He wandered about the room in a desultory fashion before throwing himself full-length on to a damask chaise longue. He raised his unseeing eyes to the ceiling and sighed heavily. What he needed was a wealthy patron, some old duke with money to burn and an interest in decent art. And that, he decided, was as likely as England’s dear Queen casting off her widow’s weeds and dancing down the Mall.
Hell, he would have to start working harder. He’d already lost two lucrative commissions this summer. Some accused him of idleness, but it wasn’t that. Or if it was, he mused, it was brought about by his talent and imagination, two things utterly wasted on the commercial market. He tugged at the string which kept his chestnut locks from falling about his shoulders and shook free the loose curls.
Pushing himself up from the chaise, he crossed to
where the oiled paper closed him off from the outside world. Impatiently he tore down several sheets, squinting as brilliant sunlight flooded the room behind him.
He opened the tall casement window and stepped out on to the wrought-iron balcony. For a moment the blare of a ship’s horn cut through the clangs and shouts from the wharf. Gabriel leant his bare forearms on the warm metal railings and noticed, with a nagging sense of guilt, his exposed skin. He was bronzed, a sure sign he was spending too few hours at his easel and too many here, gazing idly at the bustle of the Embankment.
No, he decided, it wasn’t a patron he needed, but someone truly inspirational to paint, someone like the new girl on Cheyne Walk. Yes, that would bring the passion back to his art. If ever there was an Attic beauty, then it was her. She was fit to adorn a Grecian coin. Oh, how his fancy would roam with a woman such as her sitting for him. All the other stuff, the oils and watercolours that kept the roof over his head, would be a breeze. Fuelled by the love of just one painting, he could be ruthlessly industrious with the others. He would rise early, work until twilight rendered it impossible, and –
There she was again, hair black and glossy as a pool of Indian ink. Damn it, who was she? Turn this way, willed Gabriel. Look at me. But she didn’t. She glided down the steps to an awaiting brougham, its door held open by a footman in silver-blue livery. Then, with the merest lift of her skirts and a dip of her head, she stepped into the carriage and out of view.
Gabriel sighed. He ought to make some discreet enquiries and find out who she was. Perhaps she could be persuaded to sit for him. He would paint her as – what? Helen of Troy? Or Cleopatra – on a barge like a burnished throne, surrounded by purples and gold. No, he would paint her as herself. But it wouldn’t be a stiff smiling portrait for the drawing room. It would be a work utterly free of society’s trappings.
There would be no pins in her hair or her gown. Her
dark locks would tumble freely about her shoulders and she would be simply attired, in a length of gossamer-fine chiffon. He envisaged the wispy fabric draped about her reclining body, offering filmy glimpses of her nudity beneath. He would use pastels to capture the subtle nuances of shade, to hint at a shell-pink nipple and at the darkness cloaking her sex.
A surge of arousal clutched at his loins and in his mind he stripped his model of her chiffon folds. He imagined running his hands over her smooth creamy flesh and kissing her full, rose lips. His cock lifted with a rushing pulse of blood and thickened to hardness. What colour were her eyes? he wondered. How would she look when ecstasy seized her?
For several minutes he stood there, the sun warming his skin, lulling him into fantasies both lustful and romantic. Then a smart rap at the studio door broke violently into his thoughts.
‘Hell’s teeth,’ he spat, stalking angrily into the room. Hadn’t he told his staff often enough never, ever to interrupt him in such a manner? Not when he was working. Christ, that could have been a streak of cobalt across some peach-toned cheek.
The door swung open and Lucy, smiling widely, breezed into the studio, pompadour heels clacking on the oakwood floor.
‘Good morning,’ she said buoyantly. ‘I trust I find you well. Delightful weather, is it not?’
Gabriel’s exasperated valet appeared in the doorway, spilling profuse apologies and flashing angry looks at Lucy. Dismissing his servant with a flick of the hand, Gabriel rounded on her.
‘What the devil do you think you’re playing at?’ he exclaimed. ‘No one, but
no one
, interrupts me when I’m working.’
‘Oh, such charming hospitality,’ she rebuked gaily, peering into the chimney-piece mirror. ‘Such impeccable manners.’ She brushed an invisible speck from the tip of
her nose and adjusted her frivolous little hat. ‘Anyway, you weren’t working. You rarely are, Gabriel. And don’t even attempt to deny it. I saw you from the street. Besides, the reason for my visit is a matter of some urgency.’
