He crossed his arms and leaned against the table. “Are you saying you didn’t draw the picture?”
“I did.”
“Then you’re guilty by your own confession.”
“But I didn’t put it in the paper.” Her eyes pleaded with him to believe her.
He reached out to grip the chair’s back. Anger burned through his veins; pain settled his heart. “I don’t believe you.”
Florence frowned. “Ask Elipha. She and I have been looking for whomever write the article to find out who stole the picture.”
He scoffed. “I’m sure Elipha would agree with whatever you had to say. You’re her lady’s maid. She wouldn’t want to lose you.”
Florence simply stared at him and shook her head. Sadness filled her eyes. “You disappoint me.”
Rollo straightened. “I disappoint you?” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not the one who’s been lying.” His conscience reminded him that he had been lying, wanting her in bed more than he’d wanted his next breath, but that was not the point of the discussion.
“I didn’t mean to lie.” She took a step toward him and then another until he was less than a foot away, in touching range. “I wanted to tell you the truth, but you were so angry. I thought it best to find out who’d stolen the picture and then tell you the truth.”
“If you didn’t draw it for the paper then why did you draw it?”
She opened her mouth then quickly closed it, her eyes searching.
She was hiding something.
“No more lies,” he whispered. “Why did you draw me?”
She lifted her chin. “Because you have great bone structure. You’re handsome. Why wouldn’t an artist draw you?” Her analysis of him seemed cold and distant. She called him handsome without passion or love.
“You drew me because you simply wished to draw me?”
She nodded. “Yes, and I must say, you’re the perfect model for such work. If you offered, I believe many other artists, men and women, would be willing to put you on canvas.”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true! I’ve drawn you plenty of times and in better lights, yet only one picture of you made it to the papers. It was stolen.” Her eyes held his steady. “I swear, I didn’t give it to Babbler. I would never do that to you.”
His heart raced as he tried to see if she were lying or not. Finding it hard, he said, “Prove it. You’ve other drawings of me. I want to see them.” He couldn’t tell whether she lied anymore.
Florence froze, and a frightful expression crossed her face.
“You’re lying again!”
“No.” Her hands tightened on her bag. “All right. I’ll show you.”
He held out his hand and waited.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
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Florence stared down at the bag she’d always protected with her life and recalled all the events that led her here. The only time she’d let her guard down had been her ruin and now Rollo was asking her—no, forcing her—to expose herself once more.
She shivered as though a draft had entered the room, yet her body broke into a sweat. She could feel every pour on her skin opening as fear pounded like a drum through her veins, making her sway before righting herself again.
“Well?” Rollo thrust his hand forward again. “Let me have a look.”
Florence swallowed and started to undo the bag’s buckle. She reached inside and wrapped her fingers around the book.
“Florence.”
She looked up and found hard black eyes staring at her. Gone was that smile she’d come to adore, and she wondered if she’d ever see it again. Once she showed him her book, she expected one reaction: Laughter. Because what lay in the book were the obsessive drawings of a woman who’d fallen for a man out of her reach, a man who would perhaps take pity on her but more than likely distance himself from her for fear of where her obsessions would lead. She knew their friendship would end but had thought to do it with more finesse.
This was a disaster.
Rollo closed the space between them, and she gasped as he reached into the bag and placed his hand on the book she held. He gave a sharp tug that forced her to let it go, then moved over to the table by the window and took a seat. His back was to her as he flipped through the pages.
The first part of the book was harmless, just shrubs, flowers, and buildings that had caught her eye. There were even a few drawings of other people, nameless faces that had caught her attention, women and children, but the back of the book was where she’d poured her very being into every swipe of her pencil. He would see it and know it, and laugh.
She looked at the door and thought to flee, but the thought of him showing his friends and them all having a good laugh at her made her stay. When this was over, she planned to take it and throw it into the fire. She’d never draw again.
She jumped whenever a page turned and noticed he was taking his time looking through her work.
“You’re very good.” His low voice carried behind him, but the words were not said with any warmth. Instead, it was more like an insult. “Perhaps I should ask for your signature as well.”
Florence crossed her arms and moved over toward the fire, allowing her skin to be bathed in the warmth to combat the cold of Rollo’s temper. She fought back the urge to scream or cry.
She braced a hand on the mantle and waited for him to speak.
Another page was turned.
She heard none of the laughter she’d expected. He said nothing, though she knew he’d found what he’d been looking for.
When he did speak, it was a shock that nearly made her faint. “When did you do this?”
She looked over and found him looking at her now, his eyes hard. He held the book up at an angle that allowed her to see the page head-on.
