Captured (3 page)

The night wore on with no clear answer becoming apparent.

What did become abundantly clear, however, were eight stunningly erotic photographs of a woman claiming her satisfaction and offering an invitation he simply could not refuse. It no longer mattered that a part of him whispered to use caution. The thought of seeing Lillian in the flesh was fast becoming an obsession.

He ached to join her in each image, for it to be his large hands that cupped her full breasts and teased her dark nipples into twin buds. He wanted it to be his fingers that delved into her cleft, spreading her juices up to her nub, gliding over the bundle of nerves there until she began to find her release. Then, and only then, would he spread her gently from behind and slide his cock inside her pulsing heat. He would thrust into her again and again until she met his eyes in the mirror, until they both watched their reflections straining toward pleasure and struggled to keep their eyes from squeezing closed as they came, together, in complete sexual harmony.

“Get it together, man.” He took a deep breath, and a shaky laugh erupted from his chest.

There was no doubt about it. He must have her, and soon. He was already tempted to unbutton his trousers and free his cock right there in the darkroom, to find release in his own hand as he imagined how Lillian would taste, smell, how her soft fingers would feel wrapped around his straining shaft.

As Alexander hung the last of the prints to dry and stood back from his work, only one question still plagued his mind—how to answer her? Not that he’d ever been a man to stand on propriety, but the rules of etiquette simply didn’t address how to behave when a would-be lover gifted you with a nude self-portrait. Should he gift her with something in return? For some reason, he didn’t think that a self-portrait of him and his now painfully swollen cock would be quite as sensual as what Lillian had presented to him.

“And what, pray, is so funny?” The voice of his apprentice, Kenneth, interrupted his laughter, making him spin toward the door to the darkroom.

“Haven’t I told you to knock?”

“I did, but you were laughing so damn loudly that I didn’t think you heard,” the younger man said, coming deeper into the room. “Not that I see anything funny in here. Dear God! Who is that woman? She looks like—”

“Get out of here, Kenneth. If you come into the darkroom again while I’m working, I’ll terminate your apprenticeship.” Alexander turned the gaping teenager around forcibly and urged him back toward the door, angrier than he could express that he’d had to share the images of Lillian, even for a second, with another set of male eyes.

“But sir, you said you wanted me to come in this evening, that the small prints of the Dammond children needed to be done by this coming—”

“I don’t care what I said. Take the rest of the week off. I won’t need you in until next Saturday at the earliest.”

“You’re taking a whole week off? But sir, what about the—”

“I didn’t say
I
was taking the week off, I said
you
were. Good-bye, Kenneth,” he said, shoving the boy out the door.

“But sir!”

“I said, good-bye.” Alexander closed the door in the boy’s sputtering face, realizing as he did so that he’d just told a lie. He
was
going to take the week off, an entire week in which he would devote himself completely to the seduction of Lillian Thomas.

Not that she seemed to need much seducing, but that didn’t matter. Seduction was part of the pleasure for both parties. She’d seduced him with her body, her bravery and, to some extent, her talent. He’d never dreamed that she would take his lessons in photography all those years ago to heart, but she obviously had. The pictures had been technically flawless as well as more than aesthetically pleasing.

Now he would seduce her with the same, and in the meantime indulge his own muse. He’d spent so much time photographing the outcasts of Society that he’d completely neglected to take a look at his own world. He’d taken portraits of the social elite, but what of the face a woman like Lillian would show only to a friend, a lover? Surely the private life of a woman of privilege would be a fascinating subject to document.

As he’d developed each picture, he’d noticed that the mirror in which Lillian had captured her reflection was child-sized, cutting her off at the knees. It had been a child’s bedroom—one long neglected if the dust in the air were anything to judge by—where she’d gone to take her illicit photographs. Why? Had the choice to juxtapose her very adult body with a child’s room been deliberate, or had that been the only place where she could go to escape discovery?

Alexander, if he’d wished to photograph himself in the nude, had an abundance of places where he could find both time and opportunity. He owned his own home, directed his household staff and could make sure he was afforded privacy there any time he wished. His office and studio were also his own and he was free to close them for private use.