Gabriel exhaled sharply, his anger waning to mere irritation. For Lucy the slightest thing became a matter of some urgency if it so happened to be uppermost in her mind. She was either acting upon a whim, he thought, or she was scheming. The suspicion formed in his mind that it was more likely to be the latter.
‘I’m inviting you to dinner,’ she continued, turning to him brightly. ‘Along with the de Laceys, James Cargill, his two ravishing sisters, Captain Dennett and perhaps –’
‘Why, Lucy?’ he asked coolly. ‘You’ve never invited me to dine before. Would I be correct in assuming you intend me to neighbour someone at the table? Surely not yourself? No, a ridiculous notion. Perhaps then some whey-faced miss, new in town and in need of a guiding hand.’
The flicker of annoyance on Lucy’s face suggested he was quite close to the mark. ‘How quick you are,’ she said, a note of petulance in her voice. ‘It’s actually a dear cousin of mine. She’s uncommonly handsome. Why, everyone says so, and very respectable too. It would make quite a change for you, Gabriel.’
Gabriel laughed derisively. ‘Respectable? I take that to mean a simpering little virgin. Out of the question, I’m afraid. I work hard enough for my pleasures as it is.’ He gestured contemptuously towards his easel. ‘Do you really think I could be bothered to do the same in my leisure hours?’
Lucy sidled over to him and ran the flat of a hand down his loose cambric shirt. She gazed beseechingly into his brown eyes as her fingers trailed further down his body.
‘Come to dinner,’ she implored, cupping his groin and rubbing gently. ‘Please.’
Gabriel’s phallus, only recently stirred by his thoughts of the raven-haired girl, responded quickly to her touch. His shaft twitched and swelled and he pressed himself against Lucy’s palm. She murmured her approval of his burgeoning erection and Gabriel, noting the gleeful spark in her eyes, smiled to himself. No doubt she was working on her principle that a man’s mind is ruled by his prick. Well, if she wanted to play that game, he was happy to oblige. The pleasures Lucy afforded him were often welcome.
‘I would need an awful lot of persuasion,’ he said in a low, suggestive tone.
‘Would you indeed,’ she purred, raising her mouth to his.
Their tongues entwined and she pressed her yielding bosom to his lean, muscular chest. Rubbing herself against him, she planted a series of flirtatious kisses on his neck.
‘Do you have an engagement Tuesday next?’ she enquired. ‘If not, then I could arrange dinner.’ She moulded the broadcloth of his trousers to the hard, straining ridge and stroked along its length.
‘Try a little harder, Lucy,’ he mocked. ‘It’s going to take a deal more than your fingers playing about my crotch to persuade me.’
‘Oh, but I intend more,’ murmured Lucy. She dropped to her knees and nuzzled against his imprisoned cock. ‘Much more.’ Her delicate fingers worked on his fly then pushed beyond to unbutton his drawers. ‘Let me pleasure you, Gabriel. In return, I ask no favours, only a promise from you to dine at my house. Soon.’
Gabriel was silent, relishing the coolness of the hand which slipped into the vent of his garments. Lucy released him, her small fingers curling around the veined column of his prick. The smooth, silky skin moved beneath her caress and her breath wafted, soft
and warm, over the rosy head. A droplet of clear liquid seeped from the tiny eye and hung there, glistening.
His stiffened penis jerked eagerly, seeking out the promise offered by Lucy’s parted lips. Gently, she licked away the shimmering bead of his desire. She teased the glossy acorn tip, skimming its wrinkled collar and fretting the fine membrane beneath. Then the warm, moist cavern of her mouth enveloped him.
Gabriel moaned faintly. His glans nudged deep as, with steady luxury, her lips moved wetly along his engorged staff. Her tongue lashed and an exploring hand reached into his loosened clothes. She hammocked the tight, wrinkled purse of his balls and stroked the pad of flesh behind with teasing fingers.
A rush of sensation filled Gabriel’s cock and he closed his eyes. Unbidden, an image came into his mind of the Embankment girl kneeling before him. For a brief moment the fluttering lips, sucking him closer to his peak, were hers. Tension quivered in his thighs and a guttural rasp sounded in his throat.
At once, Lucy withdrew. She made a tourniquet with her fingers and thumb, and squeezed back his climax.
‘Damn it,’ cursed Gabriel through gritted teeth. His thoughts had wandered, allowing him to forget the truth of his situation. He wasn’t being pleasured at all; he was being bargained with.
‘Well?’ asked Lucy sweetly. ‘Do I hear you accepting the invitation?’
