Sexual Hunger (15 page)

Maria’s eyes widened despite the widow’s catty tone: it was an angle she hadn’t considered. And it would explain how Polinsky sounded so certain Jason was on a ship bound for America, wouldn’t it? But this was no time to approach Jude with such a radical idea: he had just slipped beneath his black cape and was instructing Mrs. Golding to tilt her head to one—

“Perfect!” he called out. “You’ll treasure this likeness for years to come! I’ll have a print ready for you by week’s end.”

“What a fine idea this was, Jude. Thank you for indulging your mother’s old friends with a memento of her party.” Meriweather gazed around the lawn until she spotted her houseguest beneath one of the far canopies. “And if Yosef sits for you, will you provide me a likeness of
him,
as well? Without letting on to him, of course. I’ll gladly pay you for your trouble, Jude.”

The surprise on Jude’s face made Maria chuckle. Clearly, the younger Darington had never considered creating a sideline for himself with his camera, but if Meriweather Golding paid him, perhaps others would ante up as well. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you!” he replied with a dapper grin. “And we’ve convinced Mrs. Grumbaugh to have her picture made as well!”

As the plump partridge positioned herself on the white wicker chair, she smiled at Meriweather’s retreating figure. “Whatever she pays you for a likeness of Polinsky, I’ll double it,” the matron murmured. Then she quickly added, “Something new to throw darts at. I’m quite a competitive player, you know!”

As she exchanged a glance with Jude, Maria had to fight laughter. Who could’ve guessed this tea party would provide such entertainment? Not to mention income for Jude? It was better than thinking about Jason while at the town house, where the springs and floorboards creaked in such a provocative rhythm above her lonely room.

It occurred to her then that Jemma hadn’t shown herself for nearly an hour. Nor had Quentin—not that their whereabouts were any of her business. Far more interesting to follow Polinsky’s patter about spirit summonings during his séances, a topic his avid audience followed closely.

“Is there a chance we might
see
this spirit guide of yours?” Helena Farquar asked. She then engaged in a rapid-fire whispering match with Meriweather. “Of course!” she crowed. “If
Yosef
sat for a portrait, while concentrating on his spirits, something might show up on the print! Like it did in photographs of Eusapia Palladino when she performed for the Society of Psychical Research! Wouldn’t
that
be something?!”

“Oh please, Mr. Polinsky!” someone else cried. “You really must summon your spirit guide, so we can see him! We mustn’t interrupt your séances with the presence of a camera, of course. So
this
would be the perfect opportunity to verify his existence.”

The magician didn’t miss a beat: a knowing smile lit his features. “That’s a fine idea! But please understand that in order to execute such a photograph—if indeed anything will manifest itself—Mr. Darington and I must retire to the house, where my spirit guide will feel more secure and will also be more visible. Outdoor light is much too bright.”

“And while he and Jude are experimenting, we shall move into the parlor for cards,” Lady Darington announced cheerily. “We’ll enjoy our games without the breeze interrupting them.”

Maria flashed Jude a secretive grin. Could this scenario have played out any better? It seemed as though Fate—or perhaps Polinsky’s spirit guide—had written the script expressly for Jude: he now had the perfect opportunity to grill the medium. And meanwhile, Lady Darington would be entertaining her guests indoors, like a proper wife and hostess, while Polinsky had to prove his powers. What a fascinating turn of events…something Miss Crimson might have to write about in her next column.

“Maria, dear, you
must
be my partner at cards!” As Esther reached out with fingers like plump ivory sausages, her rings sparkled nearly as much as her little eyes. “You’ve a better memory for what’s been played, you see. And meanwhile I want to hear all about your life since your wedding day—and what you’ve learned about Jason’s disappearance. How vexing it must be, to live amongst his family without him at your side.”

Maria blinked. Polinsky was approaching the wicker chair, while the other ladies called to her and Esther. There was no gracious way to escape playing cards in the parlor.

