Bound by a Scandalous Secret (The Scandalous Summerfields)

by Diane Gaston

  Genna burst into the light-filled room. ‘Look who I have brought with me!’

  Vespery put down his brush. ‘Lord Rossdale. Good to see you,’ he said, a bit stilted.

  ‘Ross will be able to stay the afternoon, too,’ Genna added. ‘Is that not grand?’

  Ross nodded to the artist and placed his hat and gloves on a table by the door. ‘It seems I am to be Miss Summerfield’s next model.’

  He helped her off with her redingote.

  ‘I can hardly wait to get started.’ She glanced around the room. ‘Do we have a canvas already stretched that I can use?’

  Vespery pointed to several stacked against the wall. ‘Pick whatever size you wish.’

  He gave Ross a conspiratorial look while she selected her canvas and carried it to her easel.

  ‘Ross knows of your kind offer, Mr Vespery,’ she said.

  Vespery jumped and his voice turned high. ‘He does?’

  She gestured for Ross to sit in the chair in the corner. ‘I told Ross today.’

  Genna looked at home in the studio, comfortable around the canvases and paints. More so, she looked relaxed and happy. He had no doubt she would ultimately be as big a success as Vespery himself, but, in the meantime, he would watch and make certain she wanted for nothing.

  She positioned him, stepped back and surveyed him, then positioned him again. ‘You must remember to sit this way tomorrow, too,’ she said. ‘You can come tomorrow, can you not?’

  ‘I had planned one of those outings for tomorrow,’ he said, trying to remain still.

  ‘The next day, then.’

  Vespery spoke up from his side of the room. ‘As of tomorrow I will not be here. I will be away for a week on a commission out of town.’

  ‘But we can come in, can we not?’ she asked. ‘Mrs Shaw can let us in.’

  ‘Mrs Shaw will be away, too,’ Vespery said. ‘She will be visiting her sister.’

  ‘Then might we have a key?’ Genna pressed. ‘If I am to be your assistant, surely you would trust me with a key.’

  Vespery shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

  She ran over and gave him a hug. ‘Thank you!’

  The clock Vespery kept in the room chimed two o’clock.

  ‘Two o’clock?’ the artist said. ‘I must be off. I am delivering the portraits to your father and the Duchess.’

  ‘Would you prefer I take them?’ Ross asked, though it would necessitate explaining to them why he’d been at Vespery’s studio.

  Vespery hurriedly cleaned his brushes. ‘No. The Duchess will want me to bring them. I must ensure they are acceptable.’ He wiped his hands and bid them good day.

  Ross attempted to remain still.

  ‘It has been a long time since you and I were alone together,’ Genna remarked.

  ‘Since the ball.’ He remembered that moment. He’d kissed her.

  And then everything changed.

  She paused, brush in the air, and gazed at him. ‘I liked being alone with you that night,’ she murmured.

  ‘As did I,’ he responded.

  She met his gaze.

  It was a good thing he needed to remain in the chair, in that pose. Otherwise he might have crossed the room and kissed her again. God knew he wished to do so.

  She turned back to her painting, making quick big strokes with the brush. Soon he could tell she was lost in the work, the concentration on her face enhancing her beauty. The pose he needed to keep gave him a great advantage. He needed to look in her direction. He could indulge in watching her all he liked.

  * * *

  The next day Ross picked up Genna earlier than the usual time. They would have nearly the whole day together, plenty of time for what he had planned for her.

  When she sat next to him in his curricle, she smiled happily. ‘It has been so long since we’ve had an outing. I cannot imagine where you are taking me.’

  He felt happy, too, happier than he’d been since his father took ill. A whole day together, a day she was bound to enjoy. He turned on to Audley Street, heading north to turn right on Oxford Street.

  As they left Mayfair, Genna looked around at everything. ‘I have never been in this part of town,’ she said, commenting on whatever caught her eye.

