She nodded. "And those in 'seventy-four and 'seventy-six and all the exhibitions at Durand-Ruel as well. I know most of the artists."
"Do you have a favorite?"
"Manet, I think, for the intensity of his color and his interesting perspective. Although, perhaps, he's more conservative than some."
"Your work has a lighter palette than his."
She smiled up at him. "It depends on my mood, darling."
He pulled her to a stop in the middle of the broad bank of stairs and kissed her because he found not only her smile appealing, but the fact that she was smiling at him. And when he released her mouth after a lengthy interval, he said, "I find my mood much improved in your presence."
"What a coincidence. I do as well. And if you'll pose for me sometime, I'll have the best of both worlds-good spirits and sex personified right before my eyes."
"Or anywhere else you might like it."
"We could discuss that later tonight-that anywhere."
His expression went blank for a moment.
"Oh, dear," she said, but without alarm, because she was feeling confident of her appeal.
"Sorry, force of habit." He grinned. "I'm available tonight."
"I rather thought you might be."
"Hussy."
"But you want me."
"No question there."
"And while your ego doesn't require any further encouragement, I freely admit, at the moment, I can't live without you… it… that-you know, darling, what you have that I want."
"Don't be shy about asking."
"In about a half hour, I'll do more than ask," she said, undeterred by his teasing. "But right now I want to show you my favorite pieces."
They'd reached the first floor by that time, and she proceeded to take him to each of her favorite paintings, where she explained with great enthusiasm why she liked them.
"Show me yours now," he proposed when he'd had the tour of favorites. "I thought you weren't shy."
"There's a difference between shyness and modesty."
"I don't require either. Nor do you strike me as particularly modest"-his brows rose in sardonic appraisal-"if I recall."
"I expect only glowing accolades, then."
He grinned. "Would I offend a woman of your inestimable charms?" But neither benevolence nor courtesy were required, for her two paintings were magnificent. And he told her so.
"Do you really like them?"
He was reminded of a prideful mother with her children. "I do, and the jury did as well, for they've hung your work in prominent positions."
"That's what Charlie told me as well."
He was surprised at her hesitancy. She hadn't displayed that characteristic before. "You have to know you're extremely good. And I was about to say for a woman, but you know what I mean."
She nodded, as aware as he of the prejudices toward female accomplishments in anything construed as a male domain. "I haven't been painting very long and so many of these artists have spent a lifetime in their endeavors."
"This is one field where perseverance is no indication of genius. And if you won't take offense because he's your friend, Leighton is a case in point. He's capable but not brilliant. While you are. Also, keep in mind, your landscapes aren't quite as academic as the jury would like, and they accepted you anyway. That's quite a coup, darling."
"I'm finding you more and more a man of exceptional taste."
"I'm serious. You're very, very good."
"Thank you," she said quietly. "I get more than my share of advice from many of the established male painters."
"And it annoys you."
She nodded. "Sometimes."
"I hope you don't pay any attention to it."
"Not usually, but"-she shrugged-"it can be disconcerting."
"Ignore them." He smiled. "And that's an order."
"Yes, sir, and I shall deliver my orders to you in the privacy of my boudoir."
"A charming prospect, but on the way we'll stop at my house and you can look at my collection. I could use your expertise."
"My goodness, Ranelagh," she remarked playfully. "Can't you do better than that old line?"
"I'm serious. And I can have my way with you," he drawled silkily, "without showing you my paintings."
She offered him a coy look. "A gentleman would never-"
"I don't aspire to that status…"
"I see," she said with dramatic primness.
He laughed out loud, and sweeping her up into his arms, ran down the corridor and raced down the stairs with a reckless disregard for safety. And when they reached the ground floor, he set her on her feet and kissed her. "It wouldn't do for me to carry you out the door in sight of Charlie et al."
"Maybe I don't care."
"Then I'll be prudent for both of us." He was well aware of his reputation, and while he might squire Miss Ionides about without ruining her reputation, he didn't wish to compromise her to the world. "Now lay your hand on my arm like a woman of fashion, and we'll say good night to Charlie like well-behaved adults."
"But I'll have you later for myself." She smiled up at him as she placed her hand on his offered arm. "When you're not so well behaved."
"Try to keep me away," he challenged her.
"I might just a little," she teased.
"And I might spank your sweet little bottom just a little."
"Ummm… that sounds divine."
"Your house or mine?" His dark gaze was heated.
"What will your servants say?"
"You're not serious."
"Of course I'm serious. Or do you take all your lovers home?"
For a brief moment he thought she was joking, and when he realized she wasn't, it took him a moment more to come to terms with the enormity of his invitation.
"You're having second thoughts, aren't you?"
"No," he said politely, but his tone indicated otherwise.
"You're allowed your reservations, darling. My expectations don't go beyond the pleasure of your very expert lovemaking. I don't want anything more."
For a minute he took offense, because he didn't want her to be so cavalier about something that was astonishingly rare for him. But as quickly, he realized she was right, and if he didn't come to his senses tonight or tomorrow, he would eventually. He wasn't looking for permanence, only sex.
And apparently, so was she.
Chapter Eleven
His house on Park Lane was very new. Alex recognized Wyatt's hand in the design, the architect one of the bright young talents who were able to effectively combine traditional elements and creativity without either suffering from the union.
"I didn't know this was your house," Alex said as the carriage came to rest before the porticoed entrance. "Although I saw the designs when Martin was beginning the preliminary drawings. He comes to my studio occasionally." And at Sam's sudden piercing glance, she added, "For my Sunday literary afternoons."
"Now, why would he do that?"
"Please. Martin is happily married. His wife is a good friend of mine."
"I didn't know he was married."
"Because you met him in your library with your steward and secretary and they took care of all the details once you gave your approval to his design."
"I can see I'm going to have to improve my image with you."
She smiled. "Not completely. In many ways, you're quite exceptional."
"Thank God."
"God doesn't have anything to do with it."
"Sometimes he seems to make his presence known," he noted waggishly.
"You needn't remind me."
"I didn't know anyone could blush so much."
"Hush," she warned, glancing at the carriage window that framed a footman's head.
"They don't hear anything."
She glared at him. "Of course they do."
At that, the door opened and Sam helped her out with courtesy and deference and only one surreptitious wink. He spoke of the weather with circumspect blandness as they moved up the paved walk to the entrance, and had not the beautiful dark-haired woman dressed in an exceptionally scanty costume more appropriate to the harem not jumped from the bushes and leaped at Sam, their approach to Ranelagh House would have been uneventful.