by Ava Stone
An expression he couldn’t quite identify flashed across Grace’s face. “She was needed at the vicarage all of a sudden.”
“All of a sudden?”
Patience shrugged. “They hurried off before we could stop them.”
“They’re both gone?” Garrick asked, sounding quite dejected.
“What happened?” Quent demanded. “I can’t imagine her not saying goodbye.” That wasn’t like Lila Southward at all. Had his sisters done something to upset the girl?
The triplets all exchanged a set of glances that only served to strengthen Quent’s apprehension. Finally, Hope’s shoulders sagged and she said, “Everything was perfectly fine until…”
“Until what?” he nearly barked.
“Until we mentioned your angel,” Grace finished. “You said you wanted us to see if we could help you find out who she was.”
If his sister had slugged him in the gut he’d have felt it less than the sudden distress that swamped him now. Why the devil would they tell Lila Southward about his angel? Had they lost their blonde heads? All three of them? “Why the devil did you do that?” Damn it all! Things had been going so nicely with his brunette, but now…
“You did think she might be your angel,” Garrick added, which only filled Quent with uncontained fury.
“She’s not my damned angel! She didn’t even attend last year’s masquerade,” he barked. “I just didn’t want you to flirt with the girl.”
Garrick’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, all you had to do was say so, old man.”
Quent turned his attention back to his sisters. “What did you say to her? Tell me now.”
Grace tipped her chin slightly in the air. “I don’t know why you care one way or the other, since you’re so certain she’s not your angel. And that’s the whole reason we’re here.”
“He did nearly drool when he first saw her yesterday,” Patience tossed in.
Quent was going to slowly murder them. All three of them. “What did you say to her?” he ground out.
“Nothing much,” Hope said.
That Quent didn’t believe in the least. However, Patience had the loosest lips of the trio, so Quent focused his attention on her. “What did you say?” he cajoled.
Patience squirmed a bit in her pink muslin. “We just told her you were looking for the girl who kissed you and then disappeared last year.”
“Put that way,” Garrick began, “it does not do much for your reputation as a kisser.”
He glared at his friend. “Stubble it, will you?”
To be truthful, Sidney had had enough of Quent and his overbearing demands. He’d also had enough of the gossiping sisters. All in all, he was quite done with the Post family this afternoon. And so, while Quent and his sisters continued to bicker about what was said or not said to Miss Southward, Sidney slowly wandered away under the guise of touring the ruins. But once he reached the main road, he broke into a brisk walk, not daring to look back to where his party stood about on the great lawn.
His shoulders slumped and he relaxed his walk once he was out of their sight. He hadn’t realized just how high his hackles had been. Was it because of Quent? The annoying sisters?
Or Tilly?
No, it wasn’t her. Her effect on him was far from hackle-raising. Rather, her presence made him feel peaceful, calm. Something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He’d been so restless since last year’s masquerade. He’d made a million missteps with women, which was so unlike him. And he’d all but abandoned his family—what little he had. The only thing that brought him comfort was a rough ride atop his stallion, which, now he thought about it, was a grand idea.
As soon as Anna was no longer in sight, David slipped into his waistcoat and jacket and then mounted is horse.
What an odd young woman. Lovely, without a doubt, but shocking, and perhaps a bit wicked as well.
“Are you happy, now that you’ve found your artist from last year?” Chetwey asked with an amused glint in his eye.
David wasn’t sure. Yes, he was glad she was no longer a mystery, but she wasn’t exactly who he hoped she be. “At least now I can move forward.”
They led their horses to the road and turned back toward Torrington.
“Move forward? I thought that once you met her, you’d wish to come to know her even better.”
“It was the oddest meeting, and I’m not sure what to make of it.” He wasn’t even sure how to explain. “All was going well, and of course when she asked, I allowed her to sketch me again.”
“It was only the right thing to do,” Chetwey said with a grin.
“Then she announced that she wished to sculpt a man.”
Chetwey jerked toward him.
“Like Michelangelo’s David, and that she lacked a model.”
“Well, that’s certainly a different approach.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Women have never been shy about wanting you out of your clothing before.” Chetwey laughed.
“Yes, but those women were not innocent misses like Miss Southward.” A part of him was a bit affronted. “She looked at me like my former mistresses used to. Except, behind their calculated eyes were visions of baubles to match a necklace I’d given them.”
“What was behind Miss Southward’s?”
“Appreciation with a mixture of desire and innocence.” It was the oddest thing and had stirred his blood. “It was like she was undressing me with her eyes and it was quite uncomfortable.”
This time Chetwey belted out laughter.
“I’m not sure if I’m not offended by the entire matter. Shocked, for certain.”
“This is rich,” Chetwey said as he continued to chuckle.
“How so?”
“As though you haven’t undressed hundreds of women with your eyes before.”
“That’s entirely different.” And he was rather affronted Chetwey would say such a thing to him. “I am who I am, and she is…Well, an innocent and niece of a vicar, by God.”
“So, a mistress appraising your body with appreciation is fine, but nobody else.”
“Exactly! We both got something out of the agreement and they were supposed to look at me the way Miss Southward did.”