  When they reached the end of Oxford Street, she asked, ‘What part of town are we in now?’

  ‘Bloomsbury.’ He hated to give her too many hints.

  ‘Oh.’ She turned silent.

  He pulled up to their destination, what once was the mansion of a wealthy duke who sold it to the British government when the Bloomsbury neighbourhood was no longer the fashionable place to live. The mansion had a large expanse of garden in the front so it took some time for the curricle to reach the doorway.

  Genna finally spoke. ‘I know where we are. I’ve seen this building in books. This is Montagu House, is it not?’

  ‘That it is.’

  Ross’s tiger jumped off to hold the horses. Ross climbed down and turned to assist Genna.

  ‘You’ve brought me to see the exhibits of the British Museum!’ she cried in delight.

  He held her by her waist as he helped her down. ‘Even better,’ he said.

  She landed on her feet, but he did not immediately let go of her. She tipped her head up and looked directly in his eyes. Her eyes darkened and she leaned a little closer.

  He released her then, before he forgot they were in a public place.

  She took a breath and recovered her composure. ‘What could be better than the British Museum?’

  He knew this would please her. ‘We will see the Elgin Marbles.’

  Her eyes grew wide. ‘Truly?’

  He offered his arm. ‘Truly.’

  * * *

  Genna’s excitement grew as they approached the door of the museum. Ross knocked as if visiting someone’s residence.

  ‘The museum is closed?’ Genna asked.

  ‘Not to us,’ he responded.

  Obviously he had gone to some effort for this outing. For her.

  The door was answered by a well-dressed gentleman. His brows rose. ‘Lord Rossdale?’

  Ross nodded. ‘Mr Hutton, I presume.’

  ‘Welcome to the British Museum.’ Mr Hutton swept his arm in an arc and stepped aside for them to enter.

  Ross turned to Genna. ‘Miss Summerfield, may I present Mr Hutton, who has made this excursion possible.’

  ‘My pleasure, Miss Summerfield.’ Mr Hutton bowed.

  ‘I am so grateful to you, sir.’ And to Ross for making this possible.

  Mr Hutton looked apologetic. ‘You do understand you will not be able to tour the entire museum at this time. Let me escort you to the courtyard.’

  They walked by a grand staircase and Genna spied huge giraffes at the top of the stairs, appearing as they might have been when alive. Other curiosities could be glimpsed as they made their way to the back of the mansion and out the door to the courtyard. Mr Hutton then led them to a huge wooden shed, which he unlocked, and opened the doors, filling the space inside with light.

  ‘I will return in an hour,’ Mr Hutton said. ‘Obviously you may not move any of the sculptures, but I doubt you could. They are quite marvellous. I think you will agree.’

  He left them in the doorway.

  Huge slabs of marble lined the sides of the shed. Scattered around were ghostly figures. Headless. Armless. Standing. Reclining.

  Genna stepped inside reverently. ‘Oh, Ross!’

  She walked along the perimeter gazing at the long slabs of marble that used to decorate the frieze of the Parthenon. The sculpted figures depicted all sorts of figures: men on horseback, on foot or racing chariots, women carrying items—for sacrifice to the gods, perhaps? Everything seemed in motion. Rearing ho
rses, figures interacting, no two the same.

  ‘It must tell a story,’ Genna said. ‘I wish I knew what it was.’ She dared to touch the sculpture, almost surprised the figures were not as warm as flesh they were so realistic.

  ‘Here is a Centaur fighting a Lapith,’ he said.

  It was one segment, not a part of the long procession of figures that had been part of the frieze. Had there been more Centaurs? Did they tell a different story?

  ‘Lord Tinmore criticises Elgin for removing these sculptures from the Parthenon,’ Genna said. ‘He likens it to theft.’

  ‘I have heard that sentiment,’ Ross responded. ‘I have also heard Lord Elgin praised for saving the marbles. Apparently the Parthenon was a ruin and local builders thought nothing of using its sculptures as building blocks in their own buildings, some of which were ground down for cement.’

