Mistletoe Menage (7 page)

Anne had stroked Guy’s blonde
hair gently. “I know it can be difficult for a man to accept such things but to
punish her children is abhorrent.”

Guy had shivered. “Punish us he
did.
Especially when my mother lost his child a few months
into her pregnancy.
He blamed us for it, especially me because I was the
eldest and he said I was worrisome for her and that I was a selfish, ungrateful
wretch.”

“Did you believe him?”

Guy shrugged. “I was a rascal,
Anne. I know that to be true, but only because he was so domineering. At nineteen,
I decided that I could take no more and headed for the docks and sneaked onto a
ship bound for Calais.”

“Did you tell anyone you were
leaving?”

“I told one of my brothers to
tell my mother not to worry about me, that I was doing what was right for us
all.”

“Do you miss them?”

“That was four years ago.”

“Have you spoken to any of your
family since then? Do they know that you are returned to England?”

He shook his head and sighed.
“No, Anne. I cannot return to see their faces. Not after what I have seen and
done.”

Anne had raised his head then and
looked into his eyes. The firelight had been reflected there, turning the
silver-blue into orange. “What have you seen and done that could be so bad,
Guy?”

“I tried to find work as a
farmhand or servant but the French were just too suspicious of an English boy
who couldn’t speak their language. I felt so clumsy and ignorant and I must
have come across as both. So I was reduced to…doing other things to make enough
to live on. Things I could not describe to you, dearest. Deep, dark secrets
best left in the past.”

Anne suspected that she knew what
Guy referred to. How could a young man in a foreign land make a living if he
had no skills to apply to farming or labor? Though it horrified her to
entertain the idea, she thought that Guy must have sold his body to survive. It
caused a great wrenching pain in her chest to think of this beautiful man being
forced to degrade himself so. Even worse was the realization that it was not
that far removed from what he had been doing in London, selling his
artistic
skills to the ladies of the
ton.

“And how did you escape such an existence?”
She prompted him to continue.

“My patron came along and saved
me. He gallantly lifted me from the streets, cleaned me up, fed and nurtured me,
and brought me back to England with him.”

“What good fortune!” Anne
exclaimed
,
her heart filled with admiration and
gratitude for the man who had rescued Guy.

“Extremely good
fortune.
If it had not been for his kindness…”

Anne hugged Guy to her and
blinked away the tears that pricked her eyes. Guy was a talented artist. She
had seen some of his sketches of her and he had brought others to show her. He
had an ability to capture the beauty of the sunset as it painted the sky with
reds and
golds
at that crucial moment before dusk
fell. He could portray the joy of a new mother as she cradled her infant in her
arms. And in his rough drawings of her, he had shown her that he could
replicate the image of the woman she had been just months ago, and contrast it
with the woman she had become.

“This patron of yours…” Anne
wished that Guy would share his name.

“I have already told you—he must
remain nameless for now.”

“But why?”
Anne’s curiosity about the man who Guy clearly adored was like an itch she
couldn’t scratch.

“There are reasons, dear Anne.
And all will become clear very soon, I promise you. Please trust me.”

He had crawled up her body then
and kissed her. His warm lips and the weight of him, hard and lean and strong
above her had soothed her, banished her questions to the back of her mind where
they could wait until another day. She enjoyed the tenderness of his mouth and
the fire his caresses aroused in her. Confusingly, he had not yet taken her
fully as she had imagined he would, although he had on that last occasion shown
her how to pleasure him with her hands and mouth. It had pleased her deeply to
take Guy’s long, hard shaft into her mouth and use her lips and tongue to
stimulate him until he reached the point of no return.
She
had swallowed his salty-sweet seed hungrily, then snuggled into him on the rug
in front of the fire where they had slept away the afternoon.

****

Guy stood in front of his easel
and stared at the image before him. He knew he was a perfectionist and would
never be completely happy with his work, but this painting of Anne did capture
her likeness and her new glow. When he’d first met her, she had been comely,
but now—and he hoped that it had something to do with him—she was luminous in
her exquisite beauty.

The door to the room opened and
Edward entered, throwing his gloves and hat onto the bed before crossing the
room and wrapping his arms around Guy.

“What do you think?” Guy asked
his patron.

Edward didn’t reply but Guy felt
him stiffen as he stared at the portrait. Guy had painted Anne lying on the
chaise clad in just her stockings. Her face rested upon her hand while the
other fell down over her belly, half-obscuring the view of the chestnut curls
between her legs. The painting was highly erotic and Guy knew that Edward
thought so too as he felt his lover’s cock harden against his behind.

“Is she not beautiful?”

“She is.” Edward’s voice was
gruff. Guy pushed backward with his hips, massaging his lover’s erection
without laying a hand on him. Edward responded and reached around to fondle
Guy’s rapidly hardening shaft. “She is too beautiful for a woman though. It
does her no good.”

Guy dropped his paint-spattered
cloth to the floor and turned in Edward’s arms.
 

“Edward, you know that I love
you. I owe my life to you…everything that I now am. I would lay that life down
for you if you asked me to. This whole thing with Anne, I do for you. But I
believe that you are wrong about her.”

Edward pulled back and stared at
him, and Guy’s heart sank at the anger he saw there.

“What do you mean?”

“She is no cruel harpy, no false
mistress. She is sweet, kind, and caring. I do not believe that she
deliberately set out to hurt you.”

Edward frowned but Guy couldn’t
leave the matter alone. If he followed through with Edward’s plans, then Anne
would be ruined, an outcast, ridiculed in society, and it would be all his
doing. Who else would paint the details of her beautiful body then reveal them
to the ton? Who else would whisper her secrets, share the details about what
she liked to do in bed with the eager and scornful ears of those who danced at
Almack’s
or strolled along Rotten Row in the afternoon? It
would be Guy and he alone who caused her suffering and it was a prospect he wasn’t
sure he could bear.

