by Terry Long
Michael raised his brows at her answer. “You told me wanted to speak to me earlier. In the study.”
“Oh,” she said softly to his chin. Then she turned from him, altogether. “I forgot.”
“You forgot.”
Ally nodded, returning her gaze to the blasted painting, dismissing him.
“You’ll tell me when you remember?”
“I am fairly certain I won’t remember,” she said, rapidly blinking up at a painting. Her hands still clutched her gown.
She was stubborn.
But he was determined. “How could you be certain that you won’t remember what you wanted to speak to me about? That scarcely makes a speck of sense.”
***
Ally prayed he would drop the issue. She didn’t want to tell him the reason she sought him this morning was to find out why he was sorry after he’d made love to her. The answer would prove thwarting. Why, my dear, I hadn’t wanted to make love to you, which is why I’m sorry. Not only is he sorry, now, he’d said it wasn’t even supposed to have happened. The reason for his strange conduct after they’d made love regrettably was this.
Heat rose to her cheeks, warming her all over. She wandered away to stand in front of another painting so he wouldn’t notice how uncomfortable his constant questions made her.
He followed.
“It does very little justice to the sun, doesn’t it?” she asked, hoping he’d quit pursuing the topic. When he didn’t answer, Ally let out a sigh of relief and went on. “I’m not much of an artist or perfectionist, but…it seems as though this painter rushed through the part on the left, the area along the horizon.” She placed her finger at the area and looked up at him. “Right there.”
His lips quirked. “That is why this piece cost a fortune. The famous English painter, Byron Alexander Baltzar, pointed out this blunder himself. As he put the finishing touches with the last strokes of his paintbrush, the shrilling screech of his first born son as it entered the world caused this imperfection. The Baron said it was the most perfect imperfection in the entirety of his sixty-eight years of life. You see, that was his first and only son.”
Ally tried not to stare at him through his entire speech, but gave up the instant he fixed his gaze to the artwork before them. She studied the hard planes of his face: the strong jaw line… “That’s a sweet story,” she murmured. The curve of his mouth, the strands of his thick, unruly hair—
“You would think so.” A growing smirk pulled at the corner of his wide-set mouth when he turned to her, sending a trembling bolt down her spine.
“It is,” she countered, trying to calm her bundle of nerves, and hoping he didn’t notice how pleasantly jittery he made her with his mere smile. “Tell me where else would you hear such an affectionate story? It’s obvious the man loved his son.” Ally found it easier to talk to the man if the topic of discussion wasn’t on her, or him, or Victor.
Michael sighed heavily. “In all respect of the dead man, his work had been sought only after he died. And it’s not as sweet a story as you put it. He didn’t care much for anything else than an heir to continue his lineage.”
Ally pouted. “All Englishmen do, do they not?”
“Not when his wife’s life is in peril.”
“Oh.” She gave her head a little shake. “No, that’s not very sweet.”
Michael turned his head to hide his grin, but she caught it. Why he found her admission amusing, she didn’t know, but the way he smiled gave her a glimpse of his lightheartedness and perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn’t such an ogre.
If it were up to him, would he end his lineage there, to protect the life of his wife? She studied the wide span of his shoulders, his strong arms that treated her with such gentleness and affection, just hours earlier. The warmth that encircled her in those arms was incredibly-
Michael turned and Ally nearly groaned aloud. Why must my eyes always be on him?
“Are you all right?” He frowned. “You don’t look so well.”
Leave it to him to tell a lady that. “I’m fine.”
He studied her for a few seconds. Ally thought she might swoon from embarrassment. Then he nodded as if appeased from that short perusal.
***
“Michael?” she whispered in a tone that sounded much like the one he’d heard earlier that morning- in her bed. His heart nearly failed him. Her voice sounded so…perfect. Especially when she murmured his name.
“Yes?” he answered. His sounded a bit ragged.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you—”
“Is it what you wanted to speak to me about? The thing you’re convinced you wouldn’t remember?” he quipped with a growing smile.
