Chapter Five

"I s this entirely necessary?" Owen waved a hand over the small table by the fireplace, with the single candle making the silver cutlery and crystal glassware gleam. It was all very... intimate.

Owen had blurted out to Joan his hopes and dreams when she had visited his study while Miss Mallory was bathing. And he'd best not let his imagination stray to that during dinner! The housekeeper had wanted to tell him about a coach in the forest, and her qualms concerning their new arrival. Owen had listened, aware that this was really about Merrily and the hurt she had inflicted on him.

"I understand your concern, but Miss Mallory is exactly what I need," he had said. "Hugh Madrigal wants a new series of drawings, and she is perfect for it."

Now, despite her doubts, Joan seemed determined to help him get his wish. She straightened a fork on the table and shot him a look. "Yes, it is necessary. You want her to agree to be your model, don't you?"

He did, that was true.

"Then you need to woo her like a lover until she says ‘yes'. You've been like a bear with a sore head since Merrily left. Polly and I only want you to be happy, my lord."

Owen ignored the "Polly and I." Although he was fully aware that his housekeeper and his maid slept in the same bed, he didn't think it was his place to make comment on it. Who was he to judge when he spent his time creating salacious artworks? He understood that Joan was in a precarious position. She didn't want him leaving Hawthorne Lodge because then she may have to leave too, and it was unlikely anyone else would be quite as sympathetic to the relationship between the two women. Keeping Owen happy was good for everyone.

"Do you think Miss Mallory is in danger?" he asked the question that had been niggling at him since Ellis arrived at his door. "In those circumstances it doesn't seem fair to persuade her to pose for me, as much as I might want her to."

"Why not? This is the ideal place for someone who is in danger. She can hide here for as long as she likes and help you in the meantime. It can be an understanding between the two of you. Why not ask her and see what she says?"

But Owen still felt uncomfortable about using Ellis Mallory's sudden arrival to his own advantage. It seemed a bit caddish to him, and Owen was no cad. He opened his mouth to argue with Joan's simplistic view, just as Miss Mallory walked into the room.

After that he couldn't say anything because he was struck dumb by the sight of her, and even when Joan gave a soft, knowing laugh, he couldn't tear his gaze away.

She was wearing something he vaguely recognized, but it was the way she wore it that caught him. Turquoise satin clung to her curves, rippling like a living thing every time she moved. Her bosom was barely confined by the bodice, spilling over in its abundance, while her dark hair was heavy and loose about her shoulders. His fingers itched to begin drawing her. It was all he could do not to rush off to his study and fetch the necessary equipment.

He became aware that she was watching him from beneath her long spiky lashes in a manner that was almost shy. It was shy. This was no practiced move. Ellis Mallory might be stunningly beautiful, but he suspected she was not the sort of woman to flaunt that beauty just for the effect it would have on those around her. And somehow that made Owen fall even more deeply under her spell.

He swallowed. He would have to say something. The silence had gone on for far too long, and even without looking he knew Joan would be smirking.

"Miss Mallory, please won't you be seated?"

When she didn't move, looking uncertainly at the very intimate setting, he held out his hand. He wasn't sure if she would accept the invitation, but she did, her hand nestling in his. No gloves, and skin that was soft and warm, her fingers quivering a little as he held them in his. And, oh God, his cock gave a definite twitch.

As she allowed him to seat her, a lock of her hair brushed against his fingers. A sweet, clean womanly scent engulfed him, and he found himself stilling, breathing her in. Surely he had never felt like this before? Owen wasn't even sure what to make of it. He hardly noticed Joan leaving the room, with a murmured, "Dinner will be served shortly," before the door closed behind her. All of his attention and every one of his senses were focused on Ellis Mallory.

He had to force himself to step away.

Once seated, Owen reached for the red wine, pouring it carefully into two goblets. The deep ruby color reflected the candlelight as he raised his glass. What should he drink to? Her beauty? His hopes for his new series of drawings? None of that seemed appropriate, so he contented himself with, "To your good health, Miss Mallory."

She did not respond, nor did she look up. Her hands were clasped together on the table before her, and she was staring down at them. He could see the white of her knuckles. He wanted to tell her she was safe, that no one could hurt her while he was here, but perhaps it was better to steer clear of that subject for now. He would help her to relax and enjoy the meal.

