Read Passion Wears Pearls for Free Online

of his own hands come together—but not just any creation. It would have to be the best painting he’d ever done. The culmination of years and one last painting to defy the gods and give him a final assurance that he hadn’t wasted his life in the pursuit of beauty.
    He’d sacrificed so much to have the chance to hone his talents and find his own path. He’d rebelliously refused to study the masters abroad, stubbornly sure that an Englishman could learn to paint just as well anywhere he wished—even if that meant staying in Devonshire.
    Not that the decision wasn’t motivated at the time by my empty purse and a—
    A scream captured his attention, and he wheeled in the direction of the sound. A young woman was kicking out so violently there was a flash of white from her petticoats that even he couldn’t miss in his fog. A man was gripping her from behind and now, with one arm around her rib cage and the other covering her mouth, he was struggling to haul her from the alley.
    Clearly, the lady had other places she would rather go.
    He didn’t hesitate. The assessment was lightning fast.
    Woman in trouble. Stop the bastard.
    He ran forward, rage building in him with each step.
How dare you treat someone like that! She isn’t cattle and I’m not the man to turn a blind eye to whatever shit you’re trying to pull!
    “This is none of your concer—” The man started to try to ward him off with an explanation, but Josiah didn’t allow him to finish. Josiah’s fist connected in a quick, firm strike, relying on the sound of the man’s voice and a moment of visual clarity to guarantee that he hit his target.
    Josiah stepped back, instinctively angling himself in a boxer’s stance to make it harder for his opponent to attack him in return. Rutherford’s training kicked in seamlessly, and he kept his fist out of the man’s line of sight to give him the element of surprise if he needed to hit him again. “Unhand her.”
    But the poor man already had, pain and shock working magic as he relinquished the woman so that he could cradle his face in his hands. “You bathard! You bwoke my nobe!”
    “Did I?” Josiah smiled as if they’d just exchanged pleasantries. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d prefer a broken nose over a shattered kneecap. It would have been my first choice to incapacitate you, but I didn’t want to risk muddying the lady’s skirts.”
    “You are inthane! Do you know herh?”
    “No. Do you?” Josiah’s humor was bleeding away. One look at the pale and terrified face of his victim and the urge to punch the man again was almost overwhelming. “Go, sir, and mind that the next woman you touch gives you permission to do so.”
    “Bathard!” The man spit out one last curse but gathered himself to stumble as quickly as he could to his waiting carriage. The nearness of it made Josiah’s heart race as he noted just how close the lady had come to disappearing into her attacker’s clutches.
    “You … struck him.” It was less of an accusation than a statement, and he turned back to her—and London fell away.
    Because there was no gray. In a world of fog and fleeting shadows that haunted his vision, she was color. A living, breathing pillar of all that his senses had longed for—a muse of beauty that defied science and logic. Her hair was copper bright, with thick, luxurious corkscrew curls. Sheblinked back tears, and he knew he’d found the inspiration that had eluded him. She was a flash of fire and color that had him hypnotized. Large eyes a shade of green that defied description made his knees feel weak.
    “I did. I thought it prudent to strike first and apologize later if necessary.” Josiah did his best to keep his voice level, aware that the lady might bolt like a frightened sprite at any sudden movement or noise. She was vibrating in a delayed reaction to the trauma of nearly being kidnapped, and the last thing he wanted was to add to her difficulties. “Was he an