Chapter Seven

O wen sat down and began to work. He had been dying to begin ever since she had walked into the breakfast room in that dress. He had suggested the garment to Polly this morning but had half expected Ellis to refuse to wear it. She seemed to be a respectable woman despite her travails, and the respectable women he was acquainted with would never wear anything so daring.

He was very pleased when she did.

Ellis Mallory was stunning, and he was fired with the desire to capture not just her outer beauty but the inner woman. The vulnerability and shyness he sometimes saw in her expression. The secrets in her dark eyes. His pencil flew. Her gaze was fixed on his, as if she wasn't sure where to look, but gradually she seemed to relax, and soon her stare became dreamy.

Owen paused and considered his sketch. It would do nicely for the first in this new series. What should he call it? The Lady at Ease , perhaps? The Lady's Adventures ? The Lady's Amorous Adventures ? The title would come to him. But he needed more than Ellis at rest. Hugh Madrigal's subscribers would be seeking rather more than just a beautiful woman on a chaise longue. An idea came to him. Should he ask her? She had seemed perfectly happy to go along with his suggestions so far.

Carefully he set down his pencil. "Ellis," he said quietly, "would you mind a more enticing pose?"

The dreaminess left her brown eyes, and she gave him a curious look. "Your sketches are meant to entice?" she asked, although he suspected she knew that if she had seen the ones on his desk.

But Owen needed to be frank. Honest. At least then he would know how far Ellis was willing to go as his model. They should be open with each other, without artifice.

"The gentlemen—and ladies—who purchase my books want to be aroused."

"And this is not arousing?" she asked curiously, looking down at herself. There was a hint of color in her cheeks.

"It is a—a promise of what is to come. The lady at her ease, but what else is she about to get up to? Do you see? You need to fulfil that promise." Something in her face made him add quickly, "But if you are not comfortable with that, then we will carry on as we are now. I assure you I am happy to follow your lead." He could use his imagination for something more salacious, and although he was always better at drawing from life, he rather thought with Ellis Mallory his imagination could run quite wild.

She shook her head, those ringlets dancing about her face. "No, no, I don't mind. I have never... that is, I would be happy to pose in whatever way you wish, Owen."

Her brown eyes were earnest, but then she licked her lips.

God. Speaking of aroused . . .

He moved in his chair, holding the sketchbook firmly over his lap. "Thank you," he said "I appreciate this, Ellis. And again, if you are not comfortable with any of it, then do let me know. I am not a hard, eh, taskmaster." Although he was currently hard in other areas.

She nodded with that same earnestness. "Truly, it is not much to ask. I am doing very little." She gave a faint laugh. "You are doing all of the work."

That wasn't strictly true. Owen knew a good model was like gold, and so far he had found Ellis inspired him in a way he had not been inspired for years. Perhaps ever. Back to work, he told himself firmly.

"Can you move your hand?" he said.

"My hand . . .?" she repeated. "Where do you . . .?"

"Can I show you?"

She nodded and watched him approach. Owen looked down at her a moment, consideringly, and then reached to take her hand and place it against her chest, where her neckline dipped. "Perhaps, with your fingers just inside the bodice. As if you are thinking of touching yourself."

Her cheeks were rosy pink now, but she did as he asked, slipping her fingers inside the cloth. He arranged her a little differently and tugged the bodice down farther so that the upper globe of her breast was exposed but her nipple remained hidden. At this point he wanted to imply the temptation rather than be explicit.

He considered her again, and then went to move before stopping abruptly. "If I may?"

She nodded, and he arranged her hair so that a lock lay over her cheek, a little unkempt. As if she was flustered, maybe imagining herself with a gentleman friend. He smiled at the thought.

"What?"

"I was just thinking..." Why not tell her? If she knew the look he was attempting, then she would be more likely to achieve it. She had proven herself amiable to his wishes so far.

"I want you to appear as if you are dreaming of a lover. Or—no!" His voice rose in excitement as the image came to him. "Your lover is in the room, watching you. He wants you, and you want him, but you are teasing him. Tantalizing him."

It would make a wonderful series of drawings.

Her doubtful expression cleared. "Oh, I see!" She looked at him through her lashes, and his cock was getting hard again. How on earth was he going to remain professional with this woman? Well, there was no question about it, he would just have to.

She wriggled on the sofa, her skirt hitching up to her knee, and leaned back, her hand resting against her breast, fingers slipping inside the cloth of her bodice. It was exactly what he wanted.

"Yes," he said and wondered why his voice was so hoarse. He cleared his throat again. "Yes, that's it. Stay just like that."

She smiled, pleased she had pleased him, and he almost groaned aloud.

Owen wasn't usually this easily stimulated during sittings. The opposite if anything. It was a job, and when he looked at these women, he saw merchandise Hugh Madrigal wanted to sell, rather than a flesh and blood being. Besides, having no emotional or physical interaction between himself and his model was his rule, unless he was helping her achieve the pose he wanted. And after Merrily, he really didn't want another woman to take advantage of him as she had.

