Free PortraitofPassion by Lynne Barron Page A

replied, “why don’t you leave the
business to your man as the rest of us do?”
    “See you tomorrow then.” Simon rose, putting an end to
Henry’s questions.
    * * * * *
    Simon arrived at Viscount Moorehead’s stately town house at
five minutes before eleven the next morning. He knew it was gauche to arrive
early but he wanted to be sure to have a few minutes to speak with Beatrice
before Henry and Olivia arrived.
    He knocked on the door and waited, his small wrapped package
tucked securely in his pocket.
    The door swung open and there was Beatrice.
    “Hullo, Easton,” she said, smiling up at him. She wore a
flowing muslin dress of pale blue with tiny pink flowers embroidered around the
modest neckline and scalloped hem. It flowed from neck to hemline with no
cinching at the waist whatsoever. It looked like an old lady’s nightgown more
than any dress he’d ever seen. Small puffs of lace were surely intended to be
sleeves, but it was only pretention. Her long, elegant arms were bare from
fingertips to shoulders. He looked down to discover ten little pink toes
peeping out from the hem of her gown. He tried to remember if he had ever seen
a woman’s bare toes outside the bedroom and decided he hadn’t.
    “Doesn’t Moorehead have a butler?” he demanded, stepping
into the cool shade of the foyer.
    “I sent Billings on an errand,” Beatrice replied. She closed
the door and leaned against it. “It only seemed fair that I answer the door in
his absence.”
    Simon said nothing. He had never heard of such a thing. He
tried to remember if he had ever answered a knock upon his own door and decided
he hadn’t.
    “Come with me,” Beatrice said as she breezed past him and
across the long hall toward the back of the house. “I’ve been experimenting and
you can tell me what you think.”
    Simon followed along behind her, shaking his head slowly.
Bare feet!
    “I think you are a man who needs to be shocked.”
    She must have heard his footsteps following behind her in
the quiet of the hall, for she didn’t turn around once to make sure he was
still there. Simon looked from her golden hair, swinging back and forth in one
long braid, long enough to reach the small of her back, to the place where he
thought her shapely little derriere must be. Who could tell? Her dress looked
like a sack.
    “You aren’t just now rising from bed, are you?” he asked,
then could have bitten his tongue. A gentleman did not, under any
circumstances, refer to a bed in a lady’s presence. Good God, she was making
him crazy.
    Her husky laughter was the only sound he heard from her as
she pushed open a door and held it open for him to follow her.
    He stopped beside her just inside the bright room. She had
brought him into Moorehead’s kitchen. A pleasantly round woman with frizzy gray
hair sat at a long wooden table cutting up strawberries. She looked up at their
entrance and then jumped to her feet to bob a curtsy.
    “Oh Mabel, do sit down,” Beatrice said with a laugh. “It’s
only me and Easton.”
    Mabel gave him a quick glance from shoes to hat, which he
belatedly realized he had not removed. He quickly did so, tucking it under his
arm. He could feel heat rise from his neck to his face. Mabel nodded to him and
returned to her perch.
    “I’ve tried a new recipe for lemon muffins,” Bea tossed over
her shoulder as she walked across the room. “Be honest, you won’t offend me if
you don’t like them.” She lifted a muffin from a tray and walked back to him
where he stood by the door. She offered the still-warm pastry and waited while
he stood there looking from her smiling face to the muffin in his hand to her
bare hands clutched together between her breasts. And with her hands clasped
just so, he could just make out her breasts on either side. Thank God. He had
been beginning to wonder if she had any figure at all in that ridiculous frock.
    “Go ahead, try it,” she urged. “I didn’t put poison in it.”
    His eyes shot