Page 72 of What a Lord Wants

In an old dressing robe he kept in the armoire for overnight stays when he worked long into the night, Dom stood beside the bed and watched Eve sleep.

She resembled an angel in the blue light of dawn that fell softly through the gauzy curtain drawn over the window. He’d pulled it when he woke so that she could keep sleeping late into the morning, but he’d had no idea how beautiful she’d be in the diffused light. Her hair spread out over the pillow, her long lashes nearly touching her cheeks, her sensuous lips parted slightly and trembling with each deep breath…

She whispered to herself in her sleep, and he smiled.

He’d never known another woman like her. Oh, there had been women in his life who were more beautiful, a few who were more brilliant, and many more polished in society’s ways…but none who grabbed onto life with both hands the way she did. None who had invaded his life as she had, permeating every part of it, with her energy and inner light.

In the short time he’d known her, they’d developed a connection between them that was stronger than he’d realized. Making love to her tonight proved it.

She’d been simply amazing, giving him a combination of sweetness and seduction, wanton and wonder, that had put him pleasure-drugged out of his mind. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Even though she’d been innocent, she was still Eve, a woman who insisted on throwing herself with wild abandon into everything she did.

He grinned.Thank God.He didn’t dare let her fire consume him, but he certainly planned on dancing as close to the flames as possible.

Careful not to wake her, he went downstairs. The fire in the stove had gone out, leaving the studio cool and awash in pre-dawn shadows. He plucked a grape from the untouched tray of food, regretting that they’d not been able to enjoy it. Well, it would be breakfast, at least.

He smiled wickedly as he popped the grape into his mouth. She was still warm and naked beneath the covers, with no reason for either of them to return to Mercer House any time soon. Perhaps the tray of food would do for dinner, as well. One eaten decadently from her bare back.

As he turned to go upstairs, he impulsively snatched up his sketchbook and pencil from his worktable.

He sat in the chair in the corner of the bedroom and quietly flipped open the book. In the faint light, he sketched her as she slept, wanting to record every delicate line of her face, every detail of her essence. She’d laugh if she woke and caught him being so sentimental, but he couldn’t help himself. This moment was magical, the two of them together while the rest of the world was still asleep. He wanted to capture it before the harsh light of day flooded over them.

He didn’t know yet where she fit into his heart, or how she could co-exist there with his muse. But his art came first, it had to. A great artist couldn’t serve two masters. He couldn’t give everything to his work if he had to hold back even part of himself for the woman he loved. And he couldn’t give everything to the woman he loved if he had to reserve part of himself for his art.

So he would give all of himself to Eve when he was with her, but when he was here working, his concentration had to be on his painting. Thankfully, she understood that…the only woman who ever had.

But now as she slept and her beautiful image emerged on the paper, all that mattered was this moment and his need to fix it in time. He couldn’t seize life with abandon the way she could, but he could grab onto this.Thismuch of her he could make his, and hold on tight.

Chapter 20

Late November

Mayfair, London

With deep concern etched onto his face, Bentley held the door open as Eve and Dr. Brandon left her father’s townhouse. The same concern he’d worn since she arrived at the house two hours ago to meet with the noted physician, conveniently while her father was at his shipping office in Wapping and where she knew the servants would keep her secrets. Bentley had been with her family since before her mother died, and knowing not to overstep boundaries, he’d said nothing. Not even when Eve confusedly thanked him for baking her favorite cinnamon biscuits, although it was Cook who had baked them, of course. And even though they were lemon.

Heavens! There had beennobiscuits at all.

Mortification poured through her as the realization smacked her, right there on the front portico. She’d completely forgotten to ask for a tea tray when she arrived, too concerned about her examination to think of it.

Judging from the way Dr. Brandon paused to pull on his gloves before he returned to his carriage, he didn’t seem to mind the slight in hospitality. Or if he did, he was so used to delivering patients unexpected news that an absent-minded patient was simply routine.

But there was nothing routine about this for her.

She was with child.

Dr. Brandon signaled for the butler to close the door and return inside so that he could have parting words alone with her. “You need to come by my office within the next few weeks so that plans can be made for your care.”

She gave a jerky nod, still stunned at the diagnosis, although she shouldn’t have been surprised. Something had been wrong with her for the past few weeks. She hadn’t been feeling at all like herself…tired, once again not sleeping well even with Dom beside her, headaches, and sick to her stomach. Yet she hadn’t had the courage to mention it to Dom or even to Mariah, fearing the worst. After all, hadn’t her own mother’s death begun with her feeling as equally out of sorts, as tired and headachy?

“You’ll want to hire a nurse, of course. I keep a list of women who are excellent. Shall I send it to Mercer House?”

“No,” she said, so quickly that his eyes narrowed. “There’s…so much going on there right now.”

“Ah, yes. The marquess’s art exhibit. I heard tell of it the other day at the Royal College. He must be quite busy planning it all.”

She forced a smile as she always did at mention of the exhibition. Now that the storm over her painting had died away, Dom had launched into a new project to establish himself as an artist under his own name. Part of his plan was to stage a special winter exhibition that he’d convinced the British Institution to hold just after the new year, when English society began to trickle back into London for the start of Parliament. The other part was to create a new masterpiece. And both were eating away his time, until it seemed that Eve barely saw him at all.

But he needed to do this in order to break away from Vincenzo, and she would never begrudge him his art. No matter how much she missed spending time with him.