The Nude (full-length historical romance) by Dorothy McFalls Read Free Book Online Page A

to deny her even a moment of peace? A glimmering chance for happiness? She raised her hand, poised to tear the aging material and destroy the last remaining evidence of her ability to love.
    Her arm, hanging in the air, froze.
    “I can’t.” She tossed the painting aside and collapsed on the middle of her bed.
    “ I can’t ,” she sobbed.
    * * * * *
    Nigel lifted the neatly folded handkerchief Lady Mercer had left on the empty bench as the carriage pulled away from the Grosvenor Square town house.
    “Well, well,” he said. The damp scent of lilacs and orange blossoms lingered with his cologne on the soft linen. “She’s not quite the wilting flower I’d expected.”
    In fact, after meeting her, he decided she was much more a mystery now than when she was just a beautiful figure sculpted on canvas.
    A canvas now safely locked away in his private vault.
    Her fiery spirit was delightfully intriguing. It pained him that he’d have to block her efforts for revenge. He ’d much rather fight battles for the lady than wag e one against her.
    He could easily crush her. But destruction was the last thing on his mind.
    Perhaps . . . perhaps . . .
    Perhaps he wouldn’t wage a war against Lady Mercer. Perhaps he could bend her will to suit his own purposes.
    He smiled at the prospect. Seduction wouldn’t be simple. He wasn’t a fool. The young widow had frozen like a terrified doe when he touched her. Her warm skin had cooled to ice under his fingertips.
    But her feelings didn’t signify. Nigel relished challenges, the more impossible the better. And he’d never met a proper unwed lady who wasn’t either moon-eyed or near to swooning in his presence.
    Disdain—now that was a novel experience. Terrifyingly so.
    The carriage pulled to a halt and the door swung open.
    He took one more whiff of the sweetly scented handkerchief before jamming the cloth into his coat pocket and leapt from the carriage with the confidence of a man prepared to take on the herculean task of holding up the world.
    The game was on. He’d seduce Lady Mercer—she was a widow after all—save her reputation . And distract her until he could destroy all evidence of Dionysus’s existence.

Chapter Five
     
     
    Molly pulled back the curtains, sending an overly bright beam of sunlight streaming into the large bedroom. Elsbeth groaned and buried her head within the soft folds of her down pillow.
    “No use ’iding, milady,” Molly drawled. “Lord Baneshire is already calling for ye to meet ’im in ’is breakfast room. An invitation ’ad been delivered yesterday. To a party, milady.” She hummed an unrecognizable tune as she bustled noisily about the room.
    “You’re dropping your H’s again.”
    “Forgive me, milady. It’s just the excitement ’as me tongue slippin’,” She bobbed a curtsy and blushed. “ Here is a pretty gown, milady.” She’d tossed open the wardrobe and quickly produced a bright pink morning gown. The intense color made Elsbeth draw in her breath.
    After a year of donning black gowns, the array of brightly colored gowns her uncle had insisted she have made still had the power to take her breath away .
    Molly laid the gown across the foot of the bed, then stood back and smiled. “I pronounced me ach’s nice an’ clear that time, I did.”
    “Yes, Molly, you did. You are a gem.” Molly, the youngest daughter of the Mercer’s smithy, was by no means trained as a lady’s maid. Mercer’s housekeeper, Mrs. Brucket, had gasped and sputtered so much when Elsbeth brought the sturdy young woman into the house, everyone present feared the poor housekeeper was suffering from a fit of apoplexy.
    “I will have to inform his lordship about this,” Mrs. Brucket had threatened once she’d caught her breath. A knowing gleam had darkened her eyes. The housekeeper’s threat did nothing to deter Elsbeth even if the threat of her husband’s anger had given her reason to pause.
    The danger of not acting had been simply too