Looking back at his audience, Edward caught a flash of blue, recognizing the woman he’d been talking to earlier. She gave him a smile which lit up the room and made his stomach somersault, and the rest of the crowd seemed to disappear from around her. She mouthed something which could have been ‘sorry’. Her expression made him smile gently—and suddenly, inexplicably, his nerves dissolved.
“Okay,” he said with more confidence. “Without further ado, let’s announce the winners. If I say your name, please come and join me here.”
The chancellor handed Edward a small red envelope and he felt as though sparks might fly from it when it was opened. He cleared his throat again and lifted the flap. Inside were five golden cards, each with a name written in neat black ink. He lifted the first and spoke clearly into the mic.
“Alison Bradley.”
A squeal emanated from deep within the crowd as the applause re-started. An older woman with cat’s eyes glasses and bottle-red hair squeezed her way to the front and shook his hand, which he’d dried surreptitiously on his trousers before she took it. He turned his attention back to the cards.
“Rory Cooper.”
The jaw of a young man who was standing right in front of Edward dropped open.
“No way!” he said as his friend patted him hard on the back. His face beamed with happiness. He took up a position next to Alison Bradley at the front.
“Jennifer Huntingdon-Smith.”
A smattering of applause filled the room as a striking blonde woman strode to the front of the gallery and shook Edward’s hand with a limp grip. Her smile was warm, but her steel grey eyes made Edward shiver like he was still standing in the rain.
He was by now feeling a bit despondent that the sapphire-eyed woman he’d hit with the door wasn’t standing next to him at the front of the gallery. He scanned the crowd, but once again she’d disappeared somewhere behind those who had muscled their way to the front. He read the next card.
“James McGregor.” Edward’s heart sank a little bit lower as a very attractive young man dressed like a banker made his way over towards him. The crowd went wild, he was obviously well liked.
Edward felt the thin card in his hand, the last name inscribed on it.
“Everly Simpson,” he said, knowing that the chances of it being his mystery woman were very low.
The crowd applauded politely as they waited for the last winner of the arts program to make herself known.
“Everly?” Edward said again, speaking clearly into the mic.
The crowd in front of him parted, and there she stood in all her glory. A smile illuminated her face, making her cerulean eyes twinkle like the jewels on her dress.
“Oh my gosh,” she said as she shook his hand. Her own hand felt soft and warm, and he didn’t want to let it go. She leaned in toward him and he caught a scent that nearly knocked him off his feet—delicate and sensual.
“I’m sorry I called you old and boring,” she whispered into his ear.
“And dusty,” he said with a smile.
She laughed quietly, taking her place in the line of winners—earning a disgusted tut from the cold-eyed blonde woman.
“So, ladies and gentlemen,” Edward said, turning back to the audience. “Here we have the winners of this year’s program. I wish them all the luck in the world. I would also like to say well done to those of you who have made it this far. Don’t feel disheartened, you’ve done amazingly well to reach this point. Keep working hard.”
The crowd once again broke into applause, hushed only when the lights dimmed. Large projector screens dropped down from the ceiling of the gallery. On them, the work of the five winners was projected, scrolling through one by one. The crowd gasped and began talking about the winning pieces. There were paintings and sculptures, all of which were exquisite in their own way.
Edward turned to look at the winners, illuminated by their work. His heart soared as he watched Everly smiling at the screen to the right of her. She was so caught up in the moment she hadn’t noticed him looking, and Edward had the sudden thought that she was like a piece of art herself, somehow exquisite.
“Quite a show, eh, old boy?” said the chancellor, walking up to him. “Shame it’s all over.”
“Indeed,” said Edward. But all he could really think was that now Everly was staying in London, the next few weeks could paint a very pretty picture indeed.
3
Everly’s stomach dropped all the way down to her toes when the Duke of Caudwell stepped up to the mic. She’d just called a member of the royal family old and boring to his face. Dusty, old and boring! A horrible thought flooded her brain, what if that was classed as treason. Was she going to be deported? Thrown onto a plane and sent back to America? Maybe even carted off to the Tower of London where she would have her head chopped off?
She didn’t even know why she’d said it. She loved the Royal Family. It was an instinctive reaction, something she’d said to make her feel better about the fact she didn’t expect to make it to the top five. Even though the results hadn’t been announced yet, Everly was sure she wasn’t a winner.
She pushed her way through the crowd without treading on any toes, needing to get to the front to at least try to apologize for her big mouth. The Duke called out the names of the winning artists, but she barely acknowledged them. Everly wanted more than anything to be able to stay, but there was absolutely no chance of her being a winner anymore. Even if by some crazy chance she had been picked for her artwork, she’d be booted out for treason. She hit her forehead with her palm.
What an idiot.
