“Not near the window,” she gasped. “Someone might see.”
His brow furrowed for a moment before he moved some paintings to pull out the chair and indicated she should sit next to the table.
Margaret held her breath as she watched him think. He had her turn and twist until he had her posed as he wanted.
“There,” he said as he backed up. “Don’t move.”
She took a deep breath as she focused on staying still. From the corner of her eye, she watched him quickly organize then begin sketching directly onto a canvas, his brow furrowed. He was lost, she realized, in his world. A thousand questions danced through her head, but she dare not broach any of them lest she interrupt his work.
A new discovery filled her. She liked being drawn by him. Being his focus. It sent a warm thrill through her to know that he was capturing her for posterity. But more, it was almost as if his need, his driving passion to paint her was a tangible treasure he was placing at her feet. An honor.
“Have you always been this beautiful?” he asked her as he continued to draw.
Her cheeks grew warm as her insides melted with happiness. A man such as this must surely have known many beautiful women. He was from London after all. Handsome, tall, strong. To be thought of as beautiful by him meant something.
A secret smile spread across her face as she imagined being held in his arms.
“There,” he exclaimed, “that smile. That is it.”
She instantly stopped smiling as she discovered it was impossible to hold a smile while being expected to.
He continued working, focusing on the canvas. “There is a painting in the Louvre, in Paris,” he told her.
“You’ve been to Paris?”
He nodded, “During the short peace,” he said as he stepped away from his canvas to gently lift her chin. The touch of his fingers sent a tingle through her body that made it impossible to sit still.
“There is a painter, DaVinci, Leonardo, have you heard of him.”
“Vaguely. I think in one of His Lordship’s books.”
“Well, the man painted a picture. A young woman, with the most enigmatic smile.”
She nodded slightly before returning to hold her pose. She loved to hear him tell of where he had been and what he had seen. It was so different than anyone she knew. Paris, just imagine.
“Why was she smiling?” she asked.
He laughed and shook his head. “No one knows, but there are two different suggestions.”
“And?”
“One is because she has just discovered that she is with child.” He looked up from his work. “The other is because she has just discovered that she is not with child.”
Margaret shook her head. “No woman would be pleased with the later.”
“She might,” he said, “If the child was not her husband’s. Or the child of a husband she despised.”
A cold shiver ran down her spine as she remembered her father’s intentions. Would that be her fate? A loveless marriage?
“Regardless,” he said. “That is not the smile I want from you. No, I need that innocent beauty of youth and purity. The smile of a young maid happy to be alive.”
A quick jolt of fear flowed into her. What would he think if he discovered that she was deceiving him? That instead of a simple maid, she was instead a noblewoman. His confidence in his artistic eye, the ability to see the truth, would be ruined. What he thought he saw would be a lie. Would he doubt his own judgment as to what was true and what was not?
A sick feeling filled her stomach at the thought of betraying him and all he thought he understood about the world.
“No,” he exclaimed as he stopped drawing to stare at her. “We will have to cease talking if it upsets you. That smile, remember, joyous, blissful thoughts.”
Margaret tried to give him what he wanted, but deep down inside, a doubt was building. Suddenly, she realized that someone besides herself would be hurt if the truth was exposed. And the idea of hurting Ian seemed wrong. So wrong.
.o0o.
Ian was entranced as he pushed the hair out of his eyes and focused on Meg. It wasn’t just the beauty. There was something more. Something in her eyes that spoke of a hidden knowledge. Secrets and an awareness that held him.
God, he hoped he could capture that look, those hidden secrets. Who was this girl? She was so different than anyone he had ever known. Intelligent, obviously. Self-educated. But there was more. She understood his paintings. Understood what he was trying to say. It felt as if she actually understood him.
Even his dear friends, Bedford and Oxford, had never really understood. Duncan, off fighting in Portugal, might have understood, but his world had been warped by war. It was difficult for him to see the beauty in anything.
So few people cared enough to truly see. Yet, here was this lowly Lady’s maid who could see what was important.
This stranger, a sweet lass, saw the world the way he did. She realized the importance of his work. So much so that she had been willing to risk her reputation for him. Of course, she need not know that she had nothing to fear. If they were discovered. He would simply buy her a nice country cottage and rescue her from an irate employer.
The thought made him smile, perhaps he should do that even if they were not discovered. Stash Her in some convenient village. Heaven knew he could afford it. He could hire her to be his model.
A strange new feeling filled him as his hand danced across the canvas to rub a spot and blur a line, racing against time to seize the details before time expired. Before she changed her mind and fled. It surprised him, this sense of connection. An understanding that he had never experienced with a woman.
She wasn’t in hope of his title. There was no subterfuge. No deception. Where all Lady’s maids like this? Sweet, open, intelligent. … Worth knowing.
Who would have ever guessed? he thought as he started to sketch the background, determined to catch the light from the windows and the shadows it created.
Meg shifted slightly, he needed to keep her entertained, he realized. Just a little longer.