What would it be like to be in Lillian’s place, however? What if he were an unmarried woman given only as much freedom as her father would allow? Surely Lillian had even less control over her life than a married woman of her age, since he doubted

William would trust her with the running of the household as some older men did their spinster daughters.

Spinster. What an odd way to describe this woman. How could such a beautiful, obviously sexual creature, have remained unmarried for so long? More importantly, why did he know for a fact that she was still free? Why had he so carefully kept up with Lillian Thomas’ state of wedded or unwedded bliss? And why had it been so easy for him to recognize her image even in the negatives, before he began the printing process?

Could it be that his mind, maybe even his heart, had retained an interest in the girl that wasn’t entirely casual, or brotherly?

I think you’ve established that the “brotherly” feelings have been thrown out with the bathwater. Whatever other feelings you may have don’t matter. She was never a “prospect” for you, never will be, no matter how the pair of you occupy yourselves in the bedroom.

Ah, the voice of reason. A frustrating thing, but all too often correct in its dictates.

No matter, he wasn’t in the marriage market. But thank God his Aunt Tessa wasn’t as convinced of that as the rest of Boston. She would surely know where he could arrange an “accidental” meeting with the lady in question. Lillian still attended social functions, despite the fact that she was too old to be actively courted by the wife-hunting young men of greater Massachusetts. That, of course, would only make his life that much easier.

Soon he would have Lillian alone, in his arms, and be well on his way to satisfying all of her fantasies…and a few of his own.

Her cousin Marjorie was talking…again. When wasn’t the younger woman talking? For the fifth time, Lillian cursed herself for not arranging her beach blanket and chair in a different location. But how could she have known she would be affected so deeply? That—for once in her life—she would actually crave the torturous business of sitting in ladylike silence while the boys frolicked near the waves?

“Don’t you think so, Lillian?” “Hmmm?”

“I asked if you thought so, too?”

“Well…it sounds reasonable enough,” she mumbled, her lips oddly stiff as she struggled to make the words. It was as if her body was turning to stone, immobilized by the entirely foreign pleasure of feeling
his
eyes,
his
attention focused so completely upon her.

“Oh, cousin, you are positively comedic. Reasonable, indeed.” Then Marjorie was off again, speaking so quickly Lillian would have had a hard time understanding her even if she had been paying attention.

She knew she
should
be, should at least attempt to make polite conversation before she ended up saying something to alert Marjorie to her lack of engagement in her cousin’s tales of newly married bliss. Lillian didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She was a dear thing, though not much of a conversationalist. But then, what newly married nineteen-year-old was? At least Marjorie had a sense of humor, a quality that seemed to be amputated from many a female’s personality the moment a ring slid upon her third finger.

God protect her from such a fate. Lillian had been thrilled to avoid marriage for the past several seasons, and would gladly remain contentedly unwed if her father would allow it.

He will allow it. Soon he will have no choice.

The thought was followed by another shiver of awareness that rippled down her spine and pooled in what the novel she’d read last night called her “passion pit”. Passion pit, indeed. As if that particular pit had ever experienced much beyond passionate imaginings. But all of that was about to change. The promise of a passionate future was in every dark, smoldering glance that
he
darted in her direction.

Simply seeing him for the first time in years had been enough to take her breath away. Zander was more stunning than ever. His shoulders had widened and he’d put on weight since his nineteenth year, but he was still lean and taller than every man in attendance, filling out his blue suit in a way that made her eager to see what lay beneath. His dark brown hair was a bit longer than fashion demanded and he wore no hat—a fact that clearly scandalized most of the people in attendance—but she couldn’t care less. He was gorgeous, sensual and all male…and soon to be all hers.

