The Nude (full-length historical romance) (5 page)

She curled icy fingers into a pair of tight fists. Dionysus, whoever that rogue turned out to be, would soon regret the day he sought to ruin her. He would pay for the humiliation he’d served her while hiding like a coward in the night. She hadn’t lied to her uncle. She didn’t know Dionysus’s true identity . . . but she knew someone who might.

A cold wind whipped a stinging rain against her face. She tugged at her cape, pulling the fabric close to her body. Trying to ignore the water soaking through her thinly soled half boots, she marched down the street, head lowered, toward what surely would be considered improper behavior.

She was about to visit a bachelor in his home.

If her reputation were not already in tatters and Lauretta’s heart not already smashed to pieces, she would have never considered such an outrageous course of action.

* * * * *

“What is it now, Graves?” Severin asked his butler who’d appeared once again in the doorway. The baron had spent the afternoon sequestered behind closed doors in his shabby study, working desperately to keep one step ahead of his creditors. The constant patter of rain against the windowpane confirmed that the weather outside continued to be dreadful. For a day when any sane man or woman should be huddling beside a blazing fire, he couldn’t imagine why his study was becoming as busy as a fashionable tearoom.

“There is a woman demanding entrance, my lord,” Graves announced in a tone that made Severin wonder if his butler had recently gotten a whiff of some truly awful scent.

“Send her in,” he said, without glancing up from the piles of ledgers on his desk.

“But-but, my lord,” Graves stammered in a most uncommon manner. “The lady is unescorted. I shall send her away.”

“Send her away?
An unescorted woman?
Graves, I am shocked. You know I have a reputation to keep. By all means send the woman directly up—and be sure the neighborhood witnesses my thoroughly debauched behavior.”

“Very good, my lord,” Graves said flatly.

A few moments later the doors to the study again slid open. Severin set down his pen and waited to see who his mysterious visitor could be. The dowager Lady Buckley had been making bold passes of late and had hinted that she was looking for a new lover. Would she be so brash as to appear on his doorstep in the middle of the day? Her coffers were overflowing and her face still lovely. He could dearly make use of such a combination.

He sat forward in his leather chair and watched as a slender figure, still cloaked, entered the room. A heavy hood shadowed her face. Water dripped from her hem, staining his bright red Axminster rug, a rug he could ill-afford to have ruined.

“Graves!” he shouted. “Graves! Where is your head? Take the lady’s cloak straightaway. And fetch a pot of tea.”

The butler returned, his back ramrod straight. “Aye, my lord.”

Severin took to his feet and crossed the room while the lady allowed Graves to help her shed her sodden cloak. “Please,” he said, and let a seductive smile curl his lips. “Stand with me by the fire. I daresay your bones must be chilled through and through.”

She turned toward him. There was no matching smile in sight. The heat in her gaze damned well burned him.

Severin’s rakish grin froze on his face. Shock—that was what had done this to him.

What in blazes was
she
doing here? The Marquess of Edgeware, after blistering Severin’s ears for having displayed the scandalous painting without his knowledge or permission, had promised to set things right. Dionysus was, after all, Edgeware’s responsibility. Severin had spent more money than he could afford already when he’d dispatched a messenger to the Marquess of Edgeware’s estate a few hours after the unfortunate unveiling. Severin’s responsibility had ended there. Or so he’d hoped.

“Lady Mercer, this-this is indeed a surprise.” He motioned again to the fire. “Please, take a moment to warm yourself.”

The bright peacock and white striped promenade dress made from the thinnest muslin fabric complemented her winter-pinked cheeks and rosy lips. Her golden hair, swept up away from her slender neck, formed a halo of silky curls on the top of her head.

“This is by no means a social call.” She drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I am here on an important matter of business.”

“Indeed,” he said.

He leaned against the hearth and watched her slender fingers tug at the damp woolen gloves, struggling to peel them off. After a few moments, she gave up and with a huff turned her attentions instead to the contents of the rather plain reticule hanging from her wrist.

Severin stepped forward, concerned she was about to produce a revolver.

“Actually, two matters of business,” she said, as she retrieved a silken purse from the reticule. “I don’t possess a great fortune. And I cannot take an advance in my quarterly income without my uncle’s knowledge.”

She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “I wish to purchase the painting.” A blush brightened her cheeks. “The painting of me.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but that would be quite impossible.”

“I am more than willing to pay your price.” There was a compelling strength in her tone. But when she held up the silk sack, clearly heavy with coins, he saw that her fingers were shaking. “You
must
sell it to me.”

Fearing she was on the verge of collapse, Severin rushed to her side and led her to a chair near the fire. He kept a tight grasp on her damp hands as he freed the silk coin purse from her fingers and laid it on her lap. “I am sorry, but the painting is no longer available.”

“Oh dear,” she whispered. “I hadn’t considered that possibility.”

She looked up quickly. “Provide me the name of the buyer. I must have the painting. I simply must. Certainly you can understand why.”

Severin returned to the large fireplace. “Forgive me,” he said. He kept his back to her, unable to face the anger that darkened her sparkling blue eyes. “I gave my word as a gentleman that I would never reveal the buyer’s name.”

The room fell silent for many minutes save for the occasional crackle from the fire burning behind the grate. Slowly he turned to find her gaze set upon him and her mouth drawn to a thin line.

