find the Rembrandt, keep it out of Viscount Pickens’s private collection so that it could be loaned to the museum and shared with the masses.

  But he also wanted Eliza, and if she were discovered to be Miller’s daughter, then her reputation, her way of life would be torn apart. Once again, she’d be left alone to see to her sisters’ survival.

  He now wanted much more than vengeance by capturing the criminal who’d damaged his name, humiliated him among his peers, and harmed others with his criminal forgeries.

  The simple had now become complex. His goals were changing—to seduce her for sure yet protect her from ruin after her father was arrested and tried for his crimes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The following days were difficult for Eliza as business had slowed to a trickle. Eliza poured over the accounts in the evenings, truly concerned at their expenses and lack of income. At least they didn’t have to worry about heat. Grayson’s supply of coal would easily see them through the remaining winter months.

  On a particularly slow day, the jade dress was delivered from Mrs. Gardner’s shop. Her sisters fussed over the beautiful satin dress with its long sleeves and hemline trimmed with delicate rosettes. Chloe wondered over the fine batiste material of the undergarments, and Amelia tried on the matching satin slippers that also arrived from the shoemaker’s.

  The afternoon of their visit to the Royal Academy arrived a day later. Excitement hummed in Eliza’s veins as she sat across from Grayson as his carriage pulled up before the Academy on the Strand in front of New Somerset House. She smoothed her hands over the green satin.

  “You look lovely this evening, Eliza. The gown does indeed enhance your beauty.”

  Dressed in black and white attir
e, he looked stunning. A powerful man. She could easily drown in his eyes.

  Don’t act the besotted fool!

  She swallowed. “Are you certain Viscount Pickens will be present tonight?” she asked. “From what I understand the exhibition during the winter is not nearly as well attended as the annual summer exhibition.”

  The summer exhibition was a popular event of the Season, and a favorite of many members of the ton. Unlike the endless soirees, garden parties, musicales, and balls, the Royal Academy displayed stunning artwork and was a refreshing change of scenery.

  “It’s no matter,” Grayson said. “Pickens wouldn’t miss this. Not all the aristocracy travels to the country in the winter.”

  The footman opened the door. Grayson didn’t wait, but helped her alight. His hand held hers a fraction longer than necessary. She looked up at him questioningly.

  “Thank you for attending with me,” he said.

  Oh, he was charming when it suited him. She needed to remind herself of why he wanted her. With women like Leticia waiting in the wings, he needed her only to help find the Rembrandt and, heaven forbid, her father.

  She placed her gloved hand on his sleeve and they entered the Academy’s vestibule. A nervous unease gripped Eliza. Her father had never taken her along with him on his ventures to sell his forged artwork. Yet years before, when he had been a legitimate painter, she had accompanied him to several functions. As the eldest daughter she had assisted him and carried his wooden art box containing his oils and brushes.

  It may have been years since Jonathan Miller mingled with these people, but anxiety coursed through Eliza. Would someone recognize her?

  Grayson must have sensed her unease. He squeezed her hand. “It was years ago; no one will recognize you. And you are accompanying me, remember? They would never suspect that I’d bring you along.”

  He meant as Jonathan Miller’s daughter. She didn’t know whether to laugh at the irony of it or not. She glanced at him through lowered lashes. She didn’t find a mocking glint in his eyes as she’d expected, but a surprising sincerity.

  Then all thoughts fled as he escorted her into the main gallery. Paintings hung from floor to ceiling. Exquisite pieces of work ranging from revered masters to new talent—a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors—a feast for any art lover’s eyes. She recognized paintings from several of the Academy’s Founders—Thomas Gainsborough, John Baker, and Sir Joshua Reynolds. A painting by Sir William Chambers, the Academy’s first treasurer and the man who’d designed New Somerset House, was prominently displayed.

  The paintings weren’t grouped by subject. Portraits hung beside landscapes and charcoal sketches. Colors and talent whirled together to create a fantastic display. She could spend hours here.

  A throng of well-dressed people milled through the room, viewing the artwork. The exhibition was indeed well attended, and many of the guests knew Grayson. He nodded in greeting and stopped to shake hands with several distinguished-looking men. A gentleman with white hair, bushy eyebrows, and a pronounced limp approached them.

  “Lord Huntingdon! It is a pleasure to have you in attendance. I wondered if you would be in Huntingdon House in Lincolnshire at this time of year.”

  “The country can wait, Henry. I wouldn’t miss an exhibition.”

  Grayson turned to Eliza. “May I introduce Mrs. Somerton. This is Mr. Piper, the Academy’s Exhibitions Secretary.”

  The Exhibitions Secretary! Her father had never been important enough to be enthusiastically greeted by such a man.

  Eliza curtsied. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Mr. Piper smiled kindly. “The pleasure is all mine.” He motioned to the room. “Please continue. I’m anxious to learn the earl’s opinion on several of the pieces.”

  They strolled forward, her gaze riveted on the walls. “It’s stunning. A dream come true to finally attend.”

  “Your father never brought you here?”

  “No. He never saw a need.”

  Something flared in his dark eyes. “He was a fool.”

  She stiffened. “I’m not surprised by your opinion.”

  “No, you misunderstand. He was a fool not to have recognized your love for art and to have taken you to every London museum.”

