“He’s under strict orders from your parents not to involve you in anything remotely scandalous until after you are safely married.” She rolled her eyes, leaning down to whisper, “Imagine what people would think if they knew you’d whisked your own eggs.”
Beatrice almost snorted. If only they knew exactly how scandalous she had been. Getting her hands dirty in the kitchen was the least of her worries. “Ah, that explains it. All right. Just give me a moment to change. I’ll meet you in the entry hall in ten minutes.”
Ducking into her chambers, Beatrice rang for her maid before hurrying to the little escritoire tucked beneath the window. Opening the wide, shallow drawer, she unearthed the drawing she had spent the last few nights working on. She smoothed it out, inspecting the carefully rendered cartoon. This time there was no mistaking Godfrey. She had originally intended to create a completely different fortune hunter character, but after the horrid stunt at the musicale, he deserved to be called out and chastised for the scoundrel he was.
The swift clip of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor—her maid was coming. Placing the letter atop the drawing, she rolled them together and tied them in a slender ribbon. A walk to Monsieur Allard’s would be the perfect opportunity to hand them over. For all anyone had to know, it was simply a list of supplies she wished to have ordered.
Five minutes later, Jane and Beatrice stepped out into the sunshine and headed west. The air held a definite chill, but with the sunshine warming their faces, it was rather refreshing.
Jane sighed, deep and blissful. “Oh my, but it feels like heaven out here. I don’t think I realized quite how cooped up I was feeling.”
“I know what you mean. I will be quite relieved when Mama gives up and lets us return to Aylesbury. I know you and Richard love the city, but I must confess that it is not nearly so captivating as I once imagined.”
“Oh, I am very much looking forward to spending Christmas at Hertford Hall. The city is home, but I’ve heard so much about it from all of you, especially Evie. But I wonder,” she said, linking her arm through Beatrice’s as they crossed the street, “if you are very certain there isn’t something you will miss.”
“Something? If you mean your scrumptious baked goods, yes, I shall be lost without them. Of course, until you feel better, I must do without anyhow.”
Jane cut her gaze to Bea, a single delicate brow lifted. “Perhaps I should have said someone. And no, I am not referring to Richard or myself.”
Colin’s face immediately popped into her head, and Beatrice bit her lip against the silly smile that threatened. She looked down at the pavement, watching the swish of her skirts as she walked. “There is, actually.”
“I knew it!” Jane gave her arm a little squeeze, grinning broadly. “A woman in love can always spot another.”
“Love?” Beatrice squeaked. Was that the emotion that fairly exploded in her chest anytime she thought of him? Was love what made her heart race when she heard that incredible accent of his, or set eyes on the painting she was working on? She suddenly desperately wished Evie weren’t so far away.
She hadn’t even realized she stopped walking until Jane tugged her to the side, pulling her out of the way of pedestrians behind them. She blinked up at her sister-in-law, trying to get a handle on the rioting emotions that seemed to rob her of the ability to think rationally. “I don’t know if it’s love, per se. I mean, I do quite, quite like him. . . .” She trailed off, putting a gloved hand to her middle. Even as she said the words, she knew that they weren’t nearly strong enough to describe the feelings she had whenever he was near.
“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that you’ve been so different these past few weeks. And to hear you talk about Sir Colin, truly, you positively glow.”
Lovely. Now she was some sort of incandescent lovesick fool.
“Oh, don’t give me that look, Bea. For heaven’s sake, love is a good thing. Especially when a couple is as compatible as Sir Colin and you. It makes things so much easier.”
Beatrice shook her head and started forward, pulling Jane along with her. “Can we please not talk about this? Colin and I haven’t even discussed courting.”
“‘Colin,’ is it?” Jane’s knowing look was altogether too much. “And I’ll grant your wish, provided you answer one last question.”
Cutting a suspicious look at her sister-in-law, Beatrice said, “What question is that?”
“Has he kissed you?”
“Jane!”
Two men walking past started at Beatrice’s exclamation, but Jane simply smiled impassively at them until they went on their way. As if this moment could be any more mortifying.
“I’m fairly certain that is a yes, but I won’t press.”
They walked in silence for a few more blocks. The residential homes gave way to businesses, and the traffic around them increased. The wagon carts, horse hooves, and shouting costermongers did little to drown out the noise in her own head as she went over and over the word “love” in her mind. And the wonderful, wicked, incredible kisses she had shared with Colin.