Owen cleared his throat and prepared to be a good host.

"I hope you are feeling more the thing now," he said, a little awkwardly. Her gaze lifted to his. Liquid brown eyes, full of secrets, tugging him down into their depths. He could stare into them forever.

"Thank you. I am feeling much better," she replied in her soft, husky voice. "You have been very kind. I am sorry to trespass on your hospitality. If you could lend me enough money for coach fare, I could leave tomorrow."

It was more of a question than a suggestion, but it was still not what he wanted to hear.

"You can stay as long as you like," he said in a no-nonsense way. "Indeed, I insist upon it. If you want to send a message to your mother, then I am happy to ensure it will be delivered, but for now I think you should stay at Hawthorne Lodge and—and recover."

Was that too autocratic? He tried to soften it. "It would be my great pleasure to be your host for as long as you wish it."

She seemed to be trying to read his thoughts. After a moment she said, "You are very kind," in a stilted voice, and began rearranging her cutlery, moving the pieces back and forth as if she was too restless to be still. "But... we are strangers. As much as I would like to stay..." She bit her lip. "Is there some way I can repay you for your hospitality?"

Owen had been taking a sip of his wine and it went down the wrong way. He coughed, holding the napkin to his lips. She had given him the perfect opening, and it was now or never. He had to speak. He could not let her slip through his fingers, he really couldn't.

He set the napkin aside. "There is a way in which you can repay me, Miss Mallory. Although, let me be clear, there is absolutely no obligation for you to do so."

Now her gaze was fixed on his, her restless fingers stilled. "Oh?"

"It is nothing... unpleasant I assure you. At least..." He cleared his throat again. "I am an artist. I illustrate books for a certain type of reader. They sell rather well if I do say so myself, but recently my sitter... my model left for greener pastures, and I find it difficult to draw without one. I wondered... I wondered if you would consider posing for me. It would be an entirely professional arrangement. A kindness really, and a great help to me. But of course, if you do not wish to—"

"Yes."

Her reply was so sudden he froze, staring back at her. "Yes? Did you say...?"

A little smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, and his cock went hard so quickly he was worried he might spill in his pantaloons.

"Yes?" he repeated, hoping to hell he had not misheard. "You will pose for me?"

"Yes, I would be happy to pose for you. It is the least I can do after your kindness in allowing me to stay. It would be recompense, of a sort, and then I would not feel I had to leave."

"You wouldn't have to leave anyway," he said sternly, doing his best to hide the wild joy clamoring inside him. "This would be a favor to me, and certainly not an obligation, Miss Mallory, I promise you."

She smiled again and lifted her goblet to her lips. When she had sipped and lowered it again, there was a droplet of wine on her lips. She licked it off with the tip of her tongue. It was only when her gaze sharpened on his, questioningly, that he became aware that he had groaned aloud.

"There would be nothing else involved," he said quickly, perhaps more for his benefit than hers. "Just sitting. I want you to feel perfectly safe, even if you were... if you agreed to be... if..."

"Naked?" she suggested, with an arch of her eyebrows. Laughter sparkled in her eyes and the corners of her lips lifted again into a real smile.

Owen knew then that he was lost. Completely and utterly.

"I saw your drawings," Miss Mallory admitted with that upward flick of her eyelashes. Her dark eyes gleamed with mischief. "I'm sorry if I shouldn't have looked, but they were difficult to ignore."

"You wouldn't be naked," he said hastily. "Well, not at first. And never, if you prefer not to remove your clothing. I do assure you a woman can look just as appealing when she is clothed."

She seemed to consider this. "Then I can agree to what you ask, or disagree if I feel so inclined...? We agree on that, Lord Lyndhurst?"

"Yes," he said earnestly, leaning forward until he was almost touching her. "I would never ask you to do anything you did not feel comfortable with, Miss Mallory. That is not my way. I may be the artist of risqué pictures, but I am still a gentleman."

She considered him a moment, before she nodded. "Thank you, Lord Lyndhurst."

"Call me Owen. Please. You are doing me a favor by posing and Lord Lyndhurst seems a bit too formal in the circumstances. We need to be comfortable with each other, if I am to... if I..." Dear God why couldn't he finish a sentence? What was wrong with him?

"Owen," she repeated quietly and put an end to his stammering.

The door opened, startling them both, and Joan and Polly entered with their meal.