“You had two matters of business? Perhaps I’ll be able to assist you with the second?”

Lady Mercer blinked.

He held his breath, bracing for her patience to come to a quick end.

“If you gave your word . . .” she said finally with a sigh. She rose from her chair. “Dionysus.” A sharp fire flared anew in her eyes. “Tell me, Lord Ames, who is he?”

His mouth dropped open. “You don’t know?”

Her slender body trembled, but this time it looked as if womanly rage, not fear, shook her.

“No. No, why should I know him? Tell me, Lord Ames. You are his sponsor. Tell me, who is he?” She shook her bag of coins. “I can pay for the information. I must . . . I must find him and demand that he answer for what he’s done to me . . . and to the Baneshire family.”

Severin stood torn between rushing to comfort her and fleeing to the far side of the room to take cover from the fury he was, no doubt, about to cause. “Forgive me, my lady. As much as this too pains me, I have sworn an oath of secrecy to the artist. I cannot help you.”

* * * * *

He had sworn an oath?

“Very well,” Elsbeth said while silently cursing her own foolishness. Why had she expected answers from him? Just because he’d been kind to her once? She should have expected nothing, for despite the kindness he’d shown her years ago, he’d also been a friend of her husband’s. And that fact alone should have been enough to warn her not to expect any goodness from the likes of him. “With or without your help, I
will
find him.”

With her shoulders squared, she marched out the door.

“If there is ever anything else I can do—” he called after her. She didn’t wait to hear the rest of
that
empty offer.

What a simpering fool he must think her to be. He was probably laughing behind his hand right now. Ames’s butler quickly helped her with her cloak and ushered her back out into the worst of the cold, wet weather. She took one last look at his town house.

The rogue, along with his cronies, knew exactly what they were doing when they chose to display that horrid painting. Her cheeks burned with a deep blush from the memory of seeing the image of herself spread out like a wanton, naked and unashamed, on a crimson sofa. The details were startling. How could Dionysus know her so intimately? Not even her husband had seen her in such a willing pose.
Never, ever, had she been so comfortable with her body to so abandon her modesty.

She stifled a sneeze.

What a fine fettle this afternoon was turning out to be. And her folly was about to reward her with a terrible head cold. “My family would probably be better off if I contracted a lung affliction and died.”

She sneezed again.

“God bless you, my lady.” An unmistakably masculine gloved hand pressed a crisp handkerchief into her soggy palm. “The weather is wicked enough to kill the stoutest of creatures. Whatever is a delicate bird like yourself doing tempting the fates so?”

The stranger stood so close she could feel the heat rise from him. His hand captured her elbow, sending every muscle tightening in her. Her nervous fingers dabbed at her nose with the man’s handkerchief while her mind raced at a frantic, almost unmanageable rate. She shivered and thought how foolish it was for her to leave the Baneshire home without a maid. The London streets weren’t safe for ladies, even widows. The men of the city seemed to prowl upon them like hounds on the hunt for foxes.

She dabbed the handkerchief to her nose again, stifling another sneeze. The foreign scent of him was strong on the warm cloth, a spicy mix of almonds and sage—a scent she’d imagine wafting out of a Dionysus painting. It sent her gaze sailing to his face.

Large, black eyes overflowing with questions, stared back from down a sharp, aristocratic nose. His sun-kissed brows, raised slightly at the corners, drew her attention, as did the wisps of hair escaping from the confines of his hat. He pursed his lips with amusement but kept his thoughts to himself. Rain dripped from the rim of a highly polished beaver hat and beaded upon the shoulders of a long, black greatcoat.

He was the devil
, she thought, fueling her courage to try and jerk out of his grasp.

His grip on her elbow tightened, and he pulled her closer. “We must not delay getting you out of this weather.” He hastened her forward using brute force.

She planted her feet, struggling against his quickened stride. But his muscles were stronger than her resolve. Her feet tangled beneath her legs and she stumbled, sending her tumbling into his solid chest.

A surge of panic struck her and she fought him. “If you don’t unhand me, sir, I will scream.”

“I beg you, don’t.” He faltered a step. She followed his gaze as he peered up and down the unusually deserted Queen Street. “I don’t wish to draw undue attention.”

A loud enough shout would rouse servants to the door despite the cold weather and heavy rains.

The pressure of his hand on her arm burned through the layers of her clothing, reminding her not to trust her safety to a man. The hard gleam in his eyes betrayed his determination. He would not let her go without a fight.

But considering the frustrations she suffered earlier in the day, she was only too ready to provide him with a royal battle. She tossed back her head, the hood of her cape sliding away, and opened her mouth to let out a scream guaranteed to stir the most sedentary of beings.

A warm, dry gloved hand swiftly pressed against her mouth. “I sincerely apologize, my lady. But in the interest of protecting your reputation, I cannot allow you to alarm the good people residing on this street.” He bustled her toward a waiting carriage as if she were nothing more than an extra piece of baggage.

Two enormous horses, dark as midnight, stood before the black unmarked carriage, waiting to carry her into the depths of hell, or worse—to this man’s personal bedchamber.

A finely appointed footman, dressed in green livery, tipped his hat to her as if she were a willing guest and swept the carriage door open. Ignoring her struggles, the stranger lifted her and tossed her unceremoniously into the carriage’s darkened interior.