Gabriel gave no answer. His cock throbbed with insistent pressure and he craved fulfilment, but he was loath to yield so easily. If Lucy was so desirous of his company, then she would have to work a little harder to secure it.
‘It’s only dinner,’ she chided, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. ‘And perhaps a touch of light flirtation. Nothing you’re unaccustomed to.’
‘I’m unaccustomed to virgins,’ he retorted, but his voice lacked the determined note of earlier.
‘So,’ began Lucy, her tongue flicking over the flushed head of his penis, ‘you are to refuse my kind offer?’ She circled her fingers about his thick root. ‘Such a pity,’ she murmured. ‘Such a beautiful young woman, with so much to learn.’
Then, once again, the liquid heat of her mouth engulfed him. With a practised caress, she sucked him quickly back to the border of his crisis. Gabriel felt his semen rising, clamouring to be unleashed. Then he felt the shock of cool, empty air on his straining length.
‘Curse you,’ he hissed, clutching at Lucy’s thick golden curls. His penis, painfully hard with thwarted desire, butted at the closure of her lips. He would have his satisfaction. ‘Dinner would be delightful,’ he snapped, then he was driving urgently into her pliant, open mouth. He crushed her head into his loins, his hips pumping furiously.
He gasped as the liquor of his release coursed along his shaft and, with a triumphant snarl, he spent his pleasure. His seed jetted over Lucy’s searching tongue and she drank deeply.
Gabriel sighed in a long breath and placed his massaging hands on her shoulders. ‘If you could teach your cousin such tricks,’ he said, ‘then perhaps this business would hold a little more appeal.’
Lucy drew back and smiled. ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll be a much better tutor,’ she replied.
‘Dinner,’ he said firmly. ‘That was my promise. Nothing more.’
Lucy shrugged and rose to her feet. ‘There really isn’t much more,’ she said, brushing at her skirt. ‘But, once you meet her, I’m quite certain you’ll want more. A lot more.’
Gabriel grunted his doubtfulness and buttoned up his flies.
‘There is one small thing though,’ continued Lucy, her voice hesitant and unsure. ‘If you should take it upon yourself to try and woo her, please tread carefully. It’s
really her mind – rather than her legs – I want you to open. Well, not quite, but –’ She paused and looked at him, guilty and awkward.
With a measured gaze, Gabriel watched her toying with her wedding ring. ‘I’m intrigued,’ he said flatly. ‘You, a woman quite adept at lies and deception, are plainly hiding something. What is it?’
Lucy inhaled deeply. ‘Well,’ she began, clasping her hands before her, ‘my cousin is shortly to be married and –’
‘And she must go virgin to the altar?’ he interrupted. ‘I see no problem there, particularly since I’ve agreed only to dinner. Who’s the lucky groom? Anyone we know?’
Lucy cleared her throat and smiled weakly. ‘Lord Marldon,’ she said.
Incredulous, Gabriel stared at her. But, before he could utter a sound, Lucy silenced him with an outpouring of desperate persuasion. ‘But it need not be a problem. Marldon has yet to arrive. Why, he won’t visit London for several weeks. No one will know of it, I give you my word. You could –’
‘You expect me,’ said Gabriel crisply, ‘to attend your dinner? With a view to romancing Marldon’s bride-to-be? You must take me for a fool, Lucy.’ He walked away and tugged on the bell-rope. ‘Would you care for some tea? It might help restore your sanity.’
‘Please listen, Gabriel,’ she protested.
‘Absolutely not,’ he said curtly. ‘Not dinner, not dominoes. Not anything.’
‘But you made a promise,’ she whined, plaintively wringing her hands.
‘And I’ve just broken it,’ he replied. ‘Rather that than my neck.’
Lucy’s drawing room was furnished with an abundance of little tables, tasselled footstools and trailing ferns. Nearly every surface was draped in sumptuous, glowing
fabrics, and the walls, papered in delicate florals, were covered with paintings and photographs. There were far too many to count. Clarissa knew; she’d tried.
She sat on the plumply stuffed chesterfield, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Mrs Singleton wouldn’t be long, the maid had said. And she’d expressly asked that, if a Miss Longleigh were ever to call, refreshments should be served until her return. Unless of course, Miss Longleigh had a pressing engagement.
Clarissa had no such thing. Oh, Lady So-and-So was holding an at-home, and Mrs Barchester was receiving guests between the hours of two and four, but neither prospect appealed. Clarissa would far rather sit alone, waiting for Lucy.