Part 11 (1/2)

But maybe that same difference was the reason. He hadn't swept into her studio spouting aristocratic demands, and he'd even seemed almost ashamed to be a duke's son. He'd been amazingly immune to her customary manner with male visitors to her studio, the automatic teasing, cajoling flirtation that had convinced a great many men to buy a great many third-rate paintings. He'd barely been able to meet her eye, let alone ogle her like all the other men, and he'd been so overly courteous and formal that he'd made her wary and wonder what he was hiding behind such a straitlaced facade.

But all that had changed when he'd glimpsed her drawings at the amba.s.sador's villa. It wasn't just that he'd seen pictures that she'd made for her own enjoyment. He'd responded to them with such open pleasure and understanding that she'd been left stammering and fl.u.s.tered. His interest had been as personal, as intimate, as creating the pictures themselves had been for her, and it had made a bewildering bond between them that she'd never sensed nor sought with any other man. The feeling had only grown when he'd come to return her shawl, his concern for her welfare achingly genuine, and when he'd chosen to see her own paintings over the lewd showiness of the Oculus.

He'd chosen her as she truly was, alone with her paints beneath the roof, instead of the flirtatious braggadocio of her very public persona. In turn he'd let her see beneath the gold lace and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, and glimpse the heart that beat inside that righteously formal exterior. And, oh, what that had done to her!

Now when she looked at the writhing figures of the Oculus, her imagination leaped to the same shocking idea that Lady Hamilton proposed. She imagined herself lying naked beneath Edward, her legs curled around his waist and her back arched and her head tossed back in ecstasy as he rode her as fiercely as any of the ancient lovers. Her heart began to race and her body grow warm and heavy with desire as the wicked, tempting images of the Oculus mingled with the reality of Edward's body joined to hers, of feeling him driving deep within her in a way she'd never considered, never imagined, never wanted with any other man.

To lose herself in him like that, to desire a man with that intensity-no wonder it frightened her near to death.

”There will be no scenes of any sort between me and Captain Ramsden, my lady,” she said almost curtly as she forced herself to look away, thankful that the muted light would hide the l.u.s.t that must show now on her face. ”It is not meant to be.”

”Because of the war?” prodded her ladys.h.i.+p gently. ”Because he is an English lord? Because of a thousand other little protests you could make, all of them meaningless?”

”My lady, the French could be here any day!”

”And Vesuvius could wake and bury us all beneath hot ash while we sleep tonight, and we'd be just as dead.” Her ladys.h.i.+p sighed, and shook her head. ”If you lead your life looking for sorrow, then trouble will most certainly find you first.”

”But to conceive of an intrigue between me and Captain Ramsden-”

”You're a virgin, little Robin, aren't you?” asked the older woman softly. ”Here, in Naples, despite so much temptation and pleasure, you're still a virgin.”

”By choice, my lady,” said Francesca defensively, striving for the conviction that she'd never questioned in herself, or at least not before now. ”My choice. Why should I wish to grant my life and my art to a man to ruin?”

But her ladys.h.i.+p only smiled sadly, lightly tapping the diamond plume on her lapel. ”So you've never been in love, either? Oh, my dear, whatever your reason or excuse, pray don't close yourself away from all the joys of love!”

”From this?” Scornfully Francesca swept her hand through the air, encompa.s.sing the sixteen different paintings of the Oculus with sixteen writhing couples. ”Why should I be eager to give myself over to this?”

”Base couplings like these are not the same as love, little Robin,” said her ladys.h.i.+p. ”Any beasts can do this, or at least inventive beasts. Love, the truest love, comes from the union of two souls, two hearts, and not just their bodies. Sometimes a lifetime can pa.s.s before that special one appears, but when he does-ah, you'll risk all to be with him. Look at me. I know what I am. I'm no longer young, nor beautiful, and I'm wed to a man who treasures me above all others, and yet my heart was not complete until Horatio Nelson sailed into my life.”

The wonder and joy in the older woman's smile had nothing to do with age or beauty, but only the little one-armed admiral that had captured her heart. Francesca remembered the glances the two had exchanged, how even in a room with others they hadn't needed words to share their feelings.

So this was love, and against her will she thought of how Edward Ramsden's stern lord-captain's face had gentled when he'd studied her painting, how that gentleness had remained when he'd s.h.i.+fted his gaze to her, how she'd felt the warmth of it curl like smoke though her body.

But what would happen when this love Lady Hamilton so cherished was gone? Even in Naples, the scandal of what she and the admiral were doing was carving the first cracks into his career and her reputation. Sir William's diplomatic career was in shambles, and he'd become a figure of mockery, every caricaturist showing him with cuckold's horns. The admiral fared scarce better, his triumphs at sea tainted with public outrage and sympathy for his wronged wife at home in England. Disgrace hovered upon the horizon, and if-no, when-the two lovers returned to London, the scandal could ruin them both with an efficiency that would make Napoleon envious. They'd lose their fortunes, their homes, their spouses, their friends, their careers, and for what?

For love. But to Francesca, this sort of grand love that her ladys.h.i.+p had found was no more appealing, no more tempting, than the kind that her father had painted in the Oculus.

And no matter how Edward Ramsden smiled at her, she wanted none of it.

”You don't believe me, do you, little Robin?” With a sigh, Lady Hamilton rose. Briefly she looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard as if to stop tears before they came, then smiled at Francesca again. ”Perhaps it's something that can't be taught. Perhaps it's something you must learn for yourself. All I can do is pray that you do.”

”Yes, my lady,” answered Francesca dutifully.

” 'My lady, my lady', as if I were born any better than you!” To Francesca's surprise, her ladys.h.i.+p leaned forward and kissed her on each cheek, the diamond plume sharp where it grazed against her shoulder. ”Take care, my dear. You have a good head, and a better heart, and I know wherever you land, you will thrive.”

Confused by such a gesture, Francesca twisted away, unconsciously touching her cheek where her ladys.h.i.+p had kissed it. Only one other had showed any such concern for her, only one other in all Naples since Papa had died.

To keep yourself safe and from harm, la.s.s, until affairs here are more settled...