“Of course.” She stepped away from the worktable as he approached, but there was little room in the tight space. He could feel the heat of her body and heard the tight, shallow way she breathed. Was she nervous about his opinion? She shouldn’t be. The design was exquisite.
“Did you sketch this first?”
She shook her head. “No. I have been making that bird since I was a child. This is just the latest version.” She leaned down to look closer at it. “But it is the first time that I have added flames.” She slanted him a look. “I suppose you are to blame for that. Did you know that I made your stickpin?”
“Your father told me.” He touched the flame pin in his cravat. “I underestimated you again, Miss Gohar. I thought this piece extraordinary, but I had no idea that you could do this,” he said, gesturing to the bird in flight.
She looked down at it and then idly crushed it with one hand.
“What are you doing?” he gasped as he leaped forward to save the design. It was too late. The wax lay in pieces on the table. “Why?”
“It was too large to make into real jewelry. We do not have enough gold. Besides,” she said with a shrug, “the head was too big and the throat too long.”
He had not seen such flaws, but obviously, she had exacting standards. “I cannot believe you destroyed something that beautiful. You spent hours on that!”
“I cannot believe you sat with my father for hours. He has never done that with any man except my grandfather.”
Elliott’s smile was wistful. “I never got the chance to drink brandy with my own father. It was a pleasure to do so with yours.”
She seemed to think about that, her expression grave. Then she lifted her chin. “I do not care what my father has said. You will not be the one to choose my husband.”
He lifted his hands in surrender. “I shall merely advise you. I have every expectation that you will select an excellent husband. But if you are to be a respectable woman, I should get you home to my sister’s immediately. We cannot risk you being seen here. Miss Amber Gohar and Thisbe Gold cannot be connected.”
She looked around the cramped room. “And if I want to return here? To see my family or sculpt something new?”
He blew out a breath. “If you are careful, I can arrange for it.” After all, many of his sister’s new footmen worked here. They could be trusted to bring her safely. Though that thought made his gut tighten. He did not like the idea of any man other than himself escorting her.
“Good,” she said as she gathered the broken pieces of her carving and threw them into a bag half filled with broken wax. “Let me get my cloak, and we can go.”
He was there before her, shaking out the fabric before draping it gently around her. She pulled it about her neck, but when she would have stepped away from him, he tightened his hold on her shoulders.
“Your father was right,” he said softly. “You are an artist. You must find a husband who will allow you to do this work.”
She turned slightly in his hold, lifting her face to his. “Do you think that likely?” she asked, hope in her voice. “Is there a man among the ton who would want his wife in trade?”
“Ladies paint, Amber. And stitch and—”
“Pour molten gold into a flask and fire it in a kiln?” She lifted her bare hands such that he could see every bump and ridge. “I have cut myself a thousand times and burned myself as well. Aren’t ladies supposed to have hands as soft as down?”
Yes, they were. He caught her hand, feeling every scar and callous that marred her skin. “Pick a husband who knows your value beneath your skin.” Then he pulled her hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. If there were scars beneath his lips, he didn’t feel them. He only knew her scent and the way her hand cupped his face.
She leaned against him, stroking his chin as he pressed his mouth to her hand. He felt his body tighten in reaction, and he struggled to keep himself from wrapping his arms around her. The worktable was right beside them. He could do so many things to her right here, right now. And she seemed willing, her body pliable as her fingertips stroked across his cheek.
He pulled back. “You tempt me,” he accused softly.
“You confuse me.”
He drew back. “How so?”
“My father believes you to be a gentleman. I do, as well.”
She didn’t sound like that was a compliment. “Thank you?”
“You have arranged for my dowry and mean to help me select a husband.”
That was true, though the knowledge gave him no pleasure.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And yet, I think about what we did in the carriage, and I want it again.” Her gaze caught his. “Will there be no more of that?”
“I was a cad,” he said harshly. “You are not a woman to be handled so crudely. I am ashamed of my actions.” But he didn’t regret them.
She blew out a breath that skated across his chin. “I wanted what happened. I begged for it.”
Of course, she had, because she was an innocent. He knew better. He knew that he had created the desire in her because he wanted to experience it. Because he wanted her. And now again, he knew he should step away, but instead, he breathed her scent, he stood close enough to feel her heat, and he allowed it to stoke the need in both of them.
“You will not kiss me again?” Her voice was so quiet as to be near silent. But he read the words off her lips. And he felt her desire like a sweet shiver that he could stroke into a great quake.
He lowered his head until his lips touched her ear. When he spoke, he kept his words as quiet as hers had been. “Can you feel and keep silent? You have a protector right beyond the door.”
She nodded.
And now the more important question. “Can you let me kiss you and not dream of more between us? Nothing has changed for me. I cannot marry for love. To do so would give up all my hopes in politics. Only men with the right wives influence the Crown.” He said the words by rote because he had been saying that to himself ever since that first night in the carriage with her.
He had such plans for the country, ideas he wanted to implement, things that would steer the nation away from disaster. But that only came with great money or the right connections. He did not have a nabob’s wealth. Thanks to Lord Dunnamore’s mismanagement, their money was barely adequate. That left him working constantly to recover their finances, all while looking for connections in the evening, discussing resolutions and laws with the influential lords as he paid respect to their daughters.
It was what he’d been doing at Almack’s this night. Whenever he hadn’t been looking at Amber, that is. And it was the litany he repeated to himself when he wanted to spread her thighs and watch her come apart in his arms again.
“I cannot have you,” he said. “But I could show you more if you want it.”
She shifted in his arms, but she did not pull away. Neither forward nor back, and the movement showed she was as undecided as he. “For a man who is ashamed, you sound very unrepentant.”
He closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers. He felt the throb in his body, and his hands tightened reflexively around her waist. How easy it would be to slide his hands upward to her breasts. How wonderful it would be to ease her backward onto the worktable and feast upon her body.