“All that aside…are you going to let Miss Southward sculpt you?”
Blast Chetwey, he was still laughing and there was nothing humorous in this situation. “I don’t believe so. She is a bit forward and bold.”
“I would think you would appreciate that in a woman.”
“Not one I would consider for a wife.” Clearly his friend did not understand. “And, as she is an innocent young woman, I cannot give her further attention. People will start to wonder; there will be expectations.” He let out a sigh. “Besides, I need to think about my future.”
“Future?”
“When my grandfather passed last fall, my uncle inherited the title. He only has daughters. Heaven forbid, if something were to happen to my uncle and father, the task would fall to me. That’s when I realized that as much I wish to remain free and carrying on without a care, I need a wife, just in case. And, that woman must be above reproach.”
They turned onto the drive to Torrington after taking a shortcut that David had been unaware of, not that he’d remember it. His mind was still caught up with images of Miss Southward and the deep appreciation he saw her in green eyes while she studied and sketched him. He wanted her, there was no doubt about how strongly attracted he was to the miss, but they would not suit.
Chetwey was still chuckling when they entered the sitting room and found Brighid. “I do believe Anna has shocked Thorn here.”
“How so?”
Damn! His face was on fire. He certainly couldn’t tell Brighid of the discussion. “It’s nothing I wish to discuss.”
Brighid simply smiled bigger. “Anna has a tendency to shock. Not as much as when she first arrived however.”
“Arrived?”
“Yes, her parents died wh
en she was sixteen. That’s when she came to live with the vicar. Until that time, she had an unusual upbringing.”
Curiosity got the better of him. While he should be putting the young woman from his mind, Thorn accepted a glass of brandy from Chetwey instead and settled into the opposite seat. “How so?”
“Her father enjoyed traveling. He and his wife flitted from one part of the world to another, Anna always with them. I don’t believe she set a foot in England until she came to live with her uncle. As soon as she could hold a pencil she began sketching everything from the pyramids to the Coliseum. Her parents encouraged her in the arts and exposed her to everything.”
Including a certain nude statue.
“She’s been quite bored living here after the life she lived before.”
That, David did not doubt, and it certainly explained quite a bit about her. It also confirmed that he truly must put her from his mind.
If she weren’t innocent, he’d gladly offer to be her model and possibly pursue other pleasures, but it was not to be. Spending time with Anna Southward would be above enjoyable, but she just wasn’t the type of woman he could take as a wife.
Bloody hell, when had he become a prig?
When his grandfather died and he realized that one day he might be responsible for young ladies. Knowing the gentlemen of London as he did, they needed a lady to guide them, not a world traveling artist who saw nothing wrong with suggesting a gentleman strip out of his clothes, regardless of her reasons for doing so.
Yet, despite his shock, he was still drawn to her.
“Well, thank you for the brandy and hospitality, Chetwey, Brighid, but it’s time I headed to Marisdùn. Quent will be expecting me.” He set his glass on the table and stood.
“Tell them I’ll stop in at the masquerade, but not to expect me there for long,” Chetwey called out.
Despite his decision to put Miss Southward from his mind, she was all he thought about on his ride to the castle. At last he’d found his fairy and learned her name. That certainly wouldn’t be plaguing him any longer, but now he must forget her, which was proving to be quite impossible.
So, Miss Southward wished to sculpt? It was certainly an interesting pastime. Far more intriguing than needlework and watercolors, though he very much liked the painting she had not quite finished today.
It was a shame society would not allow her such a pursuit, and if Miss Southward determined to sculpt her own statue she’d need to do so in hiding. It was doubtful such an undertaking could happen in the home of Vicar Southward.
Yet, should that keep Miss Southward from pursuing her desire?
He’d spent all of his adulthood thumbing his nose at Society’s rules, within limits of course. The only ones he followed to the letter were the ones that, if broken, would have seen him leg-shackled to some young miss. It was also the very reason he could not be her model. Doing so would see them both ruined and they would certainly not suit.
Sebastian was eagerly awaiting his master when Sidney arrived at the stables. The beautiful black beast snorted and whinnied his pleasure as Sidney fed him apples and carrots he’d stolen from the kitchens and stroked his shiny, black nose. He was just as excited for the ride, it seemed, as Sidney was, so Sidney wasted no time in preparing him. The stable boy offered to help, but Sidney always preferred to saddle and care for his own horse. There was something special about that time, when they were face-to-face, having one-sided conversations about life.
He laughed to himself, wondering what others would think of him, out here saddling his own horse, and talking to him as if he were a person. If he were being honest, he much preferred Sebastian to most of the people he knew. Not that he didn’t like his friends—he was fortunate to have many in his life who had seen to his well-being over the years—yet when it came to sharing his feelings, it was Sebastian who was always there to lend a pointy ear.
“I met a girl today,” he dared to whisper to his equine friend. Sebastian snorted in response. “You needn’t worry,” he continued. “No one could ever replace you, old friend. But I do hope you’ll be polite if you ever meet her. I can’t have you embarrassing me now, can I?”
Sebastian stomped his foot.
