Free PortraitofPassion by Lynne Barron

might be just the place to find her. Angelique Henri had
been mistress to some of London’s highest-stepping gentlemen over the years.
She had cultivated a small following of similarly situated women and rakes,
young and old. She also counted among her guests poets, musicians and artists.
People looked for amusement in her house on the lesser side of Hanover Square,
knowing they could arrive in the latest hours of the night or the earliest
hours of the morning. Most came from the opera, theater or gaming halls. Some
came after they had departed the balls and dinners and musicales of the ton .
One could find gambling, drinking and, if rumor could be believed, the
occasional orgy.
    Over the years, Simon had politely declined numerous
invitations to join the entertainments, mostly from friends too deep in their
cups to remember that he was an upright gentleman who did not go in for those
sorts of entertainments. Madame Henri herself had invited him, to her home and
her bed, on more than one occasion when he had seen her at the theater or
Covent Garden. He had steadfastly refused.
    Yet, last night he had found himself in her parlor,
hopefully looking about for a tall, lithe blonde in a scarlet dress, or perhaps
sapphire. He had wandered the rooms of the house, from parlor to billiards room
to card room, greeting the occasional acquaintance while trying to avoid his
hostess. Where was she?
    He could not get her out of his head. It was more than the
mystery she presented. It was more than his suspicions that she had followed
Henry from Paris for yet unknown reasons. It was more than his desire to learn
how she had known his father. It was more than that niggling feeling he
sometimes had that he recognized her from somewhere, that familiar tilt of her
eyes and lift of her lips just before she broke into a smile.
    It was even more than the gnawing hunger that had been his
constant companion since he had first set eyes upon her. He had come to accept
the desire she inspired. He was not so upright, so staid and proper, that he
had not accepted some of the innumerable invitations he had received since
coming of age. He had bedded his fair share of widows and ladies of the
demimonde. He had even kept a mistress for months at a time. He had kept well
away from married ladies. He avoided innocents at all cost.
    Beatrice was no innocent, of that he was certain. His mind
teased him with her reaction after their encounter in the park, her
embarrassment and willingness to assume all responsibility for their embrace.
He pushed away the unwelcome thought. A game, he argued. Some women thought men
enjoyed a little maidenly protesting and blushing. Perhaps some men did. He
wasn’t one of them. If he thought for even a moment that Beatrice Morgan was an
innocent, he would stay as far away from her as humanly possible. Wouldn’t he?
Yes, of course he would.
    “I willed you to kiss me .”
    What nonsense, he admonished himself. Willed him, indeed.
But she certainly had not pulled her perfect little breast from his clutches.
No, she had leaned into him and lifted her lips for his kiss. She was a
beautiful, experienced woman. An artist, independent, traveling the globe
without a care in the world. She probably had a protector in every city she
visited. So far as he knew, she had not yet found one in London. He had every
intention of filling that role.
    “So, I’ll run by and pick you up after I grab Olivia?” Henry
asked.
    “I’ll ride over myself,” Simon replied.
    “Seems a mite silly to take two carriages,” said Henry.
    “I’ve some errands to attend to in the morning, so I’ll meet
you there.”
    “What sort of errands?” Henry asked. “Perhaps I’ll come
along.”
    “Just some business to take care of, nothing you’d be
interested in.” Like a visit to the jewelers. If the lady only intended to
reside in London a short while, he decided he had better start his wooing
sooner rather than later.
    “Oh, business,” Henry