“Yes, Mrs. Grumbaugh, we’re all living on pins and needles, wondering about my brother,” Jude replied smoothly. “Thank you for engaging Maria in the afternoon’s entertainment. My mother becomes…preoccupied when she’s seeing to details of her parties.” His expression said what words could not: he was sending her inside with the ladies. Forfeiting any opportunity to be alone with her in favor of having time with Yosef Polinsky.

Maria disguised her sigh and clasped Mrs. Grumbaugh’s hand. “Yes, thank you for your thoughtfulness,” she murmured. “What would Jason’s mother and I do without our friends?”

B
efore Jude could dismantle his camera, Polinsky held up his hand. “I’ve another idea, before we retire to your studio! I need a photographer to make my likeness for some new showbills! Meanwhile, might we also have a bit of…fun with these dear ladies?”

The showman who’d charmed jewelry from around his willing victims’ necks now looked at him like a bosom friend; an enterprising man with a plan from which they both might benefit. Jude knew better than to ask the magician what he was
really
doing—much less to inquire where his heavy Russian accent had gone, for Yoseph Polinsky now sounded as well spoken as any educated Englishman. Smooth as the proverbial baby’s bottom, too, as far as how he navigated the treacherous waters of these women’s jealous streaks and emotions. “What did you have in mind, sir?”

Watching the last ladies enter the house, Polinsky grinned. He extended his arm across the top of the white wicker chair and then leaned into it, as though he were standing beside someone. “Wouldn’t they love the surprise of seeing their portraits with
me
, as though we’d posed together? I must beg your absolute silence, of course—and I’d pay you whatever you wish!” he added quickly. “It just seems like a novel…harmless memento for them.
Heartbreaking
, the stories of their empty lives since their dear husbands passed on. They are requesting séances, but spirit contact is such a fleeting thing—if indeed their husbands’ spirits cooperate.”

Jude sensed he was about to be hoodwinked, as surely as this medium had waved his magic wand to ingratiate himself with Meriweather Golding. Yet something about the plan teased at him—and he certainly craved amusement, now that his brother was gone. “Such illusions would be a challenge to produce,” he mused, “but I can manipulate the negatives…burn in the images you want when I make the prints.”

Would he be sorry he’d agreed to this idea? Jude ducked beneath the black cape to gaze through his camera lens. Polinsky cut a fine figure in his natty dark jacket and white trousers. It was the man’s face that demanded any observer’s attention, however: the profile of his nose, and the way his riveting blue eyes shone on either side of it beneath thick, distinctive eyebrows, gave him a secretive look set off by a squared chin with an arresting cleft. His peppery hair had gone to salt at the temples—a look women supposedly found attractive. Especially women who were old enough to be Polinsky’s mother, but didn’t want to admit it.

YOUR mother isn’t old enough to be his mother!

Jude shut out this distracting inner voice to adjust the camera’s shutter. Something about this little deception felt good, if only because Polinsky believed he was calling the shots. “Nice smile now! And then hold it steady…” he encouraged as he held out the shutter bulb. “Imagine your…lady of the moment seated in that chair—yes, that’s the look we want!”

He squeezed the bulb, sensing immediately that this picture was precisely what Polinsky desired. “Perfect! I’ll print these with Mrs. Golding in the chair, and Mrs. Grumbaugh, and—”

“Perhaps more of the ladies should sit for a portrait, so no one feels…left out later,” Polinsky suggested furtively. “Meanwhile, I’d like a photograph of only my face, to print on my showbills for upcoming performances, and to advertise my services as a medium. I’ve been in London just a few short weeks, but it seems a promising place to conduct business.”

Jude’s stomach tightened. Would this presumptuous man use these trumped-up prints as gifts? Or to entice women to seek his services in the spiritual realm? Or—more interesting yet—would the bogus photos become bait so others would invite him to stay in their homes, as Mrs. Golding had? It only made sense that Polinsky plied a more lucrative trade among women who’d lost their men…which begged the question of what sort of
trade
he was actually in.

“Now—if you could move your camera closer, for a shot of my face alone,” the magician suggested. He sat in the chair then, angling himself so the sunlight shone on half of his face, while the farther side remained shadowed.

