“I look forward to the chaos that you shall produce today.”
Again, he had her smiling. Chaos was an apt description for the final result of many of her paintings. He was very good at reading people—at reading her, anyhow.
“My mother was a true artist. Many of the paintings in the house were done by her.”
“Did she do the portraits of the children?”
Margaret had been watching the terrain as they climbed, but at his guess, she glanced at him in surprise. “She did.”
“There are two children as the subjects of most of them but there is a third child in the background, almost like a shadow.”
Not many noticed the details of her mother’s artwork. The Countess of Danbury had been very popular in the ton and most of her acquaintances had merely gushed at how prettily she’d captured her children's’ likenesses.
“Hugh and me,” she said. “And our brother. I was born a twin. The other child lived only a week. He is the third child in the paintings. He is always painted to be the same age as she paints me. If you look closely, he wears angel wings.” She swallowed hard. The portraits never failed to move her. “His name was Andrew.”
Sebastian continued walking in silence.
“You have one brother? Do you have any sisters?” She would turn their discussion away from her. She had become far too maudlin as of late.
“I have one brother. His name is Andrew, as well.” He smiled sadly in her direction, but it did not make Margaret feel sad at all.
“I have always loved the name.” She smiled over at him. “Do you pester him, as any older brother worth his weight does but also brag about him when he is not present?”
“How do you know me so well, Maggie?” He laughed. She liked that he would call her Maggie. She ought to feel old when she was with him but she hadn’t felt their difference in age on the beach the day before, nor did she feel it today.
“Tell me about this young man who must suffer to have you for an older brother,” she ordered as they hiked up the dirt that had turned to half sand and rocks by now. The picnic spot was the highest point below the house. It also overlooked the steepest cliff.
“Although dashing in his own right, Andrew isn’t nearly as handsome as his older brother.” His eyes twinkled at her, and she could not help but smile at his cocksure words.
“But who is?” she agreed.
“Indeed.”
“You are as humble as you are good looking,” She smiled at her joke.
At first, he laughed, until he realized she’d insulted him. “And you are as witty as you are old.”
“Not good of you at all, My—Sebastian.” But they both laughed.
He adjusted the canvas that he carried under one arm. “Andrew, I believe, however, is smarter than me. He recently finished school, top of his class, and has shown a keen interest in the management of my father’s estate. He spends most of his time there. He will be handed ownership of his own estate that is nearly as large when he reaches five and twenty.”
“Tell me about your father’s estate—the one that will one day belong to you.”
“Fey Abbey. It is similar to Land’s End in that it is perched near the sea. It is not as large, but it runs along the coast, in northeast Essex.”
“You are very far from home, then,” she observed. “Ah, and speaking of the sea.” They emerged from behind the uplift to a cleared area and Margaret was pleased to see a blanket spread on the ground and a small table set up beside it. The basket would be filled with culinary delights.
But Sebastian was not looking at any of that. He’d lowered the supplies onto the ground and strolled farther to gaze at the phenomenal view. Margaret followed and stood beside him quietly. She’d always enjoyed standing at the edge, feeling the wind rush up the face of the rocks carrying with it the scent of the ocean.
Neither of them spoke. Words were not really necessary when one’s senses were so completely overcome by such a spectacular visual.
“Thank you for bringing me with you today.” He finally broke the silence between them.
Again, the silence had been comfortable.
“Between Hugh and I, I was always considered the more reckless one—when we were younger.” She had forgotten.
Standing here now, she remembered how she’d edged herself to the steep drop off and how Hugh would beg her to back up. She had not been afraid, and it had been unkind of her.
She had not been reckless in much of anything throughout her marriage or since then.
She clenched her jaw because she’d suffered more losses during that period despite exercising so much caution.
She moved her toes closer to the edge and gazed down to where white frothy waves crashed violently into the jagged rocks. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that she felt a cool mist.
Sebastian grasped her hand. “That does not surprise me.”
“It does not?”
He cocked one eyebrow at her. “I would not think that a cautious woman would climb into bed with an unsuspecting man, even if she does think he will be her fiancé.” He didn’t sound as though he was mocking her. The words, as he spoke them, felt rather more like a compliment.
Laughing, she shook her head at her audacity. “It took me hours to garner the courage to do it and without Penelope’s urging, I don’t know that I would have gone through with it.”
He squeezed her hand. “But you did.”
“I did.”
A seagull swooped up from the water to fly just below them. “The Duchess of Monfort says that she and the duke have gone up in a hot air balloon—more than once. They have flown.”
“And what do you think of that. Would you like to fly, Maggie?”
She would. Oh, she would. “I don’t know.” She smiled. “The duchess said it was rather terrifying.” But then she added, “I would. Yes.”
And then she dismissed such fantastical thoughts. “I believe, Sebastian.” She again found the feel of his name on her lips to be a pleasant sensation. “That I am ready to eat! I do hope you are hungry.”
