The Widowed Countess (16 page)

Paintings
. They were talking about
paintings
.

“Of course not. If there were such paintings, David would have built a private wing onto the house for the sole purpose of displaying them. And he would have the only key to that part of the house,” Daniel replied, keeping his face from showing the desire he felt for her.

Stunned at his words, Clarinda’s eyes widened, the high color in her cheeks blooming to include her entire face. “What makes you think that?” she wondered, her voice sounding more curious than angry. The flutterbies had begun to flutter, and somewhere deep inside, something seemed to melt, to liquefy. Her breasts, suddenly heavy, ached to be touched. For the first time that day, she was glad the mourning gown covered her from neck to ankles.

“It’s what I would have done,” Daniel responded with a slight shrug. He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

Clarinda dared to take a breath, wondering if he was teasing her. But there was no humor in his manner, no light in his eye to suggest that what he had said was a joke. His words suggested he found her pleasing to the eye. She remembered the solicitor reading David’s words – his directive that Daniel had better find the paintings in his bedchamber pleasing to the eye or he would – what had the will said?
Haunt him until his dying day.
She had to suppress a grin at the memory now. She should be mortified by the thought that Daniel had seen those paintings, mortified that he had seen parts of her completely uncovered. But she found she could not summon the emotion.

From Daniel’s last comment, she realized she instead felt a bit of pride – a man she was sure despised her was able to admit he found her pleasing in at least one sense. Never mind that he was her brother-in-law. Never mind that he had at one time declared he loved her and had courted her and asked for her hand in marriage.

Ever since their uncomfortable meeting the morning before, Daniel’s manner toward her had been most civil. Had he forgiven her then? Did he no longer despise her? Or was this his attempt to form a sort of détente? An alliance that was neither adversarial nor friendly?

Suddenly conscious of Daniel’s gaze on her, she remembered that he had asked if she wanted to join him for a trip to the cellar. “Yes, let’s,” she replied, placing her hand on his arm. The tingle set off by that simple touch seemed to shoot along her arm, reminding her of the sensations she’d felt only moments before. Stilling herself, Clarinda allowed Daniel to escort her, although she had to direct him to the doorway that led to the cellar stairs. She took great care in how she negotiated the steps, knowing that, although they were solidly built, they were steep.

A series of small gas torches lit the well worn path to the wine cellar, while the other path disappeared into the darkness beyond the pool of light in which they stood. Daniel took one of the torches from the wall and handed it to Clarinda. He took another for himself and stepped in front of her, his boot heels thudding on the flat stones that led into another part of the cellar.

“Have you been down here before?” he wondered, his voice nearly swallowed up by the dead air.

“Never,” Clarinda replied, her gaze taking in the wisps of cobwebs and other evidence that no one else had been in this part of the house for some time. A set of large wooden doors, arched where they met at the top, opened once Daniel was able to turn the stiff handle. The hinges creaked and groaned as he pushed the doors, their weight evident from how he had to use his shoulder to get them to open. Beyond the entry to this part of the cellar, Holland cloths covered what appeared to be small tables and a few chairs. Against the far wall, more cloths covered what Clarinda realized had to be more than a dozen paintings. From their outlines silhouetted in the fabric, the frames were ornate and all about three feet wide and at least two feet tall. Several rows were evident from the way the Holland cloths draped over their tops. “Over there,” she said as she pointed to the far wall.

Daniel swung his torch around and let out a low whistle. From the depth of the rows, he figured there had to be well over a dozen paintings – perhaps more than twenty. Clarinda reached down and pulled up a cloth from one row, giving her wrist another flick to force the cloth to unfurl from all the paintings it covered behind the front painting. The top edges of at least five gilt frames appeared as did the image in the front painting.

“Oh!” she breathed, holding her torch to one side of the painting. Daniel moved to stand next to her, his torch adding to the light on the painting from the other side. A naked woman lounged on what a appeared to be large, colorful pillows, reminiscent of those found in a desert caravan tent. The woman’s long, blonde hair splayed out to one side, draping over one pillow so the ends disappeared over the edge. One hand was held out with a finger that seemed to beckon the viewer. The painting, rendered in rich colors and tiny brush strokes, was obviously the work of an accomplished portrait artist, although the style didn’t suggest an Old World master had painted it.