Ally stared at him as if she’d never seen him. He almost asked why she gaped at him with such an odd expression, but he held his tongue. He didn’t want to embarrass her; she’d probably start blushing again. It was too late, he realized, when color stained her cheeks.
“No,” she said, “I’m afraid I have forgotten that one for good.”
“Very well.” He chuckled. “What have you been meaning to ask me?” He wanted to put his lips to her cheeks to see if they were as warm as they looked. And perhaps let them trail to her mouth, to the curve of the bottom one that begged to be licked.
As if on cue, she bit her lip. Michael felt the tautness in his breeches increasing at an incredible rate. That mouth reminded him of the sultry moans that had escaped as he buried himself in her. He forced himself to tear his gaze from her face and strode in the opposite direction. He had to breathe.
“Why do you exert yourself to such labor without a moment of respite?” Ally asked behind him.
After what seemed to be an interminable period of blankly staring at the canvases, he said softly, “For my own benefit.” It sounded authoritative. He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way.
“Does one of your benefits include digging yourself into an early grave, do you presume?”
He turned to look at her, noticing that she no longer blushed. He was amused at how quickly she recovered. Ally looked impatient, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning, while she awaited his answer.
“When I was a boy, my father always woke me from my bed to watch the sunrise with him. Victor was too young to leave the warmth of the hearth. When I was old enough to ride alone, I rode alongside him on my own pony.” He smiled and stared up at a painting. “My father bought me a horse when I was capable. To be honest, I never cared much about something as common as the sun. The reason I reveled in waking each morning was to be with my father, to have him to myself for a few minutes each day. He was a busy man.”
Have I said too much? Ally appeared as though she wanted to hear him discuss his childhood memories, which he found peculiar. Her expression was that of fascination and wonder, and the way she tilted her head and turned her mouth to the side…
“You were fond of your father.”
He gave her a quick nod and forced a smile.
“What else do you remember of him?” she asked, her eyes bright with interest.
“My father told me one morning that when one roused to watch the slow progression of the sun, he’d see many things. At first light, one’s mind was always clearer, simpler. I hadn’t understood my father’s meaning until after he passed on. From then, I’d wake at dawn each day to catch the sunrise, just as he had. To me, it was the only way I found comfort in being apart from him.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. It felt strange to confess this, but as his gaze met hers, he couldn’t stop his flow of speech.
“After months of the same custom each morning, I finally grasped meaning in his words. It had always been work- his efforts for a better life for his family.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ally whispered, wearing a pained, unsettling expression. “You must have been devastated. You were close to him.”
Standing taller, he forced his shoulders back. What the hell had he done? Why did he go and tell her all of that? Clearing his
throat, he crossed his arms. “Well, there it is, the explanation for my odious practice from sunup to sundown.” He tried to make it a lighthearted confession, but didn’t sound like it, even to his own ears.
To his surprise, Ally approached him, regarding him with an askew glance. “You look like you’re now fortified with an impenetrable armor for protection. From me.”
He scoffed. “Don’t be absurd.”
“No?”
“No.” He wanted to kiss her so she’d shut up.
She huffed at his answer and went back to collecting fistfuls of dress in her hands. “Then, will you go somewhere with me?”
He’d go to Hades, if she’d let him kiss her there.
“Well? Will you?” Her voice sounded light as air. She sounded hopeful, too.
“Where?” he asked gruffly. “I have numerous things to do.”
Ally rested a hand over his forearm, gentle as a butterfly’s touch, and he became immobile. Heat vibrated from her delicate hand, scorching him through the sleeve of his shirt.
“You’ll see. Come.” When he didn’t budge, she tugged. “Please?” She looked at him with such affection; she’d even smiled at him now, nearly knocking him over backwards with it. His stomach did a flip. “Michael,” she sang harmoniously.
And that did it. “For just a little while.”
