Page 25 of Portrait of a Lady
“Well, perhaps if you avoid showing up in your dressing gown with half a decanter of sherry in you …”
They traded smirks at that, and Evelyn ate her turnip before replying. “I’ve never done anything so mortifying, thank God. But, unfortunately, I am not the best of conversationalists and never really know what to say. As I may have already mentioned, I do not handle excessive attention well.”
He furrowed his brow, watching her dig into the filet of sole with her fork. “Not a good conversationalist? You and I have gotten on just fine, I think.”
She gave him a small smile and shook her head. “I feel more at ease in an intimate setting. Unfortunately, I am painfully shy...to a degree that finding a husband was an impossible venture. I cannot explain it but...certain social situations create the worst sort of anxiety in me. My hands shake, my stomach roils, and I begin babbling in an attempt at covering it up. I’m afraid I made myself look like quite the ninny during my coming out.”
He winced, remembering how difficult it had seemed for her to look him in the eye last night, how he’d had to work to draw bits of conversation from her until she’d loosened up a bit. In a world filled with debutantes who had been trained to flaunt themselves to their advantage, he could see how she might have been overlooked. Her beauty notwithstanding, she’d have had a difficult time standing out with such competition to contend with.
Leaning forward a bit, he lowered his voice as if about to divulge a great secret. “May I confess something? I am not fond of crowds either. I have not attended many public events in recent years, but on the occasions that I do, I find myself counting the minutes until I can make a polite escape.”
She scoffed. “Yes, but I bet you can get through the night without embarrassing yourself. You’ve been nothing but charming since I met you.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “And you’ve been nothing but sociable since I met you. You haven’t struggled to talk to me, the first few minutes of our acquaintance aside.”
She lowered her gaze, her voice softening when she replied. “You are different. You’re easy to talk to.”
Not the first time he’d heard that sentiment. However, it felt different coming from Evelyn...like something to be proud of. He did not want to examine that too closely. It didn’t matter, really, when this woman would be a means to an end for him, just like the ones before her.
They ate in silence for the rest of the meal, nothing more than the sound of utensils against plates breaking through the quiet. She seemed composed, the effects of the sherry wearing off as she took in more food than claret, her eyes becoming clearer. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he set it atop his empty plate.
“My compliments to your cook.”
“She will be glad to receive them,” Evelyn replied. “It isn’t often she is asked to prepare meals for anyone other than myself and the staff.”
She fell mute again, staring at him with hesitation in her eyes. Her gaze flicked to the bed for a moment, before coming to rest on him once more. Hugh inclined his head and returned her regard, noticing the way the firelight reflected off her hair and made her skin appear as smooth as fine china. How any man could stand in a ballroom and not notice her—regardless of whether she spoke or not—and not find his attention snared was beyond him. That one had to work to draw her into conversation seemed like a weak excuse for avoiding her company, but then most men of thetonwere shallow at best and oblivious at worse. If only they knew; if one could coax an oyster open, he might find the most beautiful of pearls inside.
Suddenly, she raised a hand and indicated the silver tower between them. “Would you care for dessert? Cook makes a wonderful—”
“Come here, Evelyn.”
She started at the command in his tone, but faltered only a moment before slowly coming to her feet. Her eyes grew as wide as Sauers, but she came to him, hands clenched tight before her. Pushing his chair back, he reached out and took her hand, pulling her so that she sat on his knee. He smoothed a hand up and down her back, soothing it of the stiffness that had her sitting like a plank of wood in his lap.
“I’d very much like to share dessert with you,” he murmured, reaching out toward the silver tower and pulling it closer to them. “What would you recommend we sample first?”
“Th-the cheesecake,” she stammered. “It’s divine.”
He lifted a wedge of the cheesecake and took the first bite, finding that it was, indeed, divine—rich and decadent. Then, he lifted it to her lips, watching with a heavy measure of expectation. The exercise was supposed to be fun, something to draw her closer to him and show her that even dinner could hold its own sort of sensuality. But damn it if this wasn’t wreaking havoc on his senses. The weight of her on his thigh, the fresh and floral scent of her, the thrill of watching her eat from his fingers, the sound of delight she made at the first taste.
Hugh was tempted to clear everything off the table, lay Evelyn atop it, and devour her whole.
Instead, he steadied his hand and finished off the cheesecake, going for a jam tartlet next. He bit it in half, registering the flavor of raspberries before offering her the other half. She attempted to pluck it from his grasp, but he pulled it back and clicked his tongue at her. Understanding his motive, she opened her mouth and let him feed it to her as he had the cheesecake. He bit back a curse at the feel of her lips against his fingers, the slight rasp of her tongue. She was making it difficult for him to concentrate on the purpose of this exercise.
But he had promised her restraint, so he forced himself to behave. They shared a few more tartlets, the next one filled with a vanilla-scented custard, and another tasting of strawberries. At the very top of the tower rested a single dish of lemon cream, which he spooned into her mouth between bites of his own.
But then, her final bite resulted in a tiny dollop staining the corner of her mouth—a temptation too strong to resist. Setting the dish aside, he leaned in and sought her lips. She sank into the kiss without hesitation, a development that pleased him. It wouldn’t be long before she was ready for more. She whimpered when his tongue stroked at that dollop of cream, its flavor mingling with that of her taste. Taking hold of her chin, he angled her to his liking and probed inside her mouth with his tongue. She clung to his neck, opening to him and offering her own tongue with an eagerness that had his cock swelling against her hip.
He gave in to the desire to touch her, letting his hand slide down her back until he cupped a handful of her arse. She gasped against his lips, but moaned when he gave her a squeeze, relishing the way that pliant flesh felt in his palm.
Suddenly, it wasn’t enough. He’d promised there would only be kissing, and intended to uphold that. But he wanted to be closer to her, their bodies flush, all her warm, womanly parts pressed tight against him.
Slipping his arm beneath her legs, he swept her up and stood, his other hand supporting her back. Tightening her hold on his neck, she went rigid again as he stalked toward the bed with her in his arms. Brushing his lips against her forehead, he then laid her atop the coverlet.
“Kissing only,” he reminded her before attacking the buttons of his waistcoat.
She nodded, biting her lip as she watched him do away with the garment first, then his cravat. Then, he was climbing on over her, stifling a groan as he laid his body over hers. She fit against him in a way that sent even more blood rushing straight to his cock, which at present was nestled oh-so-perfectly against the mound between her legs.
Bloody hell...this was going to require every ounce of self-control he possessed.
