Tempted at Every Turn (18 page)

He had spoken to her father, telling him what, she was unsure. Now she would have to answer to her family as to why she had declined the only marriage offer she’d received in nine years. Not to mention gone back on a promise to her mother.

Perhaps if she said nothing they would simply believe he’d never asked. She’d rather have them believe she’d done something to prevent him from asking her than for them to know she’d passed up a perfectly good and honorable proposal.

T
he first two women had not proved exactly helpful. While both admitted to sitting for the nude portraits, neither had men in their lives who knew of the images, and since in both cases they’d been taken years before, it seemed unlikely it would have caused someone to murder Drummond.

James and Willow waited in the parlor of the last woman. As they waited for Jane, Willow contemplated her new position and similarities to the lady in question. No, she hadn’t received the number of proposals that Charlotte or Jane had, but Willow couldn’t help but wonder if any of their proposals had been inspired by a sense of honor. She felt certain that Charlotte had not been compromised, but Jane had not been entirely discreet with her affairs.

Most discounted it to her eccentric nature, although it was Willow’s experience that the woman
wasn’t particularly eccentric. She was bold and not shy, but that was not eccentric. Truth be told, she made other women nervous, and that was why people spoke unkindly about her. No one in London could understand why a woman would decline a perfectly decent marriage proposal, let alone more than one. It would be one thing if she’d been waiting for love, but that didn’t appear to be the case.

No, it seemed as if Jane simply wanted to dally with whomever, whenever she chose, and she had plenty of money to ensure her security, so she never saw fit to saddle herself with an unwanted husband.

The woman stepped into the room and Willow smiled.

“Wilhelmina,” Jane said with warmth in her voice. “What a lovely surprise. I did not realize you were accompanying the inspector.”

Willow admitted she was surprised herself that Jane not only remembered her, but remembered her name. “Miss Portfield, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Miss Mabson is assisting me with taking notes,” James provided.

“Well, do sit. What is all this rigmarole about?” Jane asked.

“We’re investigating the murder of Malcolm Drummond,” James said.

“And you want to know about my connection with him,” Jane filled in without being asked a question.

Willow watched the tall woman take a seat, then straighten her skirts. She wasn’t exactly a beauty, although her features were striking. With her lithe body, pale blond hair and ice-blue eyes, she was exotic, and men found her irresistible. Willow looked to see if James had fallen prey to her spell, but he seemed unaffected.

“We were friends, I suppose,” Jane said.

“Only friends?” James asked.

Jane gave him a sly smile “I knew him for many years and had sat for many photographs. I never took him for a lover, if that’s what you’re implying.” She eyed Willow. “Is this too much for you, dear? I don’t want my frank discussion to offend you.”

Willow swallowed. “No, I’m all right, thank you.”

Jane nodded. “Yes, well, we were never lovers, not because I chose not to be, you understand. I was certainly willing. He was a charming, handsome man who certainly knew how to be gentle with a lady. But I believe he was already involved. Or perhaps he preferred bedmates of the less feminine variety.” Her eyes narrowed a bit. “I never could precisely decipher which. Of course I had my suspicions.”

“We have reason to believe he was involved with another woman,” James said.

“Ah,” Jane said. “Well, that certainly seems right. So I suppose you want to know about specific photographs. The nudes,” she said, her tone so casual it was as if she’d simply offered them a spot of tea, while the other women they’d questioned today had required considerable coaxing.

James didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, what can you tell us about those? Did he approach you?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I’m trying to remember precisely when, but it has been a while.” She waved a hand in front of her, her fingers long and graceful. “In any case, he discussed the prospect with me. Told me that they were fetching quite a handsome sum in some groups and that he thought I would be perfect for it. It seemed harmless enough.” She shrugged.

“So he sold your photographs to someone?” James asked. “That means there must have been more than one.”

“Unless you found the rest in his belongings, I suppose he did sell them. I never asked. He offered to give me a cut of the money, but he needed it more than I.” A sly smile slid into place. “I’ve often wondered who purchased them and what they must think of me. I don’t suppose it would be anything that hadn’t already been said about me.”