Chapter Fifteen
The phaeton ride felt pleasant as the breeze blew at his hair and the sun warmed his face. Seized with giddiness and impatience, Michael asked Ally once more where they headed, but she still stuck to her willful ways and ignored him.
Ally had stealthily notified the driver before Michael had his chance to inquire their destination. To Michael’s chagrin, the driver feigned ignorance, and rushed to take his seat in front of the vehicle. Everyone in his blasted household, it seemed, tried to please her.
Michael turned in his seat. As if she knew what went through his mind, Ally shook her head, but her gaze remained on the road that stretched out before them.
“You have no patience, Mr. Langdon,” she said on a chuckle. Then she turned her face to his.
Michael found himself returning her smile. Did her eyes always sparkle like this in the sunlight? And her hair—“Why didn’t you wear a bonnet?”
“I find I like to go without it every once in a while.” Tilting her face to the sky, she added, “The sun warms me much better. I do believe this is the warmest summer we’ve ever had in England. Doesn’t it feel wonderful?”
“Won’t you spot like a banana?”
“I don’t mind,” she answered with a little shake to her head that caused one unruly lock of hair to escape from its pin. “I am quite used to lingering outdoors without my bonnet.”
“Next time, wear a bonnet,” he snapped. He didn’t want her to spot. He wanted her to look just as she did now. At Ally’s startled look, he added pathetically, “I thought you ladies swooned under the sun.”
Without hesitation, he took her loose lock of hair between his fingers. It felt as silky as her skin, he duly noted, before awkwardly placing it atop her head. It fell the moment he let go of the lustrous curl, and bounced around the column of her neck.
Ally’s hand flew up to take charge of the unmanageable lock, tucking it under a pin. “This should do it,” she said on an unsteady breath. Perhaps, they had ridden over a crack in the road. Michael did a double take as they drove by two forms off on the side. They could have just passed Prinny kissing his mistress, but he didn’t care.
Michael might not have seen the slight curve of Ally’s lips had he not been taking such close notice. Ally’s lips never failed to beckon a kiss, and he found that not only did he want to feel them against his again, he wanted to nip at them, too. When he did that earlier this morning, he thought with a lazy smile, she squirmed and moaned against him like Achtland, the Celtic Goddess who was known solely for her wanton attribute.
“You ought to go on more carriage rides,” Ally said, forcing him back to his current surroundings. He tore his gaze from her mouth, hoping she didn’t realize what he was doing. What the hell was I doing?
A little irritated because she’d almost caught him staring, he scowled. “I don’t have time for redundant carriage rides.”
“Of course you do, you simply choose not to take them, that’s all.”
Her smile assured him that she definitely had caught him staring. Her eyes were laced with a bit of triumph and perhaps she felt a little bashful, given that a faint blush appeared on her cheeks, staining them as if she’d been sitting under the sun far too long.
“Must you always vex me, woman?” He frowned, because hell, she caught him staring.
Ally merely smiled at the outburst. “I try my best,” she murmured before turning her face the other way.
He let her have the last word, only because it was a good retort. He, too, turned his face from hers, amused with his quandary.
As the phaeton pulled to a stop at the front of a vast stone building three stories high, Michael realized Ally’s intention straightaway. Waldon Wall Gallery.
“We’re here!” Ally exclaimed.
He jumped off and extended a hand, reveling in the warm, gloved palm that took his. Ignoring how the simple contact stirred him, he ushered her up the endless flight of steps.
The soaring double doors at the top of the stairs were opened by two footmen in dark blue livery. The men perfected a bow and without a sound, closed the doors behind them once they entered.
A portly gentleman appeared, wearing a cheeky smile and twinkling blue eyes. “Good afternoon, sir. William Peyton at your disposal.” He removed his tall top hat briefly and bowed. Deep laugh lines etched the corners of his eyes.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Peyton. Michael Langdon and my wife.”
“Mrs. Langdon.”
