Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(37)

Soon Vivien's attention transferred to Morgan, who deftly navigated the carriage among the carts, cattle, and pedestrians that clogged a section of the street. He was completely at ease amid the bustle of town life, familiar with every alley and corner. It occurred to her that Morgan was one of the few men in London who mingled with everyone from royalty down to the meanest pickpocket.

They reached a row of elegant town houses, and stopped before one with a large bronzed door. "Is that mine?" Vivien asked hesitantly, staring at the grand arched doorway bordered with columns.

Morgan gave her an inscrutable glance. "That is yours."

The footman hurried to take charge of the horses, while Morgan helped Vivien from the carriage. He lowered her gently to the ground, bearing her weight until she gained her footing. Giving her his arm, he escorted her to the door and unlocked it.

Vivien entered the town house cautiously, standing still in the entrance hall while Morgan proceeded to light lamps and wall sconces. The place, with its flowered French fabric panels and dainty Louis XIV furniture, was beautiful, feminine...and crushingly unfamiliar. She removed her hat and placed it on the end of a stairway banister.

Light flooded the entrance hall. Slowly Vivien moved from a framed pier glass to a marble-topped giltwood table. Picking up a delicate piece of Staffordshire porcelain from the table, Vivien regarded it closely. Two figures, a gentleman and lady, were conversing while the lady reached forward to pluck wildflowers for a basket nestled in her lap. The scene was charming in its innocence. When Vivien turned the porcelain over, however, it showed the gentleman's hand intruding far beneath the lady's skirts. Frowning at the crude joke, Vivien set the figures down and glanced at Morgan. He was watching her with a strange mixture of amusement and resignation.

"Remember anything yet?" he asked.

She shook her head and went to the staircase. Morgan followed at once, his measured tread matched to hers as she made her way to the second floor. The lamp he carried threw misshapen shadows in their wake. Pausing at the top landing, Vivien wondered where to go.

"The bedroom is this way," Morgan said. He took her elbow in a light grasp and led her to the last room on the right. They entered a room lined in dark green silk, with a richly carved bed set on top of a pavilion. It reminded her of a small stage, all prepared for a performance. Frowning in discomfort, Vivien stared at the bed while Morgan lit more lamps. Then she turned and saw the painting.

For a moment all she saw was a startling expanse of skin, the artful display of female flesh...and then she realized just who was depicted.

"It's me," she said in a strangled whisper. Hectic color surged in her face. She whirled around with a gasp, unable to look any longer. "I gather you don't recall posing for it." There was a suspicious quiver of amusement in Morgan's voice. However, Vivien couldn't share his humor, or even berate him for it. She was too overcome with shame, and anger that was directed solely at herself. Until now there had always been some tiny corner of her mind in which she believed that she had not done the things he accused her of. But now the truth was there in a heavy gold frame, her past exposed and flaunted in florid detail.

"How could I...how could anyone pose for that?" she asked, covering her face with her hands.

"Artists frequently use nude models. You know that."

"Obviously that painting was not intended as any sort of artistic statement," she said scornfully. "Its only purpose is to..."

"Arouse," he suggested softly.

She lowered her hands and clenched them at her sides, still facing away from him. It seemed almost impossible that she could feel such humiliation...It scorched the very insides of her veins. "Take it down, or cover it," she said desperately.

The amusement left his voice, and he sounded faintly puzzled as he replied. "I've seen it before, Vivien."

It made no sense, but she couldn't bear the painting hanging there before them both--it was like being na**d in front of him in person. "I don't like it," she said sharply. "I can't stay in this room with that hanging there. Do something with it,please. "

She stiffened as he approached her from behind, his hands closing over her narrow shoulders. "You're trembling," he murmured in surprise. "There's no reason to be upset."

"You wouldn't say that if it were a nude painting ofyou hanging up there."

He snickered suddenly. "I doubt there's an artist alive who would agree to paint me in the nude, sweetheart. I'm not exactly the right material."

An arguable point, she thought privately. From what she had seen of him, Morgan was as attractive as any masculine form ever committed to canvas...but she was hardly going to tell him that.

Gently he tried to turn her to face him. "Come, it's not so bad. Take a deep breath."

She resisted, stubbornly ducking her head and fixing her gaze on the floor. "I'm not going to move until you take away that painting."

A brief, warm huff of laughter fanned her ear. "All right, blast you." Releasing her, he crossed the room to the painting. A scraping noise, a faint creak of the heavy frame, and then Morgan's dry voice cut the tense silence. "You can open your eyes now."

Vivien turned to see that he had taken the painting down and propped it against the wall, back facing outward. "Thank you," she said, heaving a sigh. "I want to have that dreadful object burned."