“So you will deny me what I have
asked of you?” Edward’s voice was soft and low.
Dangerous.
When he became quiet, Guy knew he was displeased.

Guy shook his head.

“Because she is
a whore.
Look at how quickly she bared her flesh to you.”

“No, it wasn’t like that,
Edward.” Guy held up his hands. “You know the reputation that we have built for
me. Anne would never have approached me had I not thrust myself into her path.
And you of all people know how seductive I can be. I am well trained in the
art. I have perfected it. I had to in order to survive. I have been a rich
woman’s plaything—and at times a man’s—all my adult life to date, and I know
how to coerce and please. Anne was at a stage where she needed a man, a real
man, after being married to one who was as good as a monk. She had not been
touched tenderly or admired in the ways that can make a woman fall in love. She
would not have thrown herself before just anyone at all. And I believe, Edward,
that she has not forgotten you. There is a sadness in her eyes at times…a
shadow passes across her face like clouds across the sun whenever she refers to
her past. I do not believe that she set out to hurt you.”

“Then find out.” Edward’s voice
was firm, commanding.

“What?”

“Ask her. Ask her why she married
another. Why she did so,
knowing
that
I had gone to seek approval for our marriage.”

Guy reached out, cupped Edward’s
face, and stared deep into his brown eyes.

“I will, my love, I will. For if
I can change this course you seem set upon by easing your pain, then I will
have achieved my life’s purpose.”

Edward leaned forward and rested
his brow against Guy’s while the woman in the painting sat waiting quietly, unaware
of what her future might hold or how the direction of it depended upon a
handsome young artist.

Chapter Six

Anne strolled around the library,
running her fingers over the dusty covers of Alfred’s books. He had been so
proud when he’d first brought her here to his home. As a self-made man of
means, he had never forgotten his roots and he’d regularly made generous
donations to the local parish as well as other charitable organizations.

He’d been a good man but more
like a father than a husband in many ways. Anne had not been overjoyed on their
wedding day as she suspected she would have been had she married Edward, but
then circumstances had forced her into a corner and she had seen no other way
forward.

The way her feelings for Guy were
developing confused her. Lady Jane had told Anne exactly what Guy was and what
services he could offer, but to Anne, it seemed like more than just a physical
act for him. She might be wrong, and that thought pained her beyond belief, but
he was so attentive and seemed so earnest that she hoped he harbored feelings
for her. But where would it take them? Where
could
it take them? They could hardly wed and settle down to have
children, could they?

Could they?

Her heart danced at the thought
and she placed a protective hand over her breast. She had been hurt once—deeply
hurt by the family of the man she had loved when she was told to forget him, that
he would not fight for her—and she had no desire to feel such endless agony
again. Most of the time the pain was now a dull ache, it was true, yet it was
wont to catch her from time to time with its old ferocity, rendered her weak,
and took her breath away. She had loved Edward and believed he felt the same.

Her feelings for Guy were
dangerous. She was edging into unchartered waters and she knew that she must
soon end this time they shared or risk being carried away by a rogue current.

But not today,
for it was Christmas Eve, and not the time for breaking hearts or saying
farewell.
She would leave that until the New Year dawned with its harsh,
cold, January winds.

Anne had ordered the library be
dressed in greenery and the yule log burnt now in the large hearth. There was a
kissing bow suspended from the ceiling above the fireplace and although
mistletoe was usually confined to the servants’ quarters, she had insisted that
some be woven in with the holly and bay. To mark the festive occasion, Anne
wore a new gown of damask satin and left her hair loose so that it fell down
her back in heavy chestnut waves. She knew that she glowed now with health,
happiness, and at times,
hope
. Her improved appetite
meant that her already-generous curves were fuller than ever and she wondered
if Guy would notice the changes in her since their last encounter two weeks prior.

He had written to her to inform
her that he was to complete her paintings and that he would bring them to her
on Christmas Eve. Her belly bubbled with excitement at the thought of seeing
his hard work, and she hoped he would have another present for her now that his
artwork was done. Surely, now he would consummate their affair completely. Anne
didn’t think that she could wait another day to hold him close and make love to
him in the ways she had dreamed.

When the butler knocked at the
door and announced the arrival of Mr. Harper, Anne had to sit down. Her breaths
came fast and shallow and when Guy entered and saw her, he hurried to her side.

“Anne! What is wrong?” She took
his hand and focused on slowing her breathing as he knelt before her and
waited, showering her fingers with soft kisses.

“There. I am well. I felt a
trifle faint. It might be this new corset…it is rather tight.”

“Then remove it immediately,” Guy
replied as a smile played on his lips, relief replacing his concern.

“That would be wise, would it
not?”

He nodded so Anne stood and
offered him the front of her gown. Her seamstress had placed the buttons on the
front as she’d requested, and Guy grinned as he slowly unbuttoned her. As each
button slid out of its hole, Guy’s fingers brushed against her breasts. She let
her arms hang at her sides and focused on his touch, the coolness of his skin
from being recently outdoors, and the deliberately slow fondling that
accompanied his actions. When she was released from the gown, he pushed it down
and helped her to step out of it,
then
he loosened her
stays. She stood before him in a sheer chemise and white silk stockings.

“You are more beautiful than
ever, Anne. I swear you have blossomed in the last fortnight.”

“I believe so. I have had several
gowns let out to accommodate my growing curves,” she confessed, pleased at his
approval.

He stepped back and gazed at her
and she blushed under his scrutiny but with pleasure, not embarrassment, as she
had during his first time at the house.

“Do you have the painting?”

“I do. I have three in fact.”

“Three?”