Nearly through the crowd, Everly could see more clearly the two winners who stood beside the Duke. She didn’t recognize either of them, but she did recognize the happiness that shone out of their every pore. Everly shook her head and tried not to think about how wonderful it would be to be up there beside them. The Duke caught her eye and the smile he gave her sent her knees all wobbly. Now she really wished she could be standing with the other winners. He was gorgeous. His smile was the friendliest smile she had received since arriving here in England, if she didn’t count Arthur’s bearded grin, of course.
Focusing on trying to breathe when her rib cage seemed to be shrinking, Everly mouthed as clearly as possible that she was sorry. She just hoped that he would know what for. He answered with another smile, for which she was immensely grateful. But it didn’t stop her from creeping back into the crowd and heading for the exit.
There was no point staying around to see what the winners had to say. Everly was over the moon for them, but she had to pack up her belongings and make sure she was out of her dorm room before the others got back. She didn’t want to make small talk when she was feeling so sad. Her disappointment was two-fold now, mostly because she had absolutely loved being in London at the university, surrounded by culture and working in the most well-equipped studio space she had ever known; but also now because she had just laid eyes on the most wonderful man she had ever seen, and now she had lost him too.
Everly hadn’t had much luck in the dating game so far in her young life. Coming from a small town, there weren’t that many opportunities to go dating without everyone and their dog knowing all about it. Plus, Everly had worked so hard at school that there had been no time to date, even if she had had met the right guy. She had always wanted to make her parents proud of her, they were both hard workers too, and had instilled in her a wonderful work ethic. Her dad worked two jobs just so he could send Everly to college.
There had been a couple of dates, both of which had been a disaster of some sort or another. One of the guys had tried to take her to a local farm to feed the animals and Everly had ended up covered in muck assisting with the birth of a calf. Her date had ended up on the floor in shock, and Everly had had to drive him home. The second date had tried to kiss her in the car before they’d even eaten, so she’d slammed the door a little too close to his face and ended up accidentally giving him a bloody nose and two black ey
es.
After that, Everly had decided to give dating a break until college. Except when college had started she’d been enjoying practising her artwork so much that the very idea had fallen by the wayside. Now, Everly was feeling thunderstruck at the feelings the Duke had awoken in her—feelings that had appeared from absolutely nowhere and knocked her as flat as if she’d been hit by a door.
Sighing, she pulled open the door she had snuck through earlier and headed back out into the stairwell to go up to the studio.
“Everly Simpson.”
She turned back to the closed door.
Surely not? He can’t possibly have just said my name.
Everly stood with a furrowed brow, staring at the door. There was no way. She must have imagined it.
That can happen. If you want something so much, you can imagine it happening.
“Everly?”
Everly’s eyes widened and a squeak escaped her closed lips.
She pushed back through the door, and the awaiting crowd, to the Duke of Caudwell, unable to hear anything except the roar of blood in her head. The floor felt as if it was a cloud, moving her without the need for walking. Everything buzzed past her head, a blur of people and art.
When she reached the Duke the focus returned to her eyes and she grabbed his outstretched hand. It was strong, and fitted around hers like a glove. Her stomach fluttered, and she leant in and apologized again for her earlier words. Their hands held each other for a moment too long, neither of them willing to relinquish the other. Their eyes drew each other in.
It was only when she saw her canvas, or rather an image of her canvas, projected on all four walls of the gallery, that the realization of what had happened sank in.
“Oh my goodness,” she said to no-one other than herself as she saw a gigantic version of her face looking at her from every direction.
Everly’s modus operandi was oil on canvas. She could create a world inside a world, so vivid and realistic it was almost as though it was a photograph. It had taken her a good few nail-biting days to figure out what to do to fulfil the brief they’d been given. How could she show how much she wanted the opportunity, whist also demonstrating her skills? It was on the third day, when Everly was standing in front of the mirror getting ready to leave the small dorm room, that the idea had sprung to her.
Or rather, it had stared her in the face.
Her face. Pared back, with no make-up, her dark hair framing her heart shaped face, with large round blue eyes and a delicate point to her chin. Everly thought that if she could paint herself—that if she could show the judges how much this opportunity meant to her by the look on her face, the look staring back at her at that exact moment—then she might be in with a chance. Even if it was a small chance, it was still a chance.
Portraits were her forte. Everly had made a few extra dollars on the side in school by sketching her friends and giving them a fancy Facebook profile picture or Twitter avatar. She loved the shape of people’s faces, how different they all were, how unique. She loved the way that the faces took shape on her paper, how she could change emotions by the subtlest twist of her pencil or brush. Most of all Everly loved to draw eyes. They truly were the window to the soul, and that’s where she took her cue for the brief. Her eyes in the portrait shone back at her, the pupils reflecting longing, a powerful desire for a winning place.
She’d been so proud of herself. And now the image was projected around the gallery her nerves had increased tenfold. It was all very well creating a piece of work for a friend, or for a judge, but when it was there ten-foot high in all its glory in a crowded room of strangers, it made Everly’s stomach shrink to the size of a pea.