When she turned to stare up at him, she found him studying her. His eyes gleamed and she wondered at all the thoughts in his head that she didn’t know. At that moment, it didn’t matter that he was younger than she. She looked forward to knowing him better. He was thoughtful and kind and… and… her body was feeling pulled toward his. She longed to part her lips and press up onto her toes.
He looked as though he was going to say something but then clamped his mouth shut and, still holding her hand, took a step backward.
What on earth was the matter with her?
9
The Lady Artist
Margaret would have stepped dangerously close to the cliff’s edge if Sebastian hadn’t such a tight hold of her hand. So instead, she stumbled forward practically right into him.
“Clumsy of me.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, so she dropped his hand and looked everywhere else.
Who was she and why was she here? What was she doing? The sight of her art supplies lying on the blanket reminded her why they had come. A picnic. Yes. And painting.
She busied herself by moving the supplies and then digging into the contents of the picnic basket: some cheese, strawberries, grapes, cold meats, and—aha!—a bottle of wine.
Her hand barely shook but her mind was still in turmoil as she wondered what to do with it.
“You serve and I will pour.” Sebastian removed the wine from her hand and then withdrew the glasses that Cook had carefully packed. By the time she summoned the wherewithal to serve up two plates and was sipping from her glass, she felt significantly relaxed and was grateful that their mood had returned to one of easy camaraderie.
He told her a few amusing anecdotes from his recent journey on the way to Land’s End and she, in turn, complained of how many times she’d endured the very long, very onerous trip.
“Tell me.” She stared at him over her glass. “When you are not charming all
the debutantes and fending off their mamas in London or attending autumn house parties at the far corners of England, what is it that you like to do?”
“You do not really wish to know.” He gazed down into his glass, looking more serious than he had before.
“Please?” Because she did. She surprisingly wanted to know everything about him.
“I am learning about the world.” When he stared back up at her, determination burned in his eyes but also vulnerability, as though he’d shared something private about himself.
It was a magnificent answer to her question, really. He had not said that he had learned about the world, or that he wished to learn about the world, but that it was an active pursuit.
“What is it you are learning?”
He took a sip, and she watched his throat move as he swallowed.
He shook his head. “It will bore you. Ladies are not usually interested in such matters.”
“Please, allow me to be the judge of that,” she insisted.
He grimaced and exhaled loudly. “I am disturbed. I am bothered by the very essence of the system we live in. No. I am angry about it. It is not right.”
Ah, yes. She wanted to know what fueled such thoughts. She sat quietly, so that he would continue.
“I have wealth, tremendous wealth, none of which I have earned.” His admission wasn’t boastful sounding at all. In fact, he sounded a trifle embarrassed. He tugged a piece of grass from out of the ground beside him. “At my father’s request, I negotiate with the companies he has chosen to invest in and quite frankly, the more I have learned, the more appalled I have become. Not only is my family’s legacy built upon the sweat and tears of others, those less fortunate, but even greater wealth is being amassed through the ownership of other human beings. How much does one person require in order to be content in life?” He flicked a glance her way. “And I’ve known this, all along. But it is different to see it in black and white—to see humans listed as assets. I intend to understand why––stop me if this offends or is boring you.”
But Margaret was fascinated. She knew. Of course, I know. Hugh had made some vague references to the inhumane nature of the aristocracy. In an abstract manner.
But she’d never heard anyone else speak of such things. And most definitely not as critically or with Sebastian’s passion.
She had not expected such depths from him. She had judged him unfairly.
“But what can one man do? It is an entire system that has stood for centuries,” she noted. Because the system would fight to the death to perpetuate itself.
Sebastian stared off into the distance. “I can learn. I intend to discover why it is so, and then I will change that which is mine. But not while my father holds the reins. And not until I have a greater understanding. I’ll travel to America in a few months, possibly before year’s end. They have shed all notions of an aristocracy in exchange for capitalism, and yet slavery thrives there. Why would mankind think this is acceptable?”
A shiver ran through her. He did not simply wish to travel to entertain himself. He had noble, impossible ideals.
Dangerous ideals.
He was not just a young man wasting away his days. The determined jut of his chin and the fierce burning in his eyes assured her he would succeed in some way.
“That is why you wish for your younger brother to manage the estate you are to inherit.”
Sebastian nodded. “And he enjoys it. He and I discuss all of it often. We correspond incessantly when we aren’t able to talk in person. We think similarly on this. I’m having a ship built for my purposes, a special ship. Her name is The Diana, after our mother.” The expression he sent her was a charming combination of sheepishness and pride. “We’ve run into a few snags, but I’ll sail in the springtime at the latest. And after I return, in a year or five, or a dozen, Andrew and I will instigate some long-awaited changes.” He shook his head. “I want to make our estates not only profitable but… humane.”
Oh, but how she had misjudged him. “I believe, Sebastian, that you will accomplish a great deal, if not turn the world on its head.”
