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These were not virtuous sea creatures if one judged by the looks in their faces and the poses they chose. Each mermaid had long flowing hair, which didn’t always fall in a modest covering, but more in an accentuating frame.
She kept her composure. ‘I suppose they are beautiful.’
‘That is not my first thought when I see them.’ He looked at her. ‘I’ll turn them to the wall if you wish.’
‘I am fine with them.’
‘I do not have a single mermaid painting in my room. Not one. I have sensible art. Not rabid females.’ His mouth was so close to her ear, she could feel his breath. ‘I would like to show you.’
His hand slipped to her waist, weakening her knees. Her mind flashed back on the memory of his body over hers. Muscles. Male skin so much different than her own. A new world at her fingertips.
‘I would have had the mermaids moved had I known I would be returning with you,’ he said.
She fought for her voice. Too much newness surrounded her, and yet, none of it took her thoughts as Warrington’s presence did. ‘I did not know such paintings existed.’ Nor such a man as Warrington.
He shrugged. ‘I would say they don’t anywhere else. I think my brother has found every one in the world and had the rest commissioned. One artist always has a painting to show Ben when he docks. Ben can’t resist any painting of a naked woman with scales.’
He pulled Melina’s hand to his lips. ‘I prefer a true woman.’ He pressed a kiss to her fingers.
She pulled her hand back, sliding her fingers along his. Without meaning to, she’d slowed her movements, her entire concentration on the feel of his skin against hers. Thumping footsteps sounded up the stairs—the movements were exaggerated on purpose to alert them of Broomer’s arrival.
She turned her shoulders from Warrington so he couldn’t see her face. The paintings could be more proper. But she feared even if an artist painted seaweed over the creatures, they would still be unsuitable. A small painting propped in the corner would be turned to the wall as soon as she was alone.
He put his arm around her. ‘I won’t have them near you if you wish. Or there is another chamber you could choose... One in particular would welcome you...’
She firmed her voice. ‘I think this room is perfect for me. Perhaps the mermaids will keep wicked spirits away.’
‘I would not count heavily on it, Melina. I think they would welcome any wickedness.’
She turned, needing to escape the sensations rocking her body, and he followed her from the room.
Broomer appeared in the hallway. He held his hand up and gave a little twist of his wrist near his head. ‘Mrs Fountain’s hair stood on end when I said you’d be needing a meal, and pots began flying.’ He patted his stomach. ‘But from the smell of the beef, she’s putting on a fine feed. It’s waiting on ye.’
Then he ambled to the stairs and Melina looked at Warrington. ‘He is so friendly and not what I expected a servant to be like.’
Warrington met her eyes and she saw agreement. ‘Broomer left Newgate and landed on a ship to keep from starving about the time Ben first became an able-bodied seaman. Broomer hated every day of it, but they became close and Ben sent him here when they docked.’
He tilted his head. ‘After Cassandra died, I couldn’t stand the way the servants watched me at Whitegate. First I’d been ill and then I recovered to discover my father had died of the same illness. We had cholera. Things were not smooth at Whitegate. Then, about a year ago, Cassandra became ill, just as my father and I had. Cass died. I worried that the servants thought I had poisoned her. I came here.’
The light from a window at the end of the hallway illuminated his features, leaving shadows that darkened his eyes. She put her hand on his arm, rubbing along the smooth fabric of his sleeve. ‘I was miserable after my mother died,’ she said.
Nodding, he held out an arm for her to precede him. ‘This house gave me a chance to step from the memories even if I could not forget them. Long ago, my father purchased the town house, saying it would be an investment, and I am thankful he did. I think even then he thought one of his sons would live in it. But we all use it.’
He stopped outside the doorway to the main sitting room. ‘I was surprised the first time I walked in and the fish-women portraits graced the sitting-room wall.’ He looked heavenwards. ‘I could not tolerate them—felt I was in some sort of fish harem. The paintings had to be moved to the room you’re now in.’