  Genna shook her head. ‘Can you imagine these magnificent carvings ground down into nothing? It would be an abomination!’

  She walked the length of a section of the frieze. Many of the men were naked, some riding horses, some on foot. Genna was not such a green girl that she’d never seen a naked man before, although her knowledge of such was confined to seeing other statuary or spying her brother, a boy then, swimming naked. These figures, though, were all well-formed, muscular, powerful beings.

  She glanced at Ross, who was examining one of the pieces. His shoulders were broad, like the Greek figures on the marbles, his legs well formed. She remembered the feel of his body pressing against hers when he’d kissed her the night of the ball. His muscles were as firm as marble.

  Her skin flashed with heat.

  She resisted the impulse to fan herself and turned away to examine the other marbles. One was a horse’s head from what must have been a huge statue. She ran her hand down the horse’s forehead to its muzzle, but it only made her wonder what it would be like to run her hand over Ross’s skin.

  She walked further away from him, over to three headless statues, all women attired in lavishly draped cloth. For all three, it was easy to see the bodies underneath, as evident as if they were real.

  Then she came to a naked reclining male, exuding raw masculine strength.

  Like Ross.

  ‘Here is another Centaur,’ called Ross from across the room.

  She crossed the shed to him and her insides fluttered at being so near. She forced herself to gaze at the marble.

  A mistake.

  The Lapith in this fragment had the better of the Centaur, even though the Lapith’s head and feet were missing. His body, though, splayed across the marble, displayed the muscles of his abdomen, his ribs, his masculine parts.

  Her cheeks burned, not from embarrassment, but from a sudden desire to see Ross without his clothes, to again experience the warmth of his mouth against hers. She wanted to experience that kiss again. And more.

  Sensible, independent Genna wanted a man’s kiss—no, not a man’s kiss—Ross’s kiss. Ross’s lovemaking.

  She finally understood. The sensations she experienced in Ross’s presence were carnal ones. She desired him, the way her mother had desired many men.

  Was she like her mother? She must be. Like her mother, she felt willing to abandon all propriety to make carnal love with a man. With Ross. At this moment she desired Ross more than anything. More than respectability.

  More than…art.

  Why not? She had no intention of living a conventional life. Artists were allowed their passions, were they not?

  Ross jarred her from her thoughts. ‘I seem to remember a legend about Centaurs fighting Lapiths. Something we read in school.’

  She turned to him, her whole body vibrating with wanting him. ‘Did you read Greek?’

  He groaned. ‘Not well, but it was part of my studies.’

  She crossed her arms around herself and forced herself to sound unaffected by desire. ‘This is likely as close as I may get to studying a man’s body. Vespery told me that the Royal Academy barred women from the classes with naked models.’

  ‘You would want to take such a class?’ He sounded surprised.

  ‘Yes. I would.’ She turned to him. ‘I would like to study a man’s naked body—’ Ross’s body. ‘Does that shock you?’

  His gaze seemed to smoulder. ‘Nothing about you shocks me, Genna.’

  * * *

  Did she know she was arousing him? Ross wondered. Something was different.

  A change had come over her, a change that made him think of how it would be to touch her naked skin, how it would feel to kiss her again. To make love to her.

  He became more aware of her hint-of-jasmine scent, more aware of how she moved, of how her eyes slanted up when she smiled.

  Good God. Was he going to be able to keep his hands off her?

  She gazed up at him and he caught her chin between his finger and thumb. He tilted her face so he was looking straight down at her.

  ‘Genna,’ he murmured.

  She rose on tiptoe, bringing her face just a little closer.

  No. Not again. Not here. He released her and stepped away.

  Mr Hutton appeared at the door of the shed. ‘I fear it is time, my lord, miss.’

  Genna turned towards him. ‘I am ready.’

  They walked through Montagu House again and out the front door where Jem waited with the curricle, just as Ross had arranged.