It was the very first picture of him she’d drawn, the one she’d done years ago with him standing on the street, his eyes looking in her direction, but not at her. His hair had been shorter, but there was no mistaking the eyes, dark and brooding. He’d not been happy when the drawing had been done, and Florence had kept true to his emotions, though she’d been tempted to draw him with a smile. At least then she would have found more pleasure staring at the drawing. Instead, whenever she’d looked at him she’d felt his sadness. The scene of the street had been filled in later, but there was no mistaking the umbrella shop behind him.
She sighed. “I drew it three years ago.”
He stared at her and turned the book back to himself. “I remember this. I rarely came to London then. How did you manage to draw me so… clearly?” He looked at her and some of the anger vanished from his eyes. “Had we met before Scotland?”
She shook her head. “No, I simply saw you on the street and drew you when I returned home.”
He frowned. “You saw me once and drew me with great detail from memory? How is that possible?”
“You’re hard to forget.” Then thinking better of those words, she said, “You have great bone structure.”
“There are many handsome men in London.” He turned to the next page as he spoke. “All you have to do is look at the rest of the brotherhood.” His words were true and caused Florence’s heart to start beating quickly again. He was getting to the images she’d drawn of him since they’d met in Scotland… and she’d drawn plenty. Rollo before and after he’d kissed her in the library, when he’d touched her hand in the sitting room, by the fire in the treasure room, and the list went on.
She fell to the floor, folding her skirts underneath herself as she stared into the fire, waiting for him to react.
“I believe you.”
She looked over at him, but his back was to her. The book was closed and set away on the other side of the table. For a long time, he didn’t move, and Florence wondered if she was
done. Sensing that she’d been dismissed, she stood and walked over to him. “I swear to you, I’ll find out who stole the picture. I’m so terribly story for drawing you in the first place. I won’t do it again.” She didn’t look at him, didn’t want to see his face. Instead, she reached out to grab the book, and he snatched her hand.
She looked at him then and found his expression blank.
“Why did you draw me?” he asked.
She took shallow breaths, hoping not to give her nervousness away. “I told you why. You’re the perfect model.”
“Perhaps that would explain one or two drawings, but you kept drawing me over and over again.” His gaze bored into her as if searching her soul for answers. “Why did you keep drawing me?”
“People draw what they like,” she said. “Some people draw dogs. Others draw cats.”
“But not the same dog or the same cat unless they care about it.” He stood, and her eyes followed his, forcing her to lift her chin. He placed a hand on her neck, his thumb resting against her throbbing pulse. Confusion filled his eyes. “Why did you draw me?”
“Because…” She searched for an answer, anything but the truth.
“I have to be honest with you,” he whispered. His thumb caressed her throat and swept down to her collarbone as his eyes became twin pools of heat. “I’ve been lying to you.”
She blinked as his thumb lazily caressed her again, making her heart race for a new reason and with new awareness. “About?”
“About what I want from you.” His voice was dark and heated.
It seemed the rest of the world ceased to exist, and she waited for his answer. “What do you want from me?”
His thumb went up and brushed her cheek. “Everything.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY
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Florence watched tension bleed from Rollo’s eyes before his expression returned to warmth. “I want you, Florence.”
She grabbed his arm, not to pull his hand away, but to steady herself. She’d suspected he had but remembered how he’d regretted the first time she’d kissed him. But he hadn’t regretted the last time she’d been forward, and she’d not regretted when he’d returned the gesture in kind.
She became fully aware that for the first time since they’d met, they were alone in a bedchamber. She tried to distract her mind from where this could lead, though shivered as his hand’s manipulation. Who would have known how sensitive a neck could be? “If you’ve always wanted me, then why didn’t you act on it?”
He frowned. “I made an oath to Aaron that I would wait. If things ended badly between us, he didn’t want you to stop aiding him with the girls.”
She glared, understanding the logic, but burned with the offense that they’d thought her so short sided, so selfish. “I would never leave Mary and Lily, at least not until we found them a loving governess.”
He smiled and took her hand. “I’m not surprised. You’re a caring woman.” He kissed her fingers and rubbed his lips against them, which sent tiny jolts to the hidden region between her legs. Her anger evaporated and turned to heat, causing her to melt under the brush of his soft mouth.
“You’re very sweet.” The words dripped like honey, flowing a warm path over her flesh.
“So, Aaron has given you permission to sleep with me?” Florence tried to raise her anger again to combat her growing need. She should be upset. He’d dragged her from her lady, forced her to his carriage, locked her into his room, threatened her, and treated her like a common criminal. And now his friends knew of his intentions? It was humiliating, and her fury roared back quickly. “Such arrogance.” She tried to take her hand back.
He tightened his grip. “Yes, and you all but confirmed your willingness when you kissed me. Twice.” The vibration of his words on her hands built moisture between her legs, and she worried about fainting while knowing his words were true.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
He grinned, and his eyes sparked with mischief. “And while I enjoy your mind, it’s another part of you that I yearn for more.”
