Page 33 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“Yes,” Armquist said, “do tell. Where are we to set up our easels?”
“Wherever you’d like,” Pentshire assured them.
“When we were guests at the Marquess of Waneborough’s party,” Mr. Castle said, “we were provided much entertainment.”
Theo snorted. That entertainment had cost more money than they’d actually had. Maggie’s dowry had been poured into the pockets of violinists and tightrope walkers. His tuition money for Oxford had similarly disappeared, as had his future as a clergyman. Not that he’d been overly excited about it.
Cordelia pinched him. He glared at her. She smiled in return. He downed the rest of his wine because he wanted to kiss her.Kiss her. And why? He couldn’t rightly say but that her every grin and tease and wink crept beneath his skin. He swore she tried to make himlaugh. And he… almost felt like he could, even with the conversation of hisdear sainted papaechoing about the room. He should have left his father’s final letter at home, or better yet, slipped it into Zander’s luggage so he could take it back to Briarcliff. But he’d put it in his satchel, resting it against the charcoals and sketchbook. With all this conversation of his father, he’d not be able to move without thinking of the letter burning a hole through the worn leather of the bag. At least he’d left the satchel in the coach to be unpacked by the footmen.
The drink had clearly gone to his head. Why else would he be obsessing over the dual plagues of Cordelia’s lips and his father’s letter? He finished the drink and slammed the glass down on a nearby table.
“Yes,” Mrs. Castle said, “we were also given tasks, challenges, and opportunities to learn from and teach one another. Will we have the same here?”
Pentshire nodded. “In all ways, this will be a better experience than that provided by the late marquess, and the only of its kind now that the new marquess refuses to continue the tradition.” Raph inviting all of England’s artists into his own home. Not bloody likely. Raphhatedartists. “But,” Pentshire continued, “we shall have a more intimate group here, with all the challenges and intellectual pursuits you could desire. Our first challenge, for instance… Would you like to hear it?”
“Absolutely.” Mrs. Castle leaned forward, her eyes lighting with anticipation.
Theo rolled his eyes.
Cordelia tugged on his arm, drawing him closer and cupping her hand around his ear. Her breath tickled, and he tried not to think of tongues and teeth and sensitive skin.
And failed.
“You must act,” she whispered while he died of desire, “as if you enjoy these sorts of things.”
Her breasts brushed against his side, and he snapped, control gone in an instant as he cupped her neck and crashed her body into his then crashed his lips onto hers. What reason had he to do so? None. But what had he to stop him? Nothing.
A gasp rose up around them in six different voices, then settled into chuckles. To hell with them. They’d all done worse, and he couldn’t currently remember why this was bad. Kissing her. In a room full of people.
She’d likely remember, though.
She froze. For a mere moment. Then she melted, her lips parting on her own small gasp, an inhalation and exhalation that introduced her taste to him. The spice of the wine they’d shared. She should taste that way—rich and tart and… hell…wonderful. Soft lips, the perfect shape, and when she leaned into his hand cupped at her cheek, when she made a little mewling sound hopefully only he could hear, his body urged him on faster, harder, begging to take her bottom lip between his teeth.
Thishe enjoyed. So much more than he should. This he’d been aching for since the day he met her, and she’d put the idea into his head—she could be his mistress. A quite unfunny joke. Because to have her under him would be a bloody miracle. To have her body lying alongside his at night, keeping the lonely away, a heaven.
But solitude he enjoyed too. Solitude heneeded.
So he ended the kiss, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against hers. Their hands still tangled, he held her tight, watched her with open, wary eyes until she opened hers.
She made a sound—half choke, half gurgle—and stared at him with wide, wondering eyes. “What was… that?”
“The wine.” Only excuse he could offer that didn’t reveal his eternal weakness—things of beauty held him in thrall, and she had more beauty in a single eyelash than he’d seen anywhere else in the world. And every damn moment he spent near her increased it.
“Forget the challenge I had planned,” Pentshire said, his words shattering the hold Theo had on her. “Let’s dothat.”
“What do you mean?” Miss Mires asked.
Pentshire stood beside Theo and Cordelia, arms spread wide, lips wide, too, in a never-ending grin. “Kiss, of course. But better than that. Let uspainta kiss.”
Mrs. Castle scratched his temple. “Would be difficult for two models to stay arranged just so for such a length of time.”
“No.” Pentshire’s head shook with vigor. “Let us kiss, then paint what itfeelslike.”
Lord Armquist groaned. “I don’t paint feelings. I paint things. And people. The proper subject of paintings.”
“I like the idea,” Mr. Castle countered. “I’ll do it.” He took his wife’s hands and pulled her close, kissed her. “There. Now, to my paints!” He dragged his wife out of the room, the both of them laughing like children.
Theo released Cordelia entirely and pulled in a breath to clear his kiss-crazed mind. Focus. He must focus on his purpose. And these people were making achieving that purpose rather… easy. They seemed to feel safe here and with one another, behaving with ease in ways the ton would censure. Theo would merely have to be present to collect his gossip.
