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He considered. “I have an idea. Go powder your nose, and then meet me outside Prescott’s study.”
CHAPTER10
Leo lounged by the door to Prescott’s study, at one end of the drawing room. The door at the far end opened and Juno slipped through. Smiling, she crossed the long room toward him.
He could not take his eyes off her.
He wondered if she realized how the other ladies had looked at her in the garden, their fascinated, admiring, slightly nervous looks. The way their necks arched a little when she was near, as if they knew they became more interesting merely by being in her presence. She managed to be just the right amount of disreputable: daring enough to give ladies a thrill, but not so much they were forced to shun her.
Where they had delicate flowers in their hair, she had three lapis lazuli hairpins, which, of course, did not match, in an apparently haphazard arrangement, which, of course, pleased the eye. Then there was that cerulean-blue gown, its capped sleeves and bodice trimmed with white ribbons and embroidery that shimmered in the sunlight. A proper lady walked with careful inhibition, but Juno moved freely, as her body wished, the fluent sway of her hips sending the blue fabric swirling around her calves.
Suddenly, the sway of those hips was full of promise, the crooked smile full of allure, the white embroidery on her bodice full of invitation. And she—
No. Stop. Enough. How vexing his mind was: In the wake of his decision to stop seeing Juno, it demanded to see her even more.
All of her.
When she reached him, she glanced over her shoulder, to check for witnesses to their crime. When she spoke, it was in a whisper.
“He’s sure to keep it locked.”
“You do not think I am to be thwarted by a lock?” Leo said. “This door will not hold me, for I have a special tool.”
Her jaw dropped. “No! How on earth would you know how to… You have apicklock?”
“I have a key.” He waggled it. “Courtesy of an entrepreneurial footman. A duke always retains the dignity of a duke, even when he is committing a crime. Come on, then. Let’s see if this painting exists.”
The key worked and Leo stepped back to let her pass. As he relocked the door and pocketed the key, he heard Juno sigh. The sigh was so fervent it was almost a groan, rich with relief, pleasure, delight, pain.
It was the most sexual noise he had heard in years.
The Botticelli did, indeed, exist.
She was leaning hungrily toward the painting, like a lover hoping to steal a kiss, her body tense like a prowling cat.
And her expression! It was as complex and layered as the artwork itself: desire, greed, adoration, possessiveness. Like the expression of her own mermaid, yearning to consume the sailor.
“You like it, then,” he murmured.
“It’s exquisite, masterful. I ache with it, right here.” She pressed her knuckles to her chest, the embroidered motifs shifting over her breasts. “I want to breathe it in.”
She did breathe in, breathed out, and he would swear there was something sexual about her breathlessness, something that skipped right past his brain to his loins. Perhaps that was why she took lovers, because art filled her with so much feeling she needed release. Then she abandoned the men, because they were never the point.
What a tableau they formed: Juno staring at the painting, Leo staring at Juno. There were two objects of desire in this room, and he was not one of them.
“Prescott is a monster,” Juno said suddenly, her eyes still on the painting. “He hoards dozens of marvelous paintings such as this and never lets the world see. It’s shameful, for a critic to chatter incessantly about art yet never show his own.”
Leo had dozens of opinions about Prescott, but now was not the time. Now was the time to tell her why he had come today.
But barely had he said “Juno—”, barely had she turned with a questioning glance, than they both froze, heads cocked, alert.
Someone had entered the next room. Voices. Men. Two voices, muffled. Growing louder. Nearing the door.
He cursed under his breath—would he never get her alone?—then, with an exchange of panicked looks, he and Juno scrambled for a place to hide.
* * *
Leo’s handclosed around hers and tugged. The firm warmth surprised her, but then she saw his intent: a space between a large cabinet and the window, occupied only by velvet curtains. They slid silently into the space. His back was wedged against the wooden cabinet; her front was pressed against him.
