Beth’s heart plummeted as she scanned the box. Langston was there beside Lady Cassandra. She had her gloved hand on his sleeve as she leaned forward to say something to him. It hurt, still, after all of these years, to see him with another woman.
Being the son of a duke put Langston under a magnifying glass. He could not make a move without someone making a comment about it. Even when he was working with Sir Charles, there was tittle tattle around his association with Beth. They’d danced too many dances at several of the balls. They were foolish and careless and the gossips had gnawed on the tidbits like a dog with a juicy bone.
The name calling had hurt, but Beth had loved Langston. She ignored the gossip. She didn’t care that he was a Marquis. He didn’t seem to care that she was the daughter of an artist. When he left to care for his mother, he’d written passionate letters to Beth, speaking of their future together. Beth had clung to his words of their future together while she dealt with her father’s worsening palsy. And then the letters had stopped.
Perhaps it was just as well. Langston would become the Duke of Stafford, heir to a great estate and fortune. She was nothing more than a set painter. She knew nothing of running a great household or hosting a ball.
Lady Cassandra was beautiful. She was the epitome of a glittering diamond of the first water. Ringlets of burnished gold framed her perfectly oval face. Her dress was a soft rose color and the latest fashion. Beth had been introduced to Lady Cassandra by Langston at one of the functions they’d attended years ago. Despite her new dress, Beth had felt gauche and gangly next to the lady’s curvaceous figure.
Beth’s eyes moved to Michael, Marquis of Langston. She couldn’t stop herself from memorizing how well his evening finery suited him. His hair was dark and brushed into control. His shoulders were broad in his black evening coat. He lounged in the chair rather than sit formally, as was his way. She allowed herself a slight smile at that. The man tended to plop into a chair rather than sit. She glanced up at his face one more time before settling in her chair and met his eyes.
Heavens, he’d seen her. She pushed her back into the chair hoping the darkness would hide her from view, her heart racing, her breathing rapid. She fought the urge to run, grab her mother and disappear into the night and away from him. She knew it had to be a coincidence, but it did not feel like one.
Beth forced herself to calm down. She had no reason to hide from him. She had no expectations from him. He’d made his intentions clear when the letters stopped coming and hers were returned.
But the truth was, she was afraid to see him again. He still had a power over her, if the incident at the Royal Academy was any indication. His influence could tempt her into giving in to hope. Hope would stir a longing for him, and longing was a temptation she could not give in to. It was what led to her downfall and the subsequent pain of his loss the first time. She shook her head in the dark. She couldn’t allow him to remind her of what they were like together. She couldn’t let herself be left alone again.
Chapter Five
From the moment that Michael’s eyes met Beth’s across the expanse of Drury Lane Theatre, he could not look away. He would not break contact, even to blink, less he lose her again. Her gaze moved through him like an electric shock. He felt the pull of her even with the distance between them, something that had always been there.
In the years he’d spent looking for Beth, he longed for her, not just as a lover or a loved one, but as an anchor. She had made him believe he could be an artist. She had made him feel like he was home. He’d not felt this way with any other person.
After seeing her at the Royal Academy, he couldn’t get Beth out of his mind. He had so many questions. Why did she stop writing? Where had she gone when her father died? How was she coping with the loss of her father? He longed to be there for her in her grief. He needed her by his side too. Sir Charles had been more of a father to Michael than his own, encouraging rather than critical. Now it appeared that he should have tried harder to find Beth given the drastic change in her circumstances. The guilt gutted him.
His eyes found Beth again, seated by her mother, her gloved hands gripped tightly in her lap, a sign she was nervous. He cursed his father for setting up this evening with Lady Hamilton and her daughter. All Michael wanted was to get to the other side of the theatre and capture Beth before she had time to run from him again. Given the tension in the way she sat in the chair, she would find a way to avoid him.
“This is the most romantic play, don’t you think, my lord?” Lady Cassandra spoke softly, leaning close. “I think Romeo and Juliet is my favorite of all of Shakespeare’s plays.”
“I’ve never liked this play. Damned foolish to kill yourself for love.” He rattled off the statement without thought, then heard Lady Cassandra huff, but said nothing further. Hell, ever since seeing Beth, he’d almost forgotten about the lady sitting next to him.
“Do you prefer the comedies then, my lord? Taming of the Shrew perhaps? Or is Midsummer Night’s Dream more to your taste?”
Tonight, Lady Cassandra’s voice was even more irritating than usual. He could not imagine having to listen it to it every single day for the rest of his life.
“Most people like to laugh,” he said absently.
“Good heavens, is that Lady Bishop and Miss Bishop? I’ve not seen them in an age.” She placed a hand on the edge of the wall and leaned down. “Yes, I do believe it is Miss Bishop. I had no idea she was still in London. After her father died, she disappeared from society, not that we travelled in the same circles.”
The disdain in Lady Cassandra’s voice grated on Michael’s nerves. “I suspect that the death of Sir Charles left them in rather reduced circumstances.” His tone held a note of censure.
“I hear she is in trade now. One can only imagine what she has been reduced to.”