“Why don’t you ask me questions?” he asked her. “That way I won’t upset you and we won’t lose that enchanting smile.”
She laughed as she blushed.
He froze as he studied the color in her pink cheeks. A rose, he thought before going back to work. A rose color with a touch of an autumn sunrise.
“Very well,” she said as she sat up a little straighter. “Are you married? Do you have a family in London?”
Ian stopped for a moment, surprised at the question. The look in her eyes told him she had surprised herself with the question. That innocent look of someone who wants to know something but not appear too nosy or upset social decorum.
He laughed. “No, never married, no family. Well, a mother, brothers, but no wife or children.”
She seemed to relax slightly then once again that smile returned. “And let me guess. You support your mother and brothers from your small inheritance?”
He raised an eyebrow. “How did you know?”
Her eyes twinkled. “You are obviously not wealthy. A rich man would never dress like that. A poor man would never be able to spend his time painting.”
“What do you mean how I dress?”
She continued to smile, obviously not upset at being challenged. “Your shoes are coming undone at the sole and are splattered with paint. Your pants, although sturdy have been ripped and mended by someone who knows how to sew. Your mother, I would wager. You wear no collar, obviously an unnecessary expense. So …”
“You have an artist's eye for detail,” he said as he returned to work.
“But not an artist's hand. I could never make it do what I wanted. It was as if my mind was five steps ahead of my hand and it could never catch up.”
Laughing, he stepped back and looked at what he had done so far. Yes, it was a good start. The right pose, the right composition. The table would need something, a bowl of fruit, no, flower
s. Yes, it was a good start but the light was fading and his subject was becoming fidgety.
“Are you done?” she asked, obviously surprised.
“For today. The light is shifting.”
“May I see?” she asked hesitantly.
Ian shrugged his shoulders. It had never bothered him to have someone see his work before it was finished. In all honesty, he rarely painted such an intimate subject.
Meg stood up and ran her hands down her dress. She is nervous, he realized as he watched her approach. Grace in motion, he thought as his heart hitched.
He held his breath as she stepped up next to him and studied the drawing. It was rough, he wanted to explain, just the beginning. It surprised him how important her opinion was.
She turned to look up into his eye. A strange expression crossed her face as she peered up at him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
God, she was so beautiful. Her full lips like tender rose petals. Her tongue reached out to caress her lips and he was lost. “Meg,” he whispered. Unable to stop himself, he leaned down and took her mouth with his.
Chapter Six
Margaret sank into heaven as his lips took hers. His strong arm slipped around her waist and pulled her close. YES, this was where she belonged. In his arms. It was as if she had found her true self. The one safe place for her.
Never, in her entire life had she imagined her first kiss would be like this. As if the world had exploded into a new reality. Her body vibrated with excitement as she became lost in his lips, his touch.
She had always imagined her first kiss would be at the altar in front of her family and friends. A quick act with little passion.
Not this. This was all consuming.
Slowly, his lips began to caress. Instinctively, her arms reached up around his neck to hold him close. She was breaking a dozen rules but she couldn’t stop herself. The man had captured her heart.
A soft whisper escaped, “Ian.”
His arms squeezed as his tongue gently probed, pushing her higher as his lips took even more. God, an entirely new reality had opened up to her as a strange new feeling began to build deep inside of her. A physical need calling for more. Demanding more.
The two of them continued to kiss for a long moment until he slowly pulled away. Her lips felt abandoned as a lonely feeling of despair washed over her.
“Careful, Miss Meg,” he said as he rested his forehead against hers and whispered. “Or, we will do something you will regret.”
Her heart broke at the thought of him denying her what her body wanted. But the man was right she forced her mind to realize. So right. She had been on the edge of losing all control. At the point of abandoning everything she believed to be right and wrong. Throwing it all away for a moment with this man. Thankfully, his honor had saved her.
Suddenly, the realization that he could see the unladylike thoughts dancing through her mind made her flush with embarrassment. Here she had been kissing a man as if he were a husband she loved. No, even more. As if he were her lover.
“Um … I …” she fumbled as she stepped back, staring down as she folded her hands, desperate to escape.
He gently lifted her chin so he could stare into her eyes. “Don’t become cross with yourself, Meg. After all, it was but a kiss. And surely a pretty lass such as yourself has been kissed before.”
Her insides turned over as she fought to understand. Should she lie and say that of course she had been kissed before. Or would it be worse to admit this was her first?
“Not like that.”
Ian smiled, “I wonder if anyone has ever had such a kiss. I know I haven’t.”
God, her heart raced so fast it would surely break and once again they became lost in each other’s stare. Her body called for this man with a tense need. The slightest indication, the slightest suggestion, and she would be in his arms again. Lost, to never return to the person she had always thought she was.
“I must go,” she gasped as she backed away and searched for her hat. Oh my, her hair was down. Should she put it up again before stepping outside? Could she wait that long or must she escape? Her mind twirled with a dozen different worries as she retrieved her hat and long pin from the settee.
