Chapter Nine
They stepped outside and went to the carriage.
David handed her up, and Justina took a seat in the center of one of the cushions.
Instead of sitting opposite her, as she had expected he would do, David took the place beside her.
While the cushion was supposedly wide enough to carry three occupants on each side, he was a broad man and took up a good deal of space.
She thought she should move over to give him more room, and then her stubborn streak emerged.
If he wanted more room for himself, he could sit across from her.
Besides, she rather liked his warmth pressed against the length of her side.
He rapped on the side with his knuckles, and the vehicle began in motion.
The carriage had seemed so large on her trip to Norwood two hours earlier, but now it was filled with him.
Not only physically, but also with his essence.
His cologne was a woodsy scent, and she felt an attraction to him unlike anything she had ever experienced.
Suddenly, she wanted to kiss this man, something she had never considered doing with any other gentleman she had met.
Wetting her lips, she asked, “Where is this cottage where you will be staying?”
“His Grace has kindly offered me the use of a cottage which was recently vacated on the edge of Norwood lands. It is the side closest to Kidsgrove. No, not use of it. He actually gifted it to me so that I would not have to pay rent anywhere else.”
“My, that is a very generous gesture. It shows how highly he thinks of you.”
He shrugged. “Henry was . . . wounded in the war and in no condition to make the trip home to Norwood by himself. I took it upon myself to bring him home to England. In order to do so, I had to resign and sell my army commission.”
She studied him carefully. “But you were ready to leave the war, weren’t you, David?”
“I did not realize I was until it unfolded. War is incredibly hard on a man’s soul, Justina. What I have seen and done. The things I can never share with others. It is a burden that I will carry for the rest of my life.”
Wanting to comfort him, she reached and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. Staring at their joined hands, she said, “If you ever feel the need to unburden yourself, I have a willing ear you may bend.”
He gently squeezed her fingers. “If I ever told anyone about those years, it would be you.”
A rush of warmth filled her. “I do not wish to press you about that time in your life. Instead, let us talk about me, shall we?” she asked, her tone teasing.
His rich laugh filled the carriage and warmed her even further. “You are a balm to my soul, Justina Fulton. Yes, let me share how you are upon the cusp of discovery.”
His words intrigued her. “You are telling me that you found someone to purchase my art?”
“Henry and I visited a dealer called Mr. Layton. It does not quite work that way. Instead of buying your four paintings, Mr. Layton agreed to display them,” he explained. “They will be for sale, and anyone may purchase them.”
He was looking at her directly now, his brilliant, green eyes smiling at her.
“Mr. Layton has visited the Lake District himself, and he easily recognized the places you had painted. He praised your talent and believes he has clients who would wish to purchase your paintings. Henry negotiated the transaction for you, his word holding more weight than mine ever could.”
“I suppose being a duke’s heir apparent can do that.”
“I have never seen Henry behave arrogantly or use his title and status to get ahead. Until now. He let the weight of his title guide the negotiations. Once your paintings are sold, Mr. Layton will take a commission from that sale, but you will still receive a healthy amount. Mr. Layton said the Lake District is popular with his clients and that he thinks your paintings will sell quickly.”
Excitement coursed through her. “I never have known the extent of my talent, David. As I mentioned to you, I thought my family merely humored me by saying how much they liked my art and placing it upon their walls.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “Oh, it is better than good, Justina. I think you will have quite a future as a painter of the Lake District.” He smiled. “Who knows? Just as there are the Lake Poets, one day others might talk about the Lake Artists—and you will be chief amongst them.”
“May I say hearing that excites me, and yet it frightens me at the same time?”
He chuckled. “You may. I can understand how you feel. Layton is eager to get his hands on more of your work. While the arrangement Henry and he came to only includes the four pieces we took to town with us, if they sell for as much as Mr. Layton believes—and as quickly as he seemed to indicate—you will be in a position to negotiate an even more profitable arrangement.”
She laughed easily. “I can see raiding the homes of my various family members, claiming paintings from their walls. No, I would never do so. I would, however, remove paintings from Traywick Manor, however. I can always paint something to replace what I take. Or when Tray weds someday, his countess might have a different taste regarding art and wish to place her own selections upon the walls.”
“Whatever you do, I suggest that you paint daily from now on if you are serious about having a career. And you were right to have signed only your first initial. Mr. Layton assumed you are a man by you doing so.”
“I doubt he would have been as enthusiastic about my art if he had known that I were a woman.”
“I tend to agree with you. So does Henry. We did not correct Mr. Layton when he referred to you as Mr. Fulton. Perhaps once you have established your reputation in the London art world, you may then step from the shadows and claim your true identity.”
“I will have to consider whether or not I wish to do so, David. This is all so new and wondrous to me. To think that I have painted landscapes which people other than my family might wish to have hanging upon the walls of their homes is almost beyond my comprehension.”
Their gazes met. “I told you that you were talented, Justina,” he said, his voice husky.