He studied her as she smiled at him. She was not joking.
“I will take you out on The Diana someday.” His words could not have surprised her more if he had promised to take her to the moon. “And then, you can fly. We will fly across the waves, the wind in our sails. You will fly with me, Maggie.”
He envisioned the future with such great optimism. She hoped he never lost it, but one did not go through life without meeting storms or pirates. And then there would be the times when his ship drifted aimlessly because the wind refused to catch those sails.
“I would love to,” she answered, feeling utterly relaxed. “But if I do not, you must write to me so that I can share in your adventures.” Although that would be wildly inappropriate.
Oh, but the wine would make her sleepy if she did not move. “Let’s pack up this food, shall we, and begin working on our masterpieces before I settle for a nap instead.”
He stared back at her. “I believe that I would like that, writing to you.” And then he smiled and offered up the plate he’d emptied as she stacked the dishes back into the basket.
“But I have no doubt that you will fly, when you are ready.” His gaze captured hers for just long enough to steal her breath before she busily went about moving the contents of the basket into some semblance of organization. When she set it aside, her heart beat once again at its normal pace as she reached for the case she used for her art supplies.
“I have charcoal for you, here. And a sketch pad.” She’d brought a small canvas for herself and noticed that he’d set her easel up already. “Would you mind moving it closer to the edge?” She knew exactly what she wanted to paint. And she wanted to paint it well so that she could refer to it and summon the odd emotions the two of them shared today.
You will fly.
As she extracted her palette, a shiver rolled through her.
She chastised herself for being foolish and then stepped over to her easel and stared at the empty canvas. She would stand while she painted. She’d tried painting while sitting but doing so hadn’t allowed her the movement she needed.
Sebastian had returned to the blanket and was picking out a charcoal. He was only joking, flirting. Of course, he would never take her on the ship named after his mother.
The confusion she’d felt the night before had returned—not only returned but doubled and tripled. Why? One moment she felt like she was seven and ten again, and in the next, she felt like she was sixty.
Why now? Why, after she thought she had everything figured out? In frustration, she let out a huff. She most certainly was not going to summon any answers by staring at a blank canvas. She tilted her head and imagined where to begin.
Waves crashed loudly below, and the wind stirred the loose tendrils from her coiffure. At the same time, a few clouds drifted lazily across the sky.
Her purpose invigorated, she applied the colors she would need to the palette, selected her favorite brush and knife, and went to work.
She could lose herself here, in her painting, in her oils, and in her mind. She brushed and smoothed and dabbed. Sometimes, she wiped the results away and other times she allowed them to remain. Eventually, she covered the canvas with the glossy paints. The effects were not always exactly what she wanted, but she could pour out her emotions onto the canvas and give them a place. The waves, the sky, the rocks… Whites and all different colors of blue: indigo, cerulean, sapphire… And grays. Steel gray, stormy gray, and silver, like the moonlight…
“It’s stunning.”
She startled at his voice just behind her and then stepped back. She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d set to work but the sun burned almost hot on her skin and hair now. “Do you think so?”
She’d hoped she would be painting and picnicking with George today, but as she gazed at her creation, she was glad George was not here. The painting, much as a poem
or a song, revealed the creator’s emotions.
Perhaps with George, she would have painted an entirely different landscape.
An elegant but masculine hand reached around her to point at the bottom half of the canvas. “So much light here, and then darkness… beneath it.”
His breath warmed the side of her face as he bent forward to examine her work.
“The waves seem ferocious,” she explained as she set her brush and pallet aside. “They are treacherous when they crash into the rocks. But beneath them, it is quiet and dark. Water can be dangerous but also peaceful.” The sea had successfully lured her into its depths the day before. She’d been invigorated by it but had also known not to swim out too far. She furrowed her brow.
“It can also be calm on the surface and yet deadly beneath—in a whirlpool or an undercurrent—like people,” he added.
She smiled over her shoulder at him. He understood! For the second time that afternoon, their faces were very close to one another’s. His lashes fell as his gaze dropped to her lips.
This afternoon had been magical so far.
He retrieved my hat from the sea.
Without stopping to think what she was doing, Margaret reached one hand up to the back of his neck and pulled his face down.
She did not have to pull hard as his mouth was already descending.
And with this kiss, her entire person sighed in relief. Her body remembered the sensations from that first night he’d arrived.
As she turned, he wound an arm around her waist, tugging her against his hard ridges and planes.
She was unaware that he had pulled the pins from her hair until a gust of wind swirled long strands of it around them both. Strands blocked out the light and tied them together like a silken rope. This part of her, today, in this moment, was wild and wicked and unruly.
You will fly.
He tasted of optimism and sunshine and all the romance of hopeful youth.
She pressed herself against him and edged her mouth to the corner of his, memorizing the feel of gentle stubble on his jaw and the taste of his skin. His neck was warm beneath her hand. This was not real. It could not be.
Lady and the Rake Page 9