“And what part would that be?” she asked, knowing the vulgar thing he would say, ready to hear it and use it as fuel to leave the room. “What part of me do you want?”
“Your heart.”
She stilled as he turned her hand over, kissing her palm and then her wrist. His tongue swirled right over her pulse, and she swayed. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him and she found his gaze to be just as hard as the thing that lay between his legs. She’d have fallen to the floor if he wasn’t holding her. “You want my heart?”
“Yes.” He kissed her arm and then turned his lips to kiss her cheek, her nose, her temple, while laying her arm around his neck. “I want all of you, Florence, body and soul.” He leaned away and met her eyes. “Though I suspect from the drawings that I already possess some of that.” His expression became guarded once more, as though he feared the answer. “Am I in possession of your heart, Florence?”
No.
The lie was at the tip of her tongue and if she hoped to leave, she knew what she had to say.
But she wanted to tell him the truth. There was no longer a point in denying it. He’d seen the drawings, her labor of love and devotion. He knew her truth. What else was there left to say?
“Yes,” she whispered. “You own my heart.”
She saw what looked like pure triumph fill his eyes right before he secured her confession by taking her mouth. The kiss was scalding, and Florence thought he couldn’t have branded her better. Her mouth opened, and their tongues mated as heat boiled in her blood. This kiss held none of the restraint that the previous encounters had. Their self-discipline all but snapped. Basic compulsion took the lead, both feasting on the other without the thought for moderation. Limits placed on them from Society burned from the heat blazing white heat that flowed between them.
His hands went to the front of her gown and undid the buttons in short order, a skill that proved he’d not lost all control. He pushed the two halves back and slipped his fingers into her chemise before cupping her bare chest.
Florence pushed herself against his hand and gasped when he took her nipple between his fingers before lowering his head and taking the pebbled nub between his teeth. She shuddered and withered as his other hand rose to do the same with the other, stroking and tugging before his mouth found purchase. She locked her hands in his hair, the leather tie falling from the silk strands and allowing her to fist them between her fingers, pulling him closer to the place he seemed to enjoy being.
But her body needed more. The place between her legs never beat with anger. That part of her she’d feared letting a man touch seemed to pound with the dissatisfaction of being ignored. “Rollo?”
He looked up, and she was momentarily startled by his animalistic expression. The hunger in his eyes consumed all points of the fine gentleman he’d been, and she took note of the hand that traveled up her inner thigh, moving closer to the part of her that was more feverish than ever before.
He took her mouth again just as his hand settled against her undergarments. She was wet. Even through the thin material, she could feel his fingers as though no barrier blocked them. He petted her aroused flesh with skill and patient speed that drove her mad and caused her to shamelessly rub against him as she let her body beg for more.
The feeling of his touch was delicious and left her mind in a delirious blissful state as the sensations in her grew, flying toward the unknown as her body grew hotter.
Then his hand was gone, and she almost fell as she came crashing back to the Earth. She would have voiced her protest if his mouth wasn’t still on her but then he broke the kiss and said, “Remove your clothes.”
She watched him back away he began to remove his own. He undid his cravat and it fluttered
away right before his hand went to the buttons on his shirt. She heard the clink of cufflinks hitting the floor before his shirt was removed to reveal a chest that made Florence’s lips part with the awe of a woman and an artist. She momentarily cursed the day clothes had been made when she saw how well defined he was. Such beauty should never be covered.
His hands went to his pants, and her eyes moved there, almost giddy to see more.
“You can draw me later if you wish. For now, I want your clothes off as well.”
His voice broke the spell his body had cast over her and she looked into his eyes. “You’d truly let me draw you?”
He knelt and undid his boots. “If it would please you, though I understand if that would be too much for you.”
She grunted. “Oh, I’ve drawn naked men before.”
He glared. “Who?”
She told him about her sister’s clients and ended it with, “But none of them have ever looked like you.” She waited for him to be disgusted.
Instead, once his boots were off, he walked over to her to her and boldly leaned over to take one of her nipples into her mouth, causing a new wave of sweltering heat to hit her. “Clothes. Off.”
She quickly did as she was told, taking off her dress and, only after another hesitation, her chemise and drawers. She took care to hang her clothes over a chair, the old habit showing itself even when her flesh ached with arousal. Her stockings and shoes followed and then she turned to meet Rollo’s eyes... and then lower to find that he’d undressed as well. He was glorious, a painter’s dream. She could picture the number of women who would currently envy her then pushed the thought of other women aside. Florence watched him as he looked her over and smiled at his appreciation.
“Come here.”
She walked over to where he stood and he took her mouth once more, but this time when their bodies touched there was no barrier. His cock rubbed against her belly, giving off a heat of its very own while his well-toned chest made her nipples impossibly tight.
Florence’s Stupendous Spinster’s Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 19