must have misunderstood. ‘Pardon me?’
‘I said that portrait is being painted with the intention for exhibition to show the breadth of his skills as an artist.’
‘And you agreed to be his model? Why would you agree to such a thing? That portrait is indecent.’
She snorted. His refined wife actually snorted at his statement. ‘You are one to say what is indecent?’
They were turning onto Bond Street, bustling with servants and members of the ton. He was aware they were garnering attention simply by walking together. The last thing he needed was gossip about this argument—and this was going to be an argument. She was much too stubborn for it not to be.
He directed his attention ahead of him. ‘We will discuss this at home.’
‘I’m not going home.’
‘Yes, you are. We are going home to finish this discussion.’
‘Then I suggest we finish it now because I. Am. Not. Going. Home.’
His nostrils flared when he looked down at her. ‘When did you become so defiant?’
‘When you showed your true colours,’ she replied with clipped movements.
She didn’t know him at all. If she believed he was going to allow that portrait to hang in the Royal Academy, or anywhere else outside one of their homes for that matter, she was sorely mistaken. ‘Very well, you want to discuss this now, we will.’
Guiding her by the elbow, they walked past Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon and into William Gray’s Jewellery Shop. The moment the bespectacled proprietor spotted the impeccably dressed couple, he came hurrying over.
‘Leave us,’ Gabriel commanded.
The mouse-faced little man retreated behind the curtain to the back of the store.
Next he turned his attention to her maid. ‘You are to wait outside.’
It was of no surprise that Colette glanced at Olivia for her approval before she walked out the door. He was surrounded by women who seemed to have forgotten he was the Duke of Winterbourne.
Now he would settle this matter with Olivia once and for all. He tugged her into a corner of the shop away from the windows overlooking the street. ‘You are the Duchess of Winterbourne, a respected member of the ton and my wife. You cannot display yourself for all of London in such a fashion.’
‘No one will know it is me.’ Her voice was low but strong.
‘I will know.’ He kept his voice down as well, but it wasn’t easy.
When he had walked in on the roguishly dressed man standing over his reclining wife and touching her, Gabriel wanted to carve out the man’s bollocks with a butter knife. ‘You are not to go back there.’ There! Now there would be no question where the painting would be hung since it would not be finished.
‘You are mad and have lost all sense of reason,’ she whispered sharply.
He wasn’t foolish enough to deny what this was. He was feeling proprietary over a woman he hadn’t taken to bed in years. And maybe he was just a little bit mad. ‘No one should see you that way. I am the only one who should see you that way,’ he bit out.
Yes, mad. He was definitely mad.
‘But you don’t. You cannot even bear to take me to bed.’
‘Now who is mad?’
She fisted her hands at her sides and leaned closer so their foreheads were almost touching. ‘It’s true. So what if he thinks his study of movement and light is also a testament to female sensuality? So what if he believes I am striking? You do not.’
Now, she definitely was the one who was mad. He grabbed her by the back of her neck and crushed his lips against hers in a claiming kiss.
* * *
Olivia intended to push him away, but she had forgotten the feel of the curve of the muscles in his arms. A slow glide of his tongue against her closed lips had her weakening. And when he pressed his body into hers, all rational thought left her brain and her body took over.
She had missed him—missed the time they’d spent together early in their marriage.
Reluctantly she slid her hands over his shoulders and threaded her fingers through his thick hair. It was shorter now than it had been years ago. She deepened the kiss.
He groaned low into her mouth and slid his hands over the curve of her bottom. And then, just as quickly as it began, he let her go.
‘Let that put to rest your false assumption,’ he said, breathing deeply. He stepped away from her, spun on his heels and stormed out the door.
Olivia peered at him through the large shop window as he walked down Bond Street as if he owned the world. She rested her hand on the display case beside her, trying to steady her wobbly legs.
What had just happened? One minute he was being the most insufferable man and the next he was kissing her senseless.
And she’d kissed him back.
She pressed her hand against her forehead, silently berating herself for her foolishness. It must have been her discussion about sensuality with Manning that had caused her to give in to his unusual behaviour. It definitely was not the taste and feel of her husband. Those feelings of wanting him were long dead.
Weren’t they?
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