“You say that as if it is a bad thing, Lady Cassandra. Many people must work for their bread. Your maid, for instance, or the modiste who makes your gowns all work.”
Lady Cassandra pouted. “I know I should be more compassionate of those less deserving, but there was always something about Miss Bishop’s manner, as if she was too good for the rest of us.”
Michael tightened his lips, holding back a vicious retort. The chit beside him had no idea of whom she spoke. Beth had carried a level of responsibility that Lady Hamilton could never understand, pampered as she was.
“There was a time when the two of you were connected, I believe.”
“Sir Charles Bishop was my mentor at the Royal Academy of Art. He was a very gifted artist and a good friend.”
“My father had his portrait painted by Sir Charles. It is very good. No, I remember you were quite taken with Miss Bishop at one time. Everyone thought the two of you might marry, but I suppose that your father didn’t approve of the match. It is just as well. She was far beneath you in status and situation.”
“You have no idea of what you are speaking, Lady Hamilton,” he growled. “I would suggest you not repeat rumors on topics you know nothing about.”
He slouched deeper into the chair as Lady Cassandra shared a pained glance with her mother. He probably shouldn’t have been so rude to her. She was as much a pawn in this game as he was.
The curtain along the back wall parted and St. Clair came in. He took the seat directly behind Michael and leaned forward and whispered, “You won’t believe what I discovered.”
“If you’ve just discovered it, then your education thus far has been sorely lacking.” Michael kept his voice down so that Lady Cassandra wouldn’t take an interest in his conversation. Given the way she leaned closer to her cousin and away from him, she was probably angry with him. Just as well.
“Funny. It has to do with a certain painting by an artist you might be familiar with, a Miss Bishop? Miss Morgan has it in her dressing room and it’s for sale.”
Michael’s heart thumped hard in his chest. “How did she come by this painting?”
“It seems that
Miss Bishop works here painting the sets for the theatre. She’s a friend of Miss Morgan, a very good friend.”
Trust Beth to find a way to make money with her talent. Pride filled him as he glanced down at her again with a smile. His Beth was resourceful and strong. “And you say the painting is for sale?”
“Of course. If the painting wasn’t so good, I would have laughed at the price. As it was, I told Miss Morgan that in order to pay that large a sum for an unknown artist, I would need to meet the artist. Miss Bishop and her mother are here for tonight’s performance as a guest of the theatre manager. Miss Morgan says that he’s sweet on your Miss Bishop.”
A wave of possessiveness coursed through him. He cleared his throat and pushed down the emotions. “Then he must own the box they are sitting in. She knows that I’m here.”
St. Clair followed Michael’s line of sight. “She is as lovely as she is talented. I’m glad I insisted that we be introduced before purchasing the painting. And I will purchase it, Langston. You won’t be able to talk me out of it.”
Michael glanced at Lady Cassandra who was starting to take note of his conversation. “Step outside for a moment,” he whispered to St. Clair.
St. Clair stood with a nod and stepped into the corridor behind the box. The curtain fell back into place.
“Is there a problem, my lord?” Lady Cassandra whispered. “I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion with Mr. St. Clair.”
“It’s just some business we need to discuss. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” Michael did not wait for her reply, but stood and followed the path that St. Clair took. Once through the curtain, he moved farther away from the back of the box so as not to be overheard.
“I saw the painting first,” Michael said softly. “It is mine.”
“It should be in the exhibition.”
“Agreed. Unfortunately the artist fled the academy before I had the chance to accept it.”
“I really must meet this woman. She runs from a man who would be a duke. Not many women would do that.”
Michael glared back at him. “I plan on confronting Miss Bishop during intermission.”
St. Clair chuckled softly. “Tonight’s entertainment will not be on the stage, but in the theatre. Shakespeare couldn’t have written it better, if I do say so.”
“You are not being helpful.”
“Careful, Langston, I might take a liking to the kind of woman who can keep you on your toes.”
“I would not push me too far where Miss Bishop is concerned, St. Clair,” he growled.
“If you are to marry Lady Cassandra, Miss Bishop will be available.”
Michael grimaced. “Don’t even joke about that. My father has taken it upon himself to make the arrangements with the lady’s father for our marriage.”
“Given how many married women are willing to warm my bed, I’d say the way your type arranges marriages doesn’t make anyone very happy.”
“All father can see are the piles of gold that Lady Cassandra represents and her relation to the royal family. My disappearance during the intermission will be noted by everyone.”
“I’ll be glad to keep Lady Cassandra occupied for you, but I want an introduction to Miss Bishop in exchange.”
“An introduction, nothing more, but you must keep Lady Cassandra from knowing about my meeting with Beth. I can’t have the gossips getting hold of this.”
“Agreed, but only if you allow me to purchase the painting.”
“It is going into the Royal Exhibition, St. Clair.”
“Not if I purchase it first. As to the lady, it is for her to decide who she likes better. Given her penchant for running from you, I just might have the advantage.”
Michael had no doubt St. Clair would like Beth. She had a backbone of steel and the determination to do whatever she put her mind to. Those qualities alone would draw St. Clair to her like a moth to flame. He didn’t need the competition. “Miss Bishop belongs to me.”