Willow eyed Jane with wonder. She couldn’t
have been more than ten years her senior, but she carried herself in such a way—with such confidence—that she seemed older, worldly.

“Might I ask a question?” Willow asked.

James eyed her but said nothing.

“Certainly,” Jane said.

“What made you agree to it? Why would you pose for such a picture without your clothes?” Then she swallowed. “Pardon my presumption.”

“Not at all, my dear,” she said as if she were old enough to be Willow’s mother. “It’s an excellent question. I’m not certain why I said yes that day, but after that first experience I knew I would agree to it again. It was the most liberating experience of my life.” She crossed one leg over the other. “I’ve never been one to conform to convention, but even this was exceedingly bold for me. It wasn’t so much being disrobed in front of him, a man who was not my lover, but more the unknown men who would see my image. It was exciting and exhilarating and powerful.”

Willow let Jane’s words fumble through her brain, and try as she might, none of them resonated. Was there something wrong with her? Something wrong with not wanting to be that liberated and not wanting unknown men to see her without her clothes?

“Do you have any idea of who might want to kill Mr. Drummond?” James asked.

“No, I really don’t. He was an amiable fellow and everyone seemed to like him. Perhaps I wasn’t the only woman, however, who would have welcomed an affair, only to be turned down. Pride is a fierce thing sometimes,” she added.

James stood abruptly. “Thank you for your time. We appreciate your candor.”

“Why did you ask her that question?” James asked Willow once they’d returned to the carriage.

She released a deep breath and looked out the window, but said nothing for a long while. Then she shook her head and met his gaze. “I simply can’t comprehend it. I wanted to hear it from one of their mouths, why they would do such a thing. I’m not so prudish that I believe a woman should never be without clothing or that her husband should not be allowed to see her disrobed. But to intentionally pose for such a photograph that men you do not know will see.” She frowned. “And a well-bred lady at that. I simply do not understand the desire.”

“She said it was liberating,” he reminded her.

“Yes, I heard her. A little too liberating if you ask me. There is no need for such a thing.”

“She is comfortable with her body,” he said.

“And I am not. I realize that,” she snapped.

“I wasn’t implying—”

“You don’t need to imply anything, I can deci
pher all of this on my own.” She sat back against the seat cushion and pressed her arms across her chest. “I have no such desires,” she blurted out. “Does that mean something is wrong with me?”

He was unsure if she wanted him to actually answer her. “Willow,” he said.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m different. I realize that now.”

“You’re ashamed,” he said, not even fully realizing he’d spoken aloud.

Her eyes widened and her face went white. “Ashamed,” she whispered.

“Ashamed of your body,” he said. He moved to sit next to her. “Do you know how many women in London would kill to have a body like yours?”

She still said nothing.

He pried her arms off of her chest and just looked at her. “You are so beautiful, Willow.”

Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “No,” she mouthed, but no sound came out.

“Yes, you are. You can’t argue with me on this one. I’ve seen more women in my lifetime than you have. I’m an excellent judge of beauty.” He traced a finger down her cheek and her eyes closed. She leaned into his touch as if she were starving for it.

His chest tightened and so did his groin.
His woman
. It was a thought he’d had on more than
one occasion and he always shoved it out of his mind. He did not need a woman. Especially one as particular as Willow.

But when it came down to it, he recognized that after knowing her, every other woman in the world would seem lacking.

He cupped her face and bent in for a kiss. He didn’t press his lips to hers, but moved his lips first to her right eyelid and then her left and then her forehead, down to the bridge of her nose and over to each cheek. Finally he pressed his mouth to hers.

It took little coaxing on his part to induce a response from her. Her hands wrapped around his neck and her fingers parted through his hair. Her touch was water to a thirsty man.

Their tongues molded and blended until it was difficult to tell where he began and she ended. The skin on her neck, where he gently stroked, was petal soft. He knew the rest of her was just as soft. He could close his eyes and see every inch of her flesh. Creamy and pale, except for the rosy peaks of her breasts. Desire surged through him. He deepened the kiss and she moaned into his mouth. Never had he wanted a woman the way he wanted Willow. It was indescribable, inexplicable, and terrifying.