“You will be back?” he asked with a hopeful tone to his voice. “We can’t finish unless you do.”
Her heart skipped as her mind raced to what she wished to finish, only to realize he was talking about the painting. Or was he? The intensity of his stare made her second guess everything she thought she knew.
“Maybe,” he exclaimed as she ran from the room and down the stairs without even ensuring no one was about. It was only when she was two turns and three streets over, well away from the grocers’, that she was able to stop and lean against a building to catch her breath.
My god, what had happened to her? How had she become so wanton? So … so needy. Was it Ian? How had he captured her so?
Meg took a deep breath as she forced her heart to slow and her breaths to return to something close to normal. She needed to fix herself. If her father caught her like this, he would assume the worst, and she refused to be blamed for something she hadn’t had the opportunity to enjoy.
Only after her hair was up, her hat firmly secured, and her dress smoothed down, did she straighten her shoulders and begin for home. But as she walked, she could still feel his lips on hers, his arm around her waist. She knew it was a feeling she would never forget. Slowly she smiled to herself. He had kissed her like a man kisses a woman. As if he wanted her. Her, Meg. A warm feeling of contentment filled her. To be wanted by such a man surely meant something.
As she walked up the path to the estate on the hill, a new realization began to take hold. She would never survive a bad marriage. And a marriage to Lord Evans could only be a cold, loveless affair.
The realization filled her with sadness as she thought about all of the things she would never know. All of the things that would be lost to her. Passion, excitement, love.
But, to go back to him could lead to ruin. Deep in her heart, she knew that if he had not pulled away, she would have lost her virtue. The thought shocked her. She had never known a person could feel this way. Willing to throw everything away. It was both exciting and terrifying at the same time.
Who was she really? Who was this strange new person?
She was still lost in thought when she snuck in through the garden door and into the parlor. Back in her own world, she realized. Returned to reality. Sighing she stepped out into the hall only to be confronted by her father.
“There you are,” he said with a deep frown that grew even deeper as he examined her. “What are you wearing?” obviously upset to see her in a simple maid’s dress and not one of the many day dresses she possessed. Knowing her father, he remembered each of her dresses and exactly how much it costs. Heaven knows he had complained enough about each purchase.
The disapproval in his voice sent a cold chill down her spine. What did he know? What would he do if he discovered she had just returned from kissing a man? An itinerant painter. He’d erupt, she realized as a nervous fear filled her.
“I tore my hem,” she told him as she plucked at her dress. “I borrowed this from Susan while she fixes mine.”
He grunted and shook his head. “We are having guests tomorrow night. For dinner. I will expect you to act as hostess. Your mother assured me before we left that you were capable. Please see to things.”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered as her mind whirled with a thousand thoughts. “Who will be attending?” she asked as she held her breath. What would she do if Lord Evans were to attend?
“Baron Dunhill and Lady Dunhill of course,” her father said referring to the only other Aristocracy within a dozen miles. “And the estate’s agent Thompson, and his wife. Along with the local Vicar, Shaw, I think his name is, and his wife.”
She continued to hold her breath until she realized that was it. Only those three couples. Her next thought was that s
he would not be able to visit Ian. The decision had been taken away from her. She was filled with a sense of relief mixed with intense regret.
How could she go through life like this? Torn and troubled, all over a man she barely knew.
Her father continued to frown, then grunted once more before turning and walking away. That was him, she thought with deep sadness. Oh, how she wished she could talk to him about Ian. Explain how special he was.
Count your blessings, she thought to herself. They had been able to talk without arguing, a rarity of late.
What would he say if she asked him for his advice about a successful marriage? From all appearances, it seemed that he and her mother got on well. Of course, it was her mother who made the adjustments necessary. Who worked to smooth the waters to keep her husband happy.
But, what did a man expect? What did men want in a spouse? What made them fall in love was the key question.
.o0o.
Ian glanced up at the sun as he continued to pace the bridge. Where was she? He had thought for sure the girl would come again. She knew how important this was.
So, where was she? Sighing, he turned to retrace his steps. As he did, he noticed a farmer approaching the bridge. Probably destined for the pub.
The man inspected him closely, dipped his head in acknowledgment, then proceeded across, all without saying a word. All the while probably wondering about a vagabond stomping up and down a stone bridge in the middle of the day. What was this world coming to?
Ian laughed to himself. What would the man think if he knew it was a Duke he had just passed? Probably the same thing, who was this idiot and why was he pacing back and forth?
Once again, he held up a hand to shield his eyes while he glanced at the sun. The light, they were losing the light.
She’s not coming, he realized with deep regret. A feeling of disappointment filled him, much more than if it had been just about the painting.
He had wanted to see Meg again, he realized. Talk to her, make her smile. Or better yet, laugh.
Sighing heavily, he started for his studio. “Maybe tomorrow,” he mumbled to himself. If not, what then? Should he go speak to her employer? She’d said the man was a Lord. Did he know him? Had they sat with each other in Parliament.
A Duke's Dilemma Page 4