Jude paused. This man was no stranger to the rules of good photography, nor to the sheer
presence
he exuded as he lifted his chin and gazed directly into the camera lens. He looked imperious and virile and—

Seductive. Omnipotent. Thank God he’s not making eyes at Maria.

And why wasn’t he? Maria Palladino was far and away the most arresting woman here today; a natural target for a shyster, too, because she’d endured a wedding gone awry and still had no idea where her fiancé was. Yet the man who sat before him, gazing through the camera lens as though to read Jude’s thoughts, presumed to flirt with his mother—a well-married woman! It was time to broach that subject, while he and Polinsky were alone.

“Hold that expression,” Jude instructed. For a moment he felt tempted to stand with the shutter bulb extended for long, long moments—making this visitor dance to
his
tune! But that would only alert the medium to other tricks he wanted to play while they had no witnesses. “All right…chin up just a bit—yes! Fabulous!” Jude exclaimed as he caught the shot.

He came out from under the cape then, bracing himself for a conversation about this man’s feelings for his mother. “You know, Polinsky, I’ve got to wonder why you pursue my—”

“One more request!” The medium glanced toward the house. Stepped closer to Jude. Spoke in a lower voice. “You’re set up to take those ladies’ portraits, so rather than go inside—” Polinsky’s gaze lingered on the back windows, as though to ascertain what each and every woman in the parlor might be doing. He then turned his back to the house, and damned if he didn’t fumble with his fly buttons. “If you can be quick about it, I’d like a novelty shot—for calling cards of the randiest, dandiest sort! You see, I’m not the only one who fancies having his photograph made!”

Jude gaped. The man beside him had unfastened his trousers and reached inside them to scoop out—

“Quick, man! Before they come out to see what we’re doing!” Polinsky rasped. “Get this picture!”

Too stunned to protest, Jude removed the camera from its tripod. He balanced it instead on the small table beside the wicker chair, then knelt to focus on his subject—and again his jaw dropped. While Polinsky wasn’t a tall man, the cock jutting from between his legs was the biggest, thickest erection Jude had ever seen. No wonder Mrs. Golding looked so happy these days! This middle-aged medium was a
large
! And in the time it had taken Jude to reposition himself, Polinsky had slipped a jeweled ring over the head of his member and was stroking it into position at the root. It glimmered there with garnets and emeralds, like a Christmas gift that kept giving all year long: an invitation to experience extreme sexual hunger and then to satisfy it in a big way.

Jude swallowed hard. How must such an appendage
feel
, inside a woman? He hoped Maria never saw Polinsky’s equipment, for she would surely find him and his twin lacking. “You must hold still,” he insisted. “No hand movements! No shifting of your weight.”

“Can you get it all in the picture?”

Jude bit back a retort: Polinsky’s ego was every bit as oversized as his…pole. “I’ll do my job and you do yours,” he muttered. He squeezed the bulb, thinking how very sexual that simple act seemed in light of what he was photographing. “All right! We’re finished.”

Polinsky chuckled low in his throat. “No, Mr. Darington. We’re just getting started.”

And what did he mean by that? Holding the camera’s sides, Jude straightened to his full height, aware of how his backside had been sticking out. This conversation—this whole scenario—suddenly smacked of something he wanted no part of. Before he thought carefully, he blurted, “While we’re on the subject, I’ll thank you to keep that thing away from my mother!”

The medium—the very
upstanding
medium—kept one hand on his member as he studied Jude with a guarded expression. “I think you’d better apologize! Or no—just stay the hell away from that subject altogether. Your mother’s mature enough to do as she pleases, without her son’s permission!”

“Tell that to my father!”

Polinsky smirked. “
I
don’t need your permission, either, nor will I ask for it. Now—” He pulled up his pants and then fastened the buttons over the bulge in his fly. “If you’ll have trouble maintaining a
professional confidentiality
about the business we’re transacting, I’ll pay you for those negatives this minute. And we’ll be done with it.”

There was no going back—and no denying he’d just gotten caught in this quick-witted magician’s web…sucked in with the charisma Maria had mentioned. No doubt Polinsky had waved the same devious wand of words to insinuate himself into Meriweather Golding’s good graces. Which meant he was living in London as a perpetual
guest,
fawning his way into schemes and séances that would earn him a princely sum, at the expense of the dear old victims he swindled: lonely women who bloomed again in the sunshine of his sexual attention.