St. Clair studied him for a long moment. “Are you sure, Langston?”
Chapter Six
Beth could feel Langston’s eyes on her. She pretended to enjoy the play, but she found herself always glancing at the box where he sat, watching her. Her heart raced, she fought to control her breathing. She felt as if she were going to jump out of her skin, the urge to run so strong. She didn’t want to see him again, especially with Mother with her. Then there was the fact that Langston was spoiling this one night out to see her favorite play performed by her best friend. She’d be damned if she’d let him ruin it for her, especially since she was out in society so very little.
“Do we have to stay for the entire performance? Langston is otherwise occupied with that Hamilton girl. The very least he could do was to come over and pay his respects to us. He was a good friend of your father’s, yet he treats us thus.”
“He may not have seen us, Mother.”
“Pish, he’s been staring at you all night. Everyone knows it. We should leave during the intermission while the crowds are about before he has the chance to come to you.”
The woman was going mad. “Why would we do that?”
“Force him to call upon us, of course. He’s been seen by everyone staring at this box. The gossip will force him to call upon us just to pay his respects.”
“He doesn’t even know where we live, Mother. This idea is ridiculous.”
“Beth, I want to go home.”
“Mother, can we just enjoy the play? It’s been so long since we had an evening of entertainment.”
“I know what I’m about. Mark my words, Langston will come to call within the week.”
Beth pinched her lips together. This foolish hope her mother had for a match between Langston and Beth was beyond madness, but there was no stopping Lady Bishop when she had the bit between her teeth. “Of course, Mother.”
Beth would miss her favorite part of the play. She fought hard against the resentment that was becoming more and more of a habit. Providence had given her two parents to take care of without the proper tools and personality to do it. She’d been looking out for her father since she was strong enough to carry the tea tray. She’d mixed paints for him. She’d done every single thing her parents had asked of her wanting to please them. When would it be her turn?
Beth accepted her duty without question, but there were times, like now, when she just wanted to find a way to leave England and paint her way through Italy. She longed to study the masters, to see something of the world besides the part of London she walked through on a daily basis. She shook off the self-pity. It would change nothing.
“I shall ask for the carriage to be fetched.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice. She needed this escape to keep from screaming at her mother.
“Just wait, Beth. You’ll see the wisdom of my actions.”
“Forgive me, Mother, if I chose to not to have my actions ruled by false hope.” Her mother’s petulant tone rubbed hard against her temper. Beth rose from her seat and moved to the back of the box.
She pulled the curtain and stepped outside only to run into a hard, male chest. Beth looked up and met the blue eyes of the Marquis of Langston. Her heart thumped so loud, he probably could hear it. How had she not noticed that he’d left his seat and his guests?
“Miss Bishop.”
That voice, like whisky warming her insides, flowed over her. She dipped into a curtsey. “My lord, what are you doing here?”
“I came to pay my respects to you and your mother. They are long overdue.”
She couldn’t argue with that statement, damn him. “Thank you, now if you will excuse me, I must see to having the carriage brought around for my mother.” She went to push by him, but felt his hand on her arm. The warmth of his hand permeated his gloves and she fought a shiver of awareness, then promptly felt like kicking herself.
“You are always trying to get out of my company. If I didn’t know you better, I would think you disliked me.”
The teasing tone of his voice had her glancing up to meet his gaze. His eyes were warm with humor though there was a serious expression on his face. A throat cleared behind him. Beth glanced past Langston to see another gentleman standing behind him. He was taller than Langston, with rough features in a pleasant face. His eyes were deep brown and his hair blond. He was dressed appropriately, but there was an air about him that Beth had seen in the working men in the streets of London.
“Miss Bishop, may I present Mr. Jonathan St. Clair. Miss Bishop’s father was my art teacher and mentor.”
Beth smiled and dipped a curtsy. “Very kind to make your acquaintance, sir.” His cheeky grin as he bowed to her had her liking him despite him being a friend of Langston’s. Sally had been keeping things from her. She never told Beth how handsome St. Clair was.
“So, you are the woman behind that painting in Miss Morgan’s dressing room.”
“Yes, sir.” Beth studied him curiously. “Are you acquainted with Miss Morgan?”
“Indeed, though more of an admirer. She is a great talent. As are you, Miss Bishop.” St. Clair bent over her hand and pressed his lips to her glove.
“Do you like art as much as the theatre, Mr. St. Clair?” Beth said with a smile. She knew St. Clair was flirting with her to goad Langston and she couldn’t help but join in. His smile was infectious to say the least. How Sally had resisted him this long was beyond Beth’s comprehension.
“I enjoy both equally, Miss Bishop, though your painting has deeply touched me,” St. Clair said with a smile. “You are a great talent.”
“Mr. St. Clair is quite taken with your work, Miss Bishop.”
The low growl in Langston’s voice gave her pause. He sounded jealous, but she knew better. “If you both will excuse me, I must make arrangements to get my mother home.” She made to move to pass them to find Mr. Alderman. He would be backstage at work, but one of the others could find the carriage for her.
“Allow me to see you both home,” Langston said. “You know how much I hate this play.”
The Art of Seduction (Kings of Industry) Page 4