Odd, unusual sensations began dancing through her, causing her to feel a bit reckless. The green of his eyes darkened, and the look he gave her was heated. Innately, she understood that to be desire.
And she felt the same running through her own veins.
Boldly, before she might regret her words, Justina asked, “Would you kiss me?”
He studied her a long moment and then softly said, “Yes.”
But he did not move to do so. His eyes roamed her face a moment, as if he sought some answer. His fingers held hers firmly.
“Have you ever been kissed before, Justina?”
“No,” she replied, her voice trembling. “Nor have I ever asked anyone to do so. Until now.”
“Why do you wish to kiss me?” he asked.
“I . . . do not know if I can put it into words.”
“Try.”
She swallowed, collecting her thoughts a moment.
“I have felt an attraction to you since the moment we met,” she began.
“It runs beyond the physical, though. You are a calming influence upon me—and yet the thought of being around you excites me at the same time. When we are apart, you are constantly in my thoughts,” she admitted.
“I suppose I should not reveal that much to you, but as I said, I have never done this kind of thing before.”
“I have. I simply wanted to know what experience you had. Because I wish to make this kiss as memorable as possible for you. And me.”
His free hand moved to her nape, cupping it, holding her steady as his mouth descended upon hers.
An electricity ran through her as his lips touched hers.
Slowly, he brushed his lips back and forth across hers, causing her heart to speed up.
It surprised her. His lips were both firm, yet soft, at the same time, and the mere touching of their mouths caused her skin to heat.
He broke the kiss but immediately returned again, his mouth settling over hers, the kiss firmer now. He ended it several times, only to return again and again. Her palm went to his cheek, her thumb stroking it. Once again, he broke the kiss, and his hand fell from her nape.
“There is more, isn’t there?” she asked. “I feel a fire beginning to burn brightly within me. I want more, David. Give it to me,” she demanded.
He looked at her, doubt in his eyes. “Are you certain?”
“Once you know me better, you will understand that I am opinionated. Even frank. I would not say this otherwise.”
“Then I will give you what you ask for, Justina,” he said, his voice tender.
He released her hand, both of his hands now moving to frame her face.
He studied her a long moment before his mouth came down upon hers.
She could feel need in his kiss—and also felt the same need burning within her.
His kisses were hard. Demanding. Possessive.
He ran the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip, causing a rush of hot desire to flood her every limb.
Then he urged her mouth open, his tongue sweeping inside confidently.
She had not known tongues were involved in kissing, but it was an incredible sensation that stirred her inner fire.
Justina had never been passive in anything she did, and she quickly became an active participant in this new kind of kiss.
Soon, their tongues warred with one another for control.
Her skin was now afire, and her arms went about him.
His did the same to her, and their bodies pressed together.
Her breasts seemed to swell, and her heart pounded against her ribs so violently, she thought it might burst within her.
She could have kissed him for hours, but the carriage began to slow. He broke the kiss, his fingers lightly grazing her cheek. She sat, dazed, feeling incredibly alive in this moment.
And owned by this man . . .
He leaned over and pressed his lips so gingerly against hers, the kiss light. Pulling away, he said, “You have now been kissed. Thoroughly.”
The vehicle came to a halt, and Justina did not want to leave it. This had been an enlightening experience.
“Think on whether you wish to repeat this or not,” he told her, his voice so low that she almost did not catch what he said to her.
His hands fell away and a second later, the footman opened the door. David exited the carriage and then handed her down.
She gripped his arm. “My legs are a bit wobbly.”
“I will see you inside.”
Larsen opened the door as they reached it, and David led her into the foyer.
Taking a step away from her, he said, “Lord Marbury should hear from Mr. Layton very soon, my lady.” His voice sounded perfectly calm and normal, as if they had not been kissing madly only a minute ago, and that irked her a bit.
“Perhaps the three of us can sit and discuss how to approach the next round of negotiations regarding your art career.”
“I look forward to that meeting, Mr. Rochester,” she said, her voice stronger than she would have supposed as she regained her equilibrium. “When are your books arriving from town?”
“Those gifted to me by His Grace should come in the next two to three days by wagon,” he informed her. “I am not certain how soon the others will arrive from the various booksellers I visited.”
“It will be a momentous task, cataloging what comes in and placing the volumes on the shelves for borrowing or purchasing. I believe I previously explained to you that I am a most efficient person, Mr. Rochester. I would be happy to assist you in this endeavor, preparing your bookshop to open to the public.”
He rewarded her with that sunny smile which warmed her from the inside. “I could use your organizational skills, Lady Justina. I will send a note to Traywick Manor to let you know when the first of the books have arrived. Until then, I bid you a good day.”
She watched him leave the house, fighting the urge to call his name. To run to him. To fling her arms about him and kiss him.
Retreating up the stairs to her bedchamber, Justina wondered if this was how it had started with her cousins who had fallen in love. Had it begun with a kiss? She only knew that David’s kiss had been possessive, marking her as his.
And she could not wait to kiss him again—and make him hers.