So why is he seducing your mother?

It was a question that would only land him in deeper trouble. And when Jude saw his sister coming around the side of the house, looking coyly over her shoulder, the chance to challenge Yosef Polinsky disappeared. “You’ll have your prints by week’s end,” he said tersely. “I’ll deliver them to Mrs. Golding’s, along with an invoice.”

Polinsky pulled a money clip from his pocket and peeled away several bills. “I believe in paying before services are rendered, Mr. Darington. I know you’ll deliver superb photographs.”

Jude stuffed the money into his jacket, following Jemma with his gaze. Her blond hair was tied back at the crown in a large ribbon that matched her green print dress, and with the rest of her curls spilling down over her shoulders she looked very sweet and girlish—until he realized she was leading some poor fool astray. But who was here, at this tea party?

“Hah! You see!” Polinsky murmured. “Even your little sister knows her power and how to use it. You could be marrying Maria Palladino, to become the envy of every man hereabouts, if you’d simply take what she’s offering. Everyone but
you
realizes that!” With a chortle, the Russian smoothed his lapels. “I’m going inside now for a glass of punch. You’ll have more sitters before the afternoon passes.”

Jude nearly bit off his lip to restrain his anger. The nerve of that bastard, insinuating he should fill the vacancy Jason had left in Maria’s life! As though neither he nor Maria saw anything
wrong
with that! Only an indecent—

Polinsky stopped at the back door to speak to someone before he went inside. When the magician’s gaze wandered to where Jemma had perched on a bench at the far end of the garden, Jude sensed fate and advantageous timing had once again played into the magician’s hands. He did
not
expect to see Quentin McCallum lingering on the stoop, exchanging gazes with his little sister, once Polinsky stepped inside.

And why was his brother’s butler flirting with his sister?

And why wouldn’t he? Everyone else is a bit old for him, aren’t they?

Even that voice inside his head was playing devil’s advocate, damn it! Jemma was clearly as engaged in this game of cat and mouse as Quentin, so it wasn’t as though Jason’s servant had acted out of turn—even though he’d overstepped the line separating employers and their staff.

Are you going to step in as your sister’s social conscience, too? You didn’t accomplish much when you acted on your mother’s behalf.

Jude started toward Jemma, and then thought better of it. Why did he feel compelled to fix the problems women caused themselves? It was a fool’s game, believing he could correct the missteps of every female who snapped up the bait men tossed them.

And when his sister stood up, trotted toward Quentin with open arms, and then
launched
herself at the butler, he had his answer. At least McCallum had the decency to look startled before he caught Jemma in the kiss she planted on his lips. When her laughter tinkled like a little bell on the breeze, Jude almost felt sorry for the slender fellow who’d just been ensnared: Quentin would bear the blame if Lord or Lady Darington learned of this indiscretion.

Indiscretion? It’s a kiss, for chrissakes! Are you so desperate for affection you begrudge everyone around you?

There was no winning this inner war, just as there was no backing away from the job he’d taken as Polinsky’s private photographer.
Or the photographer of Polinsky’s privates.

Sighing, Jude repositioned his camera atop its tripod. The trip-trap of dainty heels on the walk warned him a woman was coming, and he turned with a smile that felt pasted on. “Hello, Mrs. Farquar. Has the card game already broken up?”

“Oh my, no!” Helena replied with a roll of her eyes. “I’m such a poor player I’ve already eliminated myself, so I thought I’d beg the favor of a photograph—if you have the time, of course! It’s been years since I had the inclination, or the occasion, to have my portrait made!”

Already he saw that shine in her eyes…the hopefulness of a girl standing at the toy store window. He didn’t need to ask who’d put it there. “Of course,” he said, gesturing toward the white wicker chair. “It’s a privilege to capture your likeness in Mother’s garden today. She’ll be so pleased you wanted this memento of her party. Now: chin up…yes, with your shoulders back…like that…”