Had the carriage not stopped when it did, he might have been able to make love to her again.
He held her close to his chest for a moment, both of them just breathing.

“Can we go to your townhome?” she asked.

He tapped the roof of the carriage, then went back to kissing her. He wanted to take her here, in the carriage, but thought better of it. This time they would share his bed. This time he would take his time. His mouth moved over hers, their tongues intertwined.

She was squirming on his lap, and her hands were tangled in his hair. He kept his mouth on hers, knowing full well she could come to her senses any moment and demand to be returned home.

And had he not been convinced that he could persuade her to marry him, he would have stopped it himself. He would not continue to take liberties with her if he knew she would never marry him. There was too much at stake. But she would agree. Eventually she would.

Finally they rolled to a stop and she looked dazed as she leaned back from him. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question and she nodded.

He helped her down and hurried up to his front stoop, pulling her gently behind him. His butler opened the door and he marched straight past him and up the stairs to the second floor. With his toe, he nudged his bedchamber door open then kicked it closed behind him.

Gently, he led her to the bed and shrugged out of his jacket. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. She said nothing nor moved, but simply sat on the edge of his bed watching his every move. Before he completed undressing himself, he stood her up and turned her to begin unfastening her buttons.

His fingers moved quickly and before long they stood before each other nude.

“You would look stunning on one of those photographs. Your luscious body frozen in time. But I would hate for you to pose for such an image, as I could not bear it were I to know that another man had seen you this way.”

“Only you have seen me,” she whispered.

“I know.” And he intended to keep it that way.

He laid her on the bed and crawled in next to her. Her hand smoothed the material beneath her—back and forth it rubbed. For once he was pleased he’d accepted the exotic bedcovers from his parents after their visit to India.

“I want you to know how beautiful you are,” he said, leaning over her.

She shook her head.

“Yes, Willow.”

“It’s enough that you believe I am,” she said.

“It’s not enough for me. Give me your hand.”

Reluctantly she slid her hand into his. Then he placed it on her opposite shoulder so that her
hand covered her own flesh and his hand covered hers.

“Close your eyes, Willow.”

She met his glance and held it for a moment before complying.

“Now, I want you to listen to my voice and just feel.”

She nodded.

“You have the sexiest shoulders; they are so feminine and alluring. The first night I saw them, at the masque ball, I knew I would have to have you.”

From there, they moved down to her left breast. With his hand he squeezed hers kneading her breast. Her breath caught. “You have perfect breasts,” he said. He continued his attention to her breast, and then he moved their hands down her abdomen to settle at her waist. “Your skin is flawless, so soft. It is the skin men long to touch and women desire to have.”

Her lips parted and her breathing tightened and was now coming in shorter spurts.

He slid their hands down to her rounded hips. “The way your hips flare, it’s enough to drive me wild. Everything about your body declares you are a woman. Especially this,” he said as he trailed their hands to the patch of hair between her legs.

She gasped.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Willow?”

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

“What if I told you that I found it very enticing to watch your own hand move across your flesh?”

Her eyes popped open. “I—”

“Trust me,” he interrupted. “I’ll be right here with you.” He pushed their fingers so that they parted through her crisp curls. “Do you feel that?”

She twitched beneath the touch, then nodded.

“Relax, love.” With a slow and wide circle, he moved their fingers to rub against her hidden nub. He leaned close and feathered kisses against her cheek and then her ear. “I want you,” he whispered.

She released a satisfied sigh.

He continued moving their fingers in a circular motion until she began to move beneath their hands. She was getting close. He leaned over and covered her breast with his mouth. The nipple hardened against his tongue and he moaned from the feel of it.

This would only work if he could keep himself together, keep himself controlled. He continued to suckle her breast and move their hands, and her body fidgeted against the bed. Her breathing was short and light and interspersed with small moans of pleasure.