“Who is she?” Clarinda wondered, not recognizing the woman. She’d had a passing thought that perhaps a lady of the
ton
had commissioned the work for her husband, much like Clarinda had done with the paintings in the earl’s bedchamber.

Daniel had to stifle a snort. “How should I know?” he retorted. He was about to mention that it was a mistake for Clarinda to even be looking at the paintings – that he should have done this by himself. She was a lady. To see such a wanton display rendered so life-like in a painting was not appropriate for any woman to see. But Clarinda’s reaction had been unexpected – she seemed almost in awe, as if she was viewing real art.

He pulled the painting forward to expose the one behind it, lifting his torch to illuminate the canvas. Done by the same artist, it featured a younger brunette woman seated at an escritoire. Her breasts, although not large, were uncovered despite the sleeveless short gown she wore. Long legs and bare feet were evident beneath the furniture. She held a quill as if it were a cheroot.

Clarinda regarded the image for a moment. “I rather doubt she even knows how to write,” she murmured, her eyebrow cocked up.

“Probably didn’t need to know for her line of work,” Daniel replied with a sigh, leaning over to pull the frame forward and expose the next one behind it. A flame-haired beauty, lying on a bed with the front of her body pressed into a green velvet counterpane, appeared ever so coy as one knee was bent up so her foot was in the air and almost touching her well-rounded and very naked bottom. The woman’s arms were bent, one hand cradling her head and the other clutching the velvet. The tops of her breasts showed above the counterpane, the way they mounded suggesting they were quite large. Daniel blinked and angled his head, his brows furrowing so the fold of skin appeared between them.

“You recognize her,” Clarinda accused, her attention suddenly on Daniel.

Daniel’s mouth did an imitation of the mouths on several of Lord Everly’s tropical fish. “Not because of ... not how
you’re
thinking,” he stammered, his head shaking. “She’s ... her name was Ann. She was one ... she was one of the ladies of the evening that worked at David’s brothel,” he finally managed to get out, glad he was able to think of another term to describe the prostitutes that plied their trade at the high-end brothel his brother had established when he was in his twenties.

The Elegant Courtesan had featured women who were a step above the typical brothel harlot, their services sold to gentlemen who expected far more than a simple tumble and who paid dearly to spend the entire evening with the same woman. Daniel knew at least three of the women had gone on to become celebrated mistresses, their favorite customers having bought their contracts from David so they could have exclusive rights. “In fact, I think these are all from that establishment.” He leaned over and lifted the next painting from behind the one of Ann, setting it down in front.

Clarinda angled her head to the left and then to the right, trying to make sense of what she saw in the painting he had just exposed.

“Boo,” Daniel said with a sigh.

Clarinda nudged him with her elbow, but took a quick glance around the storage room. “Trying to scare me?” she wondered, thinking he was pretending to be a ghost.

“What?” he responded, pulling his attention away from the painting of a lithe blonde who was posed in a provocative position that seemed to suggest she didn’t possess normal joints.

“Boo?” she repeated, glancing around the room again.
Did he think David’s ghost was with them?

“Boo,” he affirmed, pointing to the painting.  The woman’s exotic eyes and upturned breasts were rendered so realistically, he could swear the woman was alive and looking right at him.

Clarinda followed his line of sight and angled her head again. “What, pray tell, is she
doing?
” she whispered, not sure she could be any more shocked by what David’s painting collection contained. “And why do you keep saying, ‘Boo’?”

Daniel sighed, not quite sure himself. “Everyone called her that because they couldn’t pronounce her real name,” he explained, angling his head again. “Specialized in positions featured in an East Indian book called
The Kuma Sutra
,” he went on with a shrug. “All sixty-four of them. She was Lord Boomerant’s favorite, as I recall.”

“Lord Boomerant?” Clarinda repeated with surprise, wondering if ‘Boo’ got her moniker from her client.

“‘Boomer’, we called him,” Daniel said with a chuckle, just then realizing that, of course, Boo’s name was probably Lord Boomerant’s nickname for his favorite lady of the evening. “Man spent four nights a week with her. Always came out of the room limping, but he had a huge grin on his face when he did,” Daniel added with a shake of his head. “She was ... flexible.”

Giving Daniel an arched eyebrow, Clarinda was about to say something when he held up his free hand. “Having never spent time with
any
of these doves myself, I am only repeating what our patrons said,” he was quick to add, leaning over to pull Boo’s painting forward.