“You’ll know her when you see her. She has round hazel eyes, and honey-brown hair, and her smile…”
Sebastian looked at him, waiting for him to go on.
“Well, you don’t need to know all the details. I’ll let you form your own opinion when you meet her. Are you ready?”
The stallion nodded as if he understood his master perfectly, and then Sidney led him from the stables out into the chilled air. He sucked in a deep breath, letting the cold fill his lungs before he swung his leg up and over Sebastian’s back.
They started in a slow trot until they reached the long Marisdùn drive, and then Sidney couldn’t wait any longer. He urged Sebastian into a gallop, and the beast responded with the grace and power born to him from a long line of prize stallions. Sidney reveled in the cool air rushing over his cheeks, through his hair, the repetitive motion, up and down, as they flew at breakneck speeds down the main road, toward the sea. He loved to hear Sebastian’s hooves pounding against the hard dirt, like drums in his head.
Sebastian could ride long and hard, but after a while, Sidney could sense his need for a rest, and he couldn’t deny his friend such a thing. They had ridden into the woods, not far from the ruins, and now lazily explored where the paths took them through the towering trees. It was colder here in the shade, with no sun to warm them, but Sidney was warm from the ride, so it didn’t bother him much.
When they came to a little stream, Sidney jumped down from Sebastian’s back and led him to the water to drink, then he took a deep, cleansing breath of the fresh forest air.
Oh, Lud! What was he doing here? Surely, he’d not followed her here. However would he have known where to find her? He didn’t seem to be looking for anyone or anything in particular. He seemed completely at ease, as a matter of fact, patting his horse now and again, stretching, walking about. Was it truly coincidence that brought him here?
Never mind. It didn’t matter. Tilly wasn’t at all presentable in this ragged brown dress and tattered overcoat. She’d never expected to run into anyone, let alone him. Did he know he was on the vicar’s land? Or that he was quite the most beautiful man that had ever walked the earth?
Tilly shook her head of the wayward thoughts. Thoughts that would surely get her a paddling from Father, even at the ripe old age of seventeen. She had to do something. Or perhaps nothing. She could try to sneak away, but surely he’d hear the crunching of the leaves beneath her boots.
Blast but her heart was racing faster than that gorgeous stallion could run, she was sure. If he didn’t hear her feet crunching in the leaves, he’d certainly hear her heartbeat before too long.
“Have you had enough, Sebastian?” he spoke to his horse, patting him again on the neck. “Shall we continue on?”
The horse huffed and lowered his head to the stream again.
Sidney held up his hands in surrender. “All right then…I shall endeavor to be patient.”
And then he slipped his coat from his shoulders, thereby stealing Tilly’s very last breath. Good heavens. She’d never seen a man in only his shirt — not even Father, who was properly dressed at all times, perhaps even in sleep. But goodness, what she’d been missing! Her eyes swept over his form — a trim waist, powerful legs, and Lord bless him, beneath his shirt he appeared to have the physique of Apollo, or Hercules, or…some other Greek god she’d only ever heard about, since Father did not approve of the studies of such things. They are false gods, all of them! I’ll not have my daughter’s head filled with nonsense that goes against the Good Book!
That was just before he’d thrown her copy of The Comprehensive Folio of the Ancient Gods of Greece into the fireplace. Tilly had bitten her lip — and her tongue, for that matter — nodded her head in deference to her father, when what she’d really wante
d to do was scream at him and tell him he was the worst sort of beast, before escaping to her bedroom to cry. She hadn’t been crying over the book necessarily, more the principal of the matter. The fact that he stole all her joy, everything she loved, and spat upon it because it wasn’t about God or Godliness or Holiness or Prayer or any other number of righteous topics he deemed appropriate.
More times that she could count, Tilly had bitten back the words, “It isn’t fair!” She knew they were childish words, and she’d learned they only got her sent to her room without supper if she uttered them to Father. So, she held her tongue, always, wishing, waiting, hoping for the day a handsome, and hopefully secular, man would rescue her from this life.
“Tilly?”
Heat rushed to hear cheeks. Blast it all, she’d been so absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized Sidney had spotted her. Which was silly, since she was still staring right at him. Well, not at his face…
She tore her eyes away from his broad chest and flicked them up to meet his piercing, azure gaze.
“Oh!” She exclaimed, trying to pretend she hadn’t just been mentally undressing him in her mind. “Mr. Garrick, I-I didn’t see you there!”
A wry smile came to his lips, for he knew she was lying, and that made Tilly want to toss up her accounts. It wasn’t as if she could be any more embarrassed than she already was.
“I thought I told you to call me Sidney,” he drawled as he sauntered closer to her, his boots crunching the brittle leaves with every step. “May I?”
He gestured to the small strip of blanket beside her, and she immediately rushed to make more room. “Of course,” she squeaked, and then silently chastised herself for sounding like a mouse.
He plopped down beside her and put his back to the large tree trunk, so Tilly did the same.
“That’s Sebastian,” he said, and Tilly had to bite back the urge to tell him she already knew that, since she’d been watching him for the better part of ten minutes, during which he’d spoken to the horse several times.
