The strangest sensation bloomed in her heart, carried by each beat to the rest of her body, until she felt as though she were floating in a cool lake. She swallowed, slowly raising her gaze. The way he was looking at her, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist and there was only the two of them, held her riveted in place. She licked her lips. “I’m glad for it as well.”
“Are you, now?”
She nodded. “I don’t know if I would have had the nerve to talk to you if we’d met after I learned who your father was.”
“Nonsense,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve nerve enough to do anything you set your mind to.”
Perhaps he was right. But was that a good thing? Coming from his lips, it certainly seemed like it, even if many of society wouldn’t agree. She thought of the letters to the magazine, biting her lip against sharing her secret with him. Yes, if anyone would approve, it would be him, but she wasn’t ready to share such a secret just yet.
Feeling light and happy, she grinned. “You, Sir Colin, are a shameless flatterer. It’s a wonder my head doesn’t float away.”
“I haven’a flattering bone in my body—just ask my siblings. I am exceedingly good at speaking the truth, however. And I’m delighted to hear you approve.”
For the next half hour, Colin watched in fascination as Beatrice went about the task of committing his countenance to canvas. It was much more interesting to watch her work than it ever had been to watch his father. And it wasn’t just because she was infinitely more attractive. No, it was more because of the joy she radiated as she worked. Father had always been so severe, determined to get it exactly the way he wanted in a way that seemed to indicate that death would be the penalty for an imperfect stroke.
Colin held perfectly still, not wanting to distract her work. He liked watching her this way. She was so at ease, as if standing in front of an easel was her natural state of being. She was strong and spirited, not at all the wilting violet, as she had put it, that one might expect from one so petite. And best of all, he affected her. He could see it, anytime he complimented her, or stood too close, or met her gaze—she felt for him as much as he did her.
Could he really be so lucky? Could the woman who was about as close to his perfect match as he could think of truly be standing right in front of him? She was clever and sweet, beautiful and talented. She had the fortune that he required, but it was not at all what he saw when he looked at her.
To him, she was simply his stór.
Slowly, deliberately, he straightened and began walking toward her. She glanced up, a single brow raised. “What do you think you are doing?”
“I thought to take a look at what you’ve done so far. A man can lean against a window only so long, my dear.”
She came around the easel, standing defensively in front of it with her hand stretched out between them. “Oh no, you don’t. An artist’s work is not to be seen until it is done.”
“Nonsense. How am I to know you are doing me justice?” He made to sidestep her, and she jumped to her left to block his way, mock outrage bringing her hands to her hips, which had the unexpected benefit of pushing up her small but perfect breasts.
“Don’t even think about it. I shall never forgive you if you ignore me.”
“Mmhmm, that’s nice,” he said, moving to step around her.
Both hands came up this time as she widened her eyes in laughing earnestness. “Sir Colin Tate, if you so much as take one more step, I’ll—”
He stepped forward, bringing his chest flush against both of her palms. “You’ll what?”
Beatrice’s mouth fell open, her eyes darkening almost to navy. The fragrance of lilacs rose above the smell of paint, teasing him with its familiarity. She wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for him. He stood there, letting her feel his heart race beneath the fabric of his clothes. Letting her feel how much she affected him. Not even trying to hide the desire in his eyes.
After a moment, her arms relaxed a bit, bringing her wrists down against his body as well. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips before she looked back up at him through her golden lashes. This close, he could see the halo of green around her pupils, flecked with a bit of gold.
He licked his own lips, waiting, wanting her to make the next move. When it came, it was much more bold than he could have hoped for. Drawing a deep breath, she slid both hands up his jacket and grabbed his lapels. His blood roared in his ears as want rushed through him, testing his willpower. His heart beat in a heavy rhythm once, twice, three times, and just when he thought she might change her mind, she tugged him hard and brought his lips to hers.
Chapter Seventeen
God, it felt so good to have her lips pressed against his at last. It had been near torture, painting him when what she really wanted to do was kiss him. Having two of him—the living, breathing, warm-blooded Colin as well as the emerging portrait of him looking at her with those incredible eyes, seducing her without lifting a single finger or saying a single word was pure, delectable torture.
She held tight to his lapels, pulling him to her as if her life depended on it. For his part, he came willingly, slanting his lips over hers and overwhelming her every sense. She opened her mouth, eager to taste him once more, to feel the heat of his tongue slide against hers. His hands slipped around her waist, pulling her whole body against him, even as her arms remained between them.
The feel of being completely engulfed in his arms was so foreign but yet so pleasurable, even more so with the wickedness of it all. The light of the afternoon sun lay across them, heating the right side of her body while the rest of her languished in shadow. His shadow.
His tongue danced with hers, making her moan with the sensation that shot through her whole body at his touch and landed deep in her belly. Colin’s arms slid farther down, cupping her bottom, shocking her at his boldness. She drew a deep breath through her nose, savoring the smell, the feel, the taste of him. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could be bold.
Releasing his jacket, she slipped her hands up the side of his neck, and delved her bare fingers into the silk that was his hair. It was cool and soft—in perfect contrast to the rest of him.
He broke the kiss then, and she started to moan in complaint, but his lips moved across her cheek, down her neck, and explored the exposed line of her collarbone. Oh good heavens, it was an altogether different sensation from his lips against hers. She had no idea her skin could be so utterly sensitive, so perfectly alive to the touch of another person.
A wave of chills ran down her spine, raising gooseflesh on her exposed arms and making her shiver. He pulled away and smiled down at her, their faces almost too close for her to focus.
“You, my little artist, are entirely too delightful for your own good.” He slipped his hands up her bare arms, lightly clasping her fingers and pulling them down. He kissed each hand in turn before releasing them.
Her mind was absolutely reeling with the shared intimacy between them. She had never thought a man could so thoroughly addle her senses—or that she would like it. A delicious thrill rolled down her body like a drop of warm honey. Lord have mercy, did she like it.
But not nearly as much as she liked him.
“What on earth is that ridiculous look on your face all about?”
Colin started, looking up from the law book he wasn’t actually reading to see his cousin striding into the room. “Woolgathering, I suppose.”