The images transitioned to the artwork of the next winner, a photograph of a sculpture of the world, intricately cut from paper. The older woman with the cat’s eye glasses blushed from her head all the way down to her toes when she saw it, her hands flying up to her mouth to hide a bashful grin. Everly, glad to no longer be staring at her own work, smiled over—but was blocked from view as the winners crowded around each other in a group hug. Everly felt a little awkward on her own, so she drew a deep breath and walked over to the others.
A very attractive young guy scooped her in to the group with his outstretched arm, and soon Everly was enclosed by four other happy bodies. She felt on top of the world, as if she could reach up and touch the stars. A warm feeling spread through her veins and enveloped her in happiness. Everly couldn’t help but smile.
This was going to be a good year.
4
This was always Edward’s favorite moment of the competition. Not the great rush of joy when the winners were announced, or the elation afterwards. It was this moment, the quiet after the storm, when the party crowds had thinned out and the gallery had quietened. The nervous energy had burned its way from the five winners and they all stood together, slightly stooped, slightly paler than they had been before, in a quiet group, as the waiting staff cleared up the discarded glasses around them. After the glitz and the glamor and showbiz and applause, this was the moment it all became real.
Edward looked over at his five winners. Alison Bradley, Rory Cooper, Jennifer Huntingdon-Smith, James McGregor, and Everly Simpson.
Everly Simpson.
His heart skipped a beat as his eyes found her. She had awoken something in him that he hadn’t felt for a long time. A spark of excitement, of desire. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel so much as a fleeting fancy in the last three years—it hurt too much. But Everly hadn’t given him the chance to resist.
She was standing next to the blonde woman, Jennifer, who was at least a whole head and shoulders above Everly. Edward knew that most men would be staring at Jennifer, drawn to her skin-tight dress, which accentuated her curves in just the right places, her long wavy blonde hair, and icy grey eyes. She had the look of a supermodel about her, almost too beautiful to actually be beautiful. But it was something about Everly, her demeanor, her shyness, a confidence that seemed well placed but not egotistical—not to mention her own beauty, of course—that had caught his eye.
Edward shook his head and tried to focus. There were five of them who looked like they needed a little guidance, not just one.
“Okay team,” he said, walking over to the winners and offering them a beaming smile. “I want to offer my congratulations to you all, once again. I’m excited to be working with you.”
Edward glanced at Everly when he said this, even though he hadn’t meant to. Her eyes darted to the floor and her cheeks pinkened, and he had to clear his throat before finding his words again.
“The hard work starts in earnest on Monday, so make the most of your weekend and get some rest. You’ll need to be at the studio early on Monday morning as the tutors will be there to greet you and give you your brief for the remaining two weeks. They won’t be taking any prisoners, so you’ll need to be at the top of your game. We want to get the most out of you while you’re here, and we want you to get the most out of us too.”
A murmur of excitement buzzed around the small group. Edward’s heart soared as he got to the bit of his speech that he always loved.
“As a surprise for you all, I’d like to offer you the use of my townhouse for the rest of your stay. It’s just around the corner from the gallery and studio, in Chelsea. You can move in this evening, if you’d like to, and collect the rest of your things in the morning? Each of you has a bedroom, and I’ve made sure that you’re catered for tonight. There’s everything you need to keep you going until the morning.”
The winners looked at each other, their enormous, beaming smiles growing even wider. Edward felt like a million dollars—no, a billion dollars. He just loved giving people treats to make them happy, it made him feel good about himself, it made him feel like he wasn’t a royal waste of space.
“Please gather together your things and follow me.”
Jennifer was beside him before anyone else had picked up their coats.
“Will you b
e joining us, Your Highness?” she said, fluttering her Bambi lashes at him.
Edward stopped a little more abruptly than he meant to. He turned back to the group.
“Can I just say a quick something? I should have said it before, but it slipped my mind, I always find it does, until I’m addressed as His Highness.” He shuffled a bit from one foot to the other, almost embarrassed by the need to have this conversation. “Please call me Edward. I’m going to be working really closely with you all over the next few weeks and I don’t want anyone standing on ceremony because of a title that really doesn’t mean much. So, please, Edward it is.”
Jennifer took her chance to slip an arm through Edward’s as he held the door open for them all.
“So, Edward, will you be joining us?” she purred, waiting with him at the open door.
Edward cleared his throat, not really sure how to answer. He could feel his neck heating under his collar—more from discomfort than anything else—but he didn’t have a free hand to loosen his bow tie.
“I… um… I will be joining you most days, yes. I have an apartment around the corner, so I won’t be staying at the property, but you’ll be well looked after.”
“I have no doubt about that,” she spoke with a voice like treacle.
Everly passed through the door and Edward wished he could walk with her, but he wasn’t sure how to extract his arm without offending Jennifer.
My Dashing Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (My Billionaire A-Z Book 4) Page 2