  ‘Where are we bound now?’ Genna asked when they started off again.

  ‘To Vespery’s, if you like.’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I would very much like that, if you are able to stay with me.’ She paused. ‘For the portrait, I mean.’

  He also paused before responding. ‘Yes. I am able to stay.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ross and Genna entered Vespery’s studio, which, Genna was acutely aware, they had all to themselves. She put on her smock and uncovered her palette. Ross sat in the chair and assumed the pose she’d placed him in before. They said little while she painted. She felt his eyes on her, though, and it made her hand tremble.

  * * *

  ‘I have another outing planned for you,’ he told her after an hour had passed. ‘Are you able to make a morning call with me tomorrow?’

  ‘A morning call?’ Her brows rose. ‘To visit someone?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Am I to know to whom?’ she asked, knowing he would not tell her, that he delighted in surprising her.

  ‘No.’ He smiled. She loved how his smile reached his eyes.

  She turned back to her canvas. ‘What time?’

  ‘Eleven o’clock.’

  She kept painting. ‘Nothing grander than the Elgin Marbles, I am sure. Nothing could be.’

  ‘Different’ was all he said.

  The marbles had been so magnificent, so detailed, so beautiful and real. If only she could bring those elements to her painting. Her portrait of Ross was flat. The statues gave the sensation of skin under drapes of clothing. Or muscles and veins under skin. Surely there was a way to convey the same impression in paint.

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the naked statues.

  It was not the same, though.

  ‘Ross, unfold your arms’ Maybe if he stood differently, she could see differently.

  He unfolded his arm, stretching them as if to get the stiffness out.

  Still they were covered with cloth—his coat, his waistcoat, his shirt.

  She stepped away from the canvas and walked over to examine one of Vespery’s nearly completed portraits set on his easel.

  ‘What is amiss?’ Ross asked her.

  ‘Mine is too flat.’ She pointed to Vespery’s. ‘See? His gentleman has shape to him. A sense of his physique.’ She put her hands on her h
ips and stared at Vespery’s painting. ‘I begin to understand why artists take classes with naked models. For that sense of the body under the clothes.’

  He gave a dry laugh. ‘Do not tell me you wish me to take off my clothes.’

  She turned to him. ‘Would you? It would help so very much.’

  ‘Genna, do not jest.’

  She hurried over to him. ‘I am not jesting. I need to know what you look like under your clothes. So—so the portrait is not flat.’

  His return look was very sceptical.

  ‘Please, Ross?’

  ‘Do not be nonsensical,’ he countered. ‘You saw enough naked men in the Elgin Marbles. Think of those.’

  ‘It is not the same. They were ideal images, not real men at all.’ Although she suspected he might also be an ideal.

  She faced him and stood so close she could touch him.

  His eyes darkened as he held her gaze.

  ‘It is for the art,’ she protested. ‘So I can paint a decent portrait of you.’

  His gaze did not waver. ‘You propose we act indecently so you might paint a decent portrait.’

  Her face flushed. ‘What harm would there be? No one would know.’

  Still seated in the chair, he leaned forward. ‘Do you know what I think?’ His voice turned to silk.

  It was difficult to take a breath. ‘What?’

  ‘I think this has nothing to do with art. You just wish to see me naked.’

  Her heart pounded. How dare he say this wasn’t for her art? ‘What if I match you?’

  His brows rose. ‘Match me?’

  She untied her smock. ‘Tit for tat.’

  She pulled it off and tossed it on to the floor.

  * * *

  It was a game. A dare.

  Ross had no doubt at all that Genna wanted to see what a real man looked like beneath his clothes. No doubt she resented that women artists were barred from such experiences. But there was something more there as well, something she did not yet understand.

  She did not know her powers of seduction, how easily she could draw men to her and how easily they could take advantage.

  He ought to teach her. Arm her with that knowledge so she could protect herself when he could no longer be there keeping other gentlemen away.