No response escaped the lady clutching his arm, so Michael glanced at her. Apparently, she hadn’t heard a word, since she appeared lost in her own dimension. Ally gawked at the artwork, which adorned all sides of the wall.
Mr. Peyton offered Michael a gracious smile. “How may I be of assistance to you today, sir?”
“Ask my wife. It is her desire to visit your gallery this afternoon,” Michael drawled placing a hand on hers, and gently squeezing it to get her attention.
“Oh, yes.” She stepped closer to his side and presented him a smile sweet enough to make a eunuch weep. “Would you like to see a few paintings of the sun?” She looked so damn happy, he had to tell himself to quit ogling her. Ally applied pressure on his arm and he knew that meant she wanted him to agree.
“Paintings of the sun, Mr. Peyton,” Michael said, stifling a chuckle when Ally nodded enthusiastically beside him.
“Certainly! We have quite a few extraordinary ones which I’m sure will be to your liking,” Mr. Peyton boasted.
Ally gave the man her full attention. “Oh, I am most certain of it!” A smile still danced among her lips.
Mr. Peyton’s face lit up, and he appeared quite swollen with pride as he stood taller and puffed out his chest, reminding Michael of a bluebird. “If you’ll follow me?”
Ally nodded, but her attention quickly flew back to the walls that soared high above them, festooned with the abundance of artwork. The woman was oblivious to her own appeal.
Michael tried not to take too much notice of her as he led her along the gallery. Ally brought him here to look for a work of art that would satisfy him, because somehow, involuntarily, he admitted his true sentiment about the sun. Since he found fault in the ones he had lining the corridor halls of Somerset Hall, it was only prudent to look for ones he did like. Michael wanted to laugh. Christ! Shouldn’t he have done this himself years ago?
“This one here is by Mr. Oliver Reagan. He is a very talented American painter who studied the fine arts in many different countries. He began his career—”
“This is a very beautiful piece, sir, but do you have another?” Ally asked. “We’re looking for something with less…lum
inosity.”
Michael hid his smile as they were quickly led to another piece.
“This one here,” Mr. Peyton said, nodding with obvious satisfaction, “was done over fifty years ago in Switzerland. The painter still resides there. He is seventy-two now. His work is well-known among his—”
Ally shook her head. Mr. Peyton presented Michael a dismayed look. In answer, Michael shrugged, trying to repress his growing amusement. When she had become the perfectionist, he didn’t know.
“Well, now, this one—”
“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Peyton.” Ally sounded contrite.
“How about this one?” the man asked, gesturing to the next painting a few feet away.
Ally became quiet and unmoving. One glance her way, and Michael knew she adored it. Although it didn’t absolutely suit his tastes, it was a smidgen better than the ones he had at home, Michael qualified. Perhaps, he would purchase it because of that…and because she liked it.
“What do you think, Mr. Langdon? Do you like it?” It sounded like she wanted him to say yes.
“I do.”
“Do you really? I like it, too!” she exclaimed with a huge, dazzling grin that lit her face. The colors in her eyes gleamed like the bluest seawaters that danced under the bright sun. “I like the oranges in this one, it’s not too overpowering, and I like the yellows, too- there’s just enough.”
Michael wanted to kiss the smile that played on her lips to see if he could taste it. He averted his steady gaze on her mouth and shoved his hand into his coat pocket to fish for a card.
“Mr. Peyton, if you could send this piece to my address,” he said handing his card to the man whom, he noticed, stared at Ally with his mouth agape. Michael cleared his throat in the most maddening fashion he could, and finally had the man’s attention.
“Certainly!”
As they followed Mr. Peyton to the front counter, Michael was given the art gallery’s receipt to sign for the purchase.
“Langdon!”
Michael looked up to see one of the most sought after gentleman in England. Even after the Earl of Greydon married, women still threw themselves at him, albeit they were far more subtle about it now. He was quite easily, the most wealthiest and attractive earls in England.