“Oh, now I really have seen everything,” Clarinda murmured, taking in the sight of another naked blonde with dark, almond eyes. This one’s fair-skinned body was wrapped quite snugly by some kind of large snake, her curves made more obvious by the way the snake conformed to her reclined body.
Or perhaps she is wrapped around the snake,
Clarinda considered, shivering in disgust.

“Ah, Debra,” Daniel said with a bit too much appreciation. “Snake charmer, she was,” he murmured. “Always had at least a few in a big wicker basket. We never had problems with mice in the brothel.”

Gasping, Clarinda leaned down to get a better look. “Why ever would Debra allow a snake to coil itself around her breasts like that?” she whispered in wonderment.
Or any place else on her body?
Indeed, this snake seemed to not have an end, although perhaps its tail was somewhere near her well-turned ankle. “Her toes are painted!” she murmured as she admired the courtesan’s feet.

Daniel straightened and surreptitiously glanced at Clarinda’s bottom, the fabric of her mourning gown hugging her shape to his advantage. “As I recall, if you could get the snake off of her, you could put your snake ...” He stopped mid-sentence, realizing too late what he was about to say, a truly inappropriate comment given his audience was Clarinda. At her suddenly arched eyebrow, Daniel shook his head. “Forgive me. I ...”

“Oh, please, Daniel. I appreciate your candidness.  It was my choice to see these, after all.” After a pause, she lifted her eyebrow again. “And, if they couldn’t get the snake
off
of her?” she asked, straightening so she could see his reaction to her question.

Taking a deep breath, Daniel could feel color suffusing his face. “Well, I guess you didn’t have to get the snake
completely
off of her. You just had to ... to be willing to ... to work ... with the snake there,” he stammered.

“And whose favorite was she?” Clarinda asked with a hint of mischief.

Daniel started to shake his head, as if he didn’t want to admit he knew exactly who could not only remove the snake, but get the damned thing to wrap itself around the both of them as they enjoyed rather loud and frantic intercourse. “Lord Harry Everly had that honor,” Daniel whispered, one finger held to his lips in the hope that Clarinda would realize she could saying nothing of what he was divulging.

“Everly?” Clarinda repeated with a shocked expression. Her eyes were suddenly wide, but then she closed her mouth and shrugged. “Well, of course, he would be the one to appreciate a snake, I suppose. He’s always off on those adventures to the jungles of Africa,” she  commented as she crossed her arms. “I hope he’s not expecting his future wife to bring a snake to their marriage bed,” she added with an expression of distaste. “I cannot imagine there is a woman in London besides ...” She waved at the painting of Debra ... “Who would be
willing
.”

“Indeed,” Daniel agreed with a nod. Hoping he wouldn’t have to answer any more questions about Debra, he pulled her painting forward to expose the next one.

Clarinda had to suppress a gasp – this one had a raven-haired beauty posed exactly as Clarinda was posed in the painting above David’s bed, but there was no strategically placed throw covering any of her nether regions. In fact, there wasn’t anything of the olive-skinned woman that was covered.

“Angelika,” Daniel spoke quietly. “She was Italian,” he added, as if it was necessary to mention what was obvious. He didn’t add that she had been one to become a mistress. Lord Pettigrew’s mistress, in fact. Daniel wondered if she was still employed by the old geezer, for if she was, then she was the mistress living in the townhouse Mr. Hammond had mentioned during the reading of the will.

“Your favorite?” Clarinda wondered, a streak of jealousy making the words sound more bitter than she intended. She didn’t have a chance to realize how she sounded, didn’t have a chance to recognize the emotion that had her feeling suddenly angry and just a bit ... lacking.

“No!’ Daniel replied, forcing his attention back on Clarinda. “No, of course not. I would never ...” He stopped and lowered the painting to the floor so it leaned against the others. Taking a deep breath, he found a hook on the wall on which to hang his torch. ”Lord Pettigrew’s, actually.“ In the dim light, he didn’t see Clarinda flinch the same way she had when the solicitor had mentioned the unentailed property let to Lord Pettigrew for use by his mistress. ”I did the books for David. For his brothel, and for his gaming hell. I would never ... sample the wares,” he struggled to get out. “This was his business,” he explained, one hand waving over the paintings, “Before he inherited the earldom and had to sell it. Besides, I ...” He lowered his head and directed his gaze back down to the painting of Angelika. “I was in love with another,” he whispered, his attention slowly moving back to Clarinda’s face.