So why on earth was he allowing himself to feel like this with Ellis Mallory? He told himself to for God's sake get a grip and sat down to begin the new sketch.

A smile was still lingering on her lips, and he replicated it, the image taking shape easily and quickly. The sketch was another one of his best, he already knew that. Whenever he thought he had reached an artistic pinnacle, he found himself reaching another, higher one. He looked up again, to see if he had the lock of hair correct, and found she was watching him.

"What now?" she asked, tucking her hair back behind her ear before she remembered she had to remain still. "Sorry," she whispered.

He sketched in the delicate whorls of her ear.

"Owen?"

"I..." He chewed on his lip. "Would you be willing to unbutton your gown a little? Remember I am looking to tantalize."

"Hmm, tantalize," she echoed thoughtfully. She slipped her sleeve down over her shoulder and onto her arm and bent her opposite arm to rest her hand upon the curve of her now bare shoulder, which had the effect of squeezing her breasts together. They looked plump and delicious, the texture of her pale skin so tempting it was agony not to touch her.

"Yes, ah, yes," he muttered, and immediately began to draw again.

After that, the morning flew by. Owen completed numerous sketches, all of them good, and they were certainly tantalizing. The final one was of Ellis seated, leaning forward, with her hand holding her loosened bodice in place. There was the sense that if she let go the cloth would fall and expose her completely. Owen worked feverishly to capture the look in her eyes. Was it a come-hither look or was he imagining that? The finished work was exactly what he had hoped for, and he was beginning to imagine a far larger series than he had first planned.

Of course, she would need to strike even more alluring poses to complete the set. He was already aware that he was pushing her into areas new to her, but she was more compliant than he had expected and hadn't pulled back or complained. Indeed, he suspected Miss Ellis Mallory was enjoying herself. Whenever he suggested something new her eyes gleamed as if he had set her a challenge she was determined to meet.

It was Owen who wondered if he would survive much more of this.

Every time he drew the shape of her smiling lips, he wanted to kiss them. Run his tongue down the arch of her throat and push aside the loosened bodice and suck upon her breasts. He wanted her thighs clamped around his hips. He wanted to be deep inside her. He wanted to hear her gasp and moan and feel her shiver with pleasure. He wanted to be the man to do all of that. It was sheer torture to keep himself in check, but he reminded himself it was a torture he was willing to undergo.

"We should eat," he said abruptly, doing his best to sound normal.

She looked a little disappointed, but refastened her gown and stood up, rearranging the cloth so that it covered her properly. She slipped her shoes back on and led the way to the door.

"What about this afternoon?" she asked hopefully, with a look over her shoulder. "Will we do this again?"

Owen knew he should say no, give himself some time to cool down, but it seemed he was completely helpless when it came to her. "If you are certain?" he tried. "You must be tired."

Her laughter teased his already raw senses. "Not at all. The opposite in fact." Then, a little uncertainly, "Can I see what you've drawn?"

"Of course," he said in surprise, "but some of the sketches may seem rough to you. I will need to do some more work to make them presentable. After that you are welcome to look at them."

She smiled again. "No one has ever drawn me. There was talk of a portrait, before..." She stopped and bit her lip, as if to force the words back. "Apart from my own face in a looking glass, I have never seen myself as someone else sees me. As you see me."

His heart seemed to still, before it began to beat furiously again.

Before he could answer, not that he knew what to say, Polly appeared and informed them, "Luncheon is ready, sir. Miss Mallory."

In the dining room, Joan and Polly were putting the finishing touches to the table. Owen stared at it with narrowed eyes. Flowers? He could not remember the last time he had a bunch of flowers before him while he ate his solitary meal. But last night there was a candle and today there were flowers on the table. This must be in honor of Ellis.

He raised a questioning eyebrow at his housekeeper, but she avoided his gaze.

"I hope you had a productive morning," she said, hands folded at her waist.

Before Owen could answer, Ellis did. "It was fun." She sat down before he could draw out her chair and reached for her napkin. Her loosened hair fell over her shoulders, and she tossed it back. "I'm starved," she informed her audience, and began to serve herself.

Owen watched her, ever curious when it came to her. She was obviously wellborn, or at least had grown up among those who were, and yet she was so unspoiled. There was no artifice to her, no game playing. She was just herself, and it felt like she was everything he had ever wanted in a woman.

He snapped out of his trance, realizing they were all looking at him. Joan smirked and Polly huffed a laugh, while Ellis smiled kindly.

"You were far away," she said. "Are you thinking of your work?"

"Something like that," he murmured as he sat down.

After that Joan and Polly left them alone, and Owen realized how famished he was. Now if only he could keep his eyes off the woman opposite him and push aside his filthy thoughts when it came to her, he might be able to eat.