  She looked up at him. She’d expected criticism of her father, but only because of his criminal acts, not because he’d wronged her. The intensity in Grayson’s gaze was back, and the excitement between them was present again. He gently squeezed her gloved fingers. Her pulse quickened.

  “Ah, there you are, my lord.”

  Eliza whirled to see a tall, thin man rush over. Dressed in a plain brown jacket and waistcoat, he held a notepad and pencil in his hand. “Lord Huntingdon, there is a painting by a new artist, the Times seeks your opinion.”

  Eliza blinked at the newspaperman. His attention was focused entirely on Huntingdon.

  Grayson offered his arm. “Shall we, Eliza?”

  He led her to where the painting hung. It was slightly above Grayson’s eye level, but many others hung much higher, closer to the ceiling, and she realized one would need a tall ladder to hang them.

  “Positioning of the paintings is a constant battle with the artists,” he whispered.

  Grayson tilted his head and clasped his hands behind his back as he stared at the painting. A group had gathered around to watch, and she was struck by just how influential his opinion was. His words could make or break a new artist’s career.

  Eliza stood entranced as she watched him. Candlelight reflected off his dark hair, and his profile looked almost fierce as he studied the work.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Must his every movement remind her of his sexual attractiveness?

  Eliza forced her gaze away. The artist stood by, a young man close to Eliza’s age, and he shifted nervously from foot to foot as Grayson studied his work. Eliza thought the painting was a beautiful portrayal of the battle of Trafalgar. The artist clearly had talent, and with more tutelage, could become a great painter.

  “What do you think, Mrs. Somerton?” Grayson asked, catching her by surprise.

  She blinked. Was he truly asking her opinion before all these people?

  The crowd around them seemed just as surprised.

  She met Grayson’s gaze to see if he was mocking her, but he looked at her in earnest.

  She cleared her throat. “I find the painting very dramatic and inspiring. The fighting is portrayed in vivid detail and takes me back in time to the battle.”

  “Excellent description,” he said firmly. “I concur with the lady’s opinion.”

  She was aware of the newspaper reporter furiously scribbling in his notepad.

  “Mrs. Somerton owns the Peacock Print Shop near Bruton Street. I find it a charming respite,” Grayson said offhandedly.

  The reporter glanced at her, then continued to write in his pad.

  Eliza was shocked. She understood the importance of what had just transpired. One word from Grayson and her shop could become noticed overnight.

  Grayson turned to the young artist. “I would be interested in attending your future exhibitions. If I like the rest of your work, we could discuss my being your patron.”

  The artist’s mouth opened and closed. “It is an honor, my lord. A true honor.”

  Grayson tucked Eliza’s arm beneath his and led her away.

  “Why did you do that?” she said.

  “The artist has talent; I was under the impression you liked his work as well.”

  “Not that. You mentioned my shop to the reporter. Why?”

  He shrugged offhandedly. “I think it’s a charming place.”

  She eyed him warily. “Why else?”

  “You need the customers.”

  She did. The shop was suffering from the endless winter. Still, she couldn’t believe he thought to ask her opinion and praise the Peacock Print Shop in front of the reporter. “But you needn’t have—”

  “Ah, there he is,” Grayson said, cutting her off.


  Confused by his abrupt change in topic, Eliza followed his gaze. “Who?”

  “Viscount Pickens. He approaches.”

  A heavy-set man with brown hair and eyes who appeared close in age to Grayson walked a direct path to them. His eyes narrowed as he met Grayson’s gaze.

  Viscount Pickens stopped before them. “Huntingdon. I understand you just viewed a new artist’s work. Why am I not surprised you found it inspiring? I’ve seen stains on a chamber pot that showed more artistic talent.”

  Eliza gasped.

  Grayson arched a dark eyebrow. “Perhaps your quizzing glass is in need of an adjustment, Pickens.”

  “Ha!” Pickens bellowed. “Your arrogance will be your downfall.”

  “I’m not opposed to fisticuffs, but I’d prefer to compose myself in front of the lady,” Grayson said dryly.

  The viscount’s gaze settled on Eliza. “You’re right. I don’t need my glass to see the loveliness of the lady accompanying you.”

  Grayson made the introductions. “Mrs. Somerton. This is Viscount Pickens.”

  As Pickens bowed gallantly over Eliza’s hand, she curtsied and gifted him with her most charming smile. “I’ve heard so much about you, my lord. As a lover of art, I understand you have the best private collection in all of London.”

  His chest puffed with self-importance, threatening to pop the buttons on his waistcoat. “It is my life-long ambition to claim all things beautiful,” he said, his beady eyes raking her form.

  She glanced sideways at Grayson. A muscle twitched at his jaw.

  Could he be jealous? Ridiculous. He wanted her to engage the viscount, didn’t he?

  “Pickens never misses an Academy exhibition. He believes himself an art connoisseur,” Grayson said.

  The viscount’s brow furrowed. “Don’t listen to a word he utters, Mrs. Somerton. Huntingdon and I seem to be in constant disagreement. If you’re searching for a truly knowledgeable art collector, you need not look further. As for Huntingdon,” the viscount’s eyes darted to Grayson, “he’s not as reputable as he undoubtedly led you to believe.”