He wanted her, he really, truly did! The knowledge was dizzying, filling her with a feminine power that was completely foreign and fantastically delicious. She could hardly believe the first stage of her scheme had been such a rousing success, but there was no mistaking the hunger in Alexander’s eyes. He wanted her, the way a man wanted a woman, despite the fact that his lips twitched with good humor the one time she dared meet his gaze. His mouth might laugh, but she sensed he was finding this situation anything but humorous. He craved her body in his bed, her intuition was not wrong on that account.

Now, she simply had to make sure that the rest of the business went as planned. She mustn’t make the mistake of letting her conquest be too easy for him. Alexander had always been a man whose passions were aroused by a challenge. What could be more challenging, more erotically frustrating, than assuming you were to have free access to a woman’s charms and then finding that to be the furthest thing from the truth?

It would torture him, she was sure of it, drive him to such a pinnacle of desire that he would all too willingly draw out their affair. Too bad she hadn’t bargained on how

torturous it would be for herself. She wanted him now, this moment, and waiting was going to be a nasty bit of business, indeed.

“…absolutely starved, of course. But really, that isn’t a proper way for an unmarried girl to behave at a social function.”

“You’re completely correct,” Lillian said, mimicking the outrage in her cousin’s voice.

“I knew you would agree, but you wouldn’t believe…”

Another conversational faux pas avoided. With a sigh, Lillian shifted her legs beneath her skirt, grateful that the spring afternoon was still too cool for ladies to wear their bathing costumes. For once, she was glad that she had her full skirts to hide beneath, to conceal the restless shifting of her thighs as she sought to ease the pressure that pulsed and throbbed within her sex.

She wanted him, as badly as he wanted her, and probably more. For surely the stories were true. Zander had always been a passionate man and the tales of his relentless seduction of his upper crust lady clients hadn’t surprised her in the least. Surely he had bedded a woman not too long ago.
He
wasn’t the one with years and years of frustrated desire simmering beneath his skin, making his flesh burn with the need to be pressed against another’s.

“…with Mr. Darian. It’s simply ridiculous, absurd really.”

“What? I’m sorry, darling, the sea gulls’ blasted yapping made me miss that last bit,” Lillian said, the sound of
his
name finally capturing her interest in Marjorie’s prattling.

“You shouldn’t say blasted, Lil. It’s not very fitting, even for an old spinster such as yourself,” Marjorie said with a smile. Lillian had joined Marjorie in mocking her own spinsterhood many a time. But today, for some reason, the word stung. Ridiculous really, when she’d just been thinking how happy she was not to be married. It was not a state of being she coveted and even marriage to someone like Zander would likely be a misery in the end.

Marriage to Zander. Good God, she mustn’t even let her mind process the thought. Her father would never allow it, the man himself would have no interest in her as his

betrothed, and she herself would suffer in the end. A domineering man might be what she craved in the bedroom, but not in her life outside of it.

“Very well, I’ll endeavor not to offend your ears further, but you must tell me the news of Mr. Darian. He and Curtis were such good friends many years ago, he has remained an object of curiosity.” There, that was a good reason for her interest. She had to provide some excuse or Marjorie would grow suspicious. Lillian was never interested in her cousin’s usual gossip.

“There’s no news to tell. My dear Phillip wanted us to have our portrait made with him next month. May is such a lovely month at the Vineyard and our beach house has this fantastic little garden. Do you remember Lillian, the one with the arbor all covered in—”

“Yes, of course. A lovely garden. But you said Phillip ‘wanted’. Did Mr. Darian refuse his request?”

“No, not at all. Phillip had planned to ask Mr. Darian to come to the Vineyard for a week and take photographs of the entire Drake family during their annual retreat from the city, but I told him he simply couldn’t. I knew that Uncle William would be furious if even a former Thomas sought the services of that rascal.”

“He’s hardly a rascal,” Lillian said, disappointed that the news of Zander was really no news at all.

“Well, he must have done something horrid for your father to hate him so. What was it, Lillian? Did he and Curtis have a terrible fight? Did Mr. Darian steal from the family during that time your father sponsored his work? Word was he had no inheritance after his parents passed away, despite their noble roots. I’ve asked before, but no one in the family seems to know, but you must, you—”