“Yes.”
Jane looked at her, confusion knitting her brow. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yes, I kissed him.”
Of the two of them, Jane was the one who blushed at this. “I’m quite certain it is my duty as an old married woman to scold you. However,” she said, her almond-shaped eyes crinkling at the corners, “clearly I am not one to talk. Was it wonderful?”
A wave of butterflies took flight in her belly as Beatrice lingered on the memory of their kisses. “There is not a superlative in the English language that could properly describe its wonderfulness.”
“That, my dear, is quite possibly the sweetest thing I have ever heard . . . and exactly how it should be.”
They reached Monsieur Allard’s shop, and Beatrice led the way inside. It was ironic, really. Here she was writing a column about how to avoid bad men, and the only thing she could think of was one very good man.
Even as she smiled and greeted the Frenchman, her mind was already moving ahead. With the gallery opening at hand, and the length of Colin’s stay in London unknown, perhaps it was time for them to consider what the future might hold for them.
Chapter Eighteen
There was no doubt the exhibit was already a resounding success, even though not even an hour had passed since the gallery doors had opened. A harpist set the mood, her elegant Grecian-style gown the perfect complement to the white-and-gold decor, while her surprisingly dark and moody tones fit the look of the portraits quite exactly. Where normally the noise of so many people might have been deafening, the attendees spoke in quiet, reverent tones as they wandered from portrait to portrait.
So far, everything was perfect.
Which did not help Colin’s nerves in the least. Every time someone walked through the door, he darted a glance that way, willing the new arrival to be Beatrice. Unfortunately, his vigilance had earned him little but a few displeased looks from the people he was talking to at the time.
“I think his later works really embody his true talent, don’t you agree? Just look at the level of detail on Lady Danbridge’s gown. I feel as though I could reach out and touch it.”
Colin nodded politely to the purple-gowned woman whose name he couldn’t remember. She had tight ringlets covering her head, distracting him every time she moved.
“And the sunbeams”—bounce, swing, bounce—“aren’t they simply divine?”
This time she turned to him for confirmation of her opinion, and Colin dipped his head. “I agree completely.”
In that moment, the back of his neck tingled as if someone blew across the sensitive hairs there. He turned, his eyes going straight to the doorway, where a group of newcomers ventured into the room, glancing about. His heart kicked in his chest as his gaze collided with Beatrice’s. “Will you excuse me?” he murmured, not waiting for the matron’s response.
He strode across
the room, pulled toward Beatrice like a fish on a line. Her mouth was turned up in the suggestion of a smile, her cheeks sweetly rounded, while her sapphire gaze, with its subtle hint of emerald, sparkled in silent greeting.
She was absolute perfection.
He wanted to do nothing but stare at her all night, his sweet stór in her bejeweled gown, but of course that was impossible. As he drew close enough to address the family at large, he smiled. “Good evening and welcome. I’m so glad that you all could join us tonight.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Lady Granville said, her regal features warm and pleasant. “I believe you have met my son, the Earl of Raleigh, but allow me to introduce to you his wife, Lady Raleigh.”
The dark-haired beauty on Raleigh’s arm wasn’t at all what he had expected, given the way his aunt had described the former baker. Her flawless skin and bright emerald eyes were lovely, but it was the countess’s grin that struck Colin most. It seemed completely pure, in no way contrived, and he found himself liking her immediately. “My lady, it is a pleasure.”
“I have heard so much about you, Sir Colin. It’s lovely to finally make your acquaintance.”
His gaze flickered to Beatrice. Was she the one telling Lady Raleigh about him? He rather hoped so. He liked to think that she was as captivated with him as he was with her. Diplomatically, he turned his attention to the twins, who were looking about as if they’d never been to a gallery. Or perhaps it was that they had never been to a gathering like this. They had yet to debut, after all. “Lady Carolyn, Lady Jocelyn, it is a delight to see you again. I do hope you will all enjoy the exhibit. And do let me know if you would like the background on any of the portraits. I am happy to divulge all of the artist’s secrets, as Lady Beatrice might have told you.”
“No, actually,” replied Lady Jocelyn, raising a pale brow in Beatrice’s direction. “She’s shared precious little about her guided tour, or any of her excursions for that matter.”
Lady Granville shook her head, already looking exasperated before she’d even been there five minutes. “Now, now, a lady can’t be expected to divulge all of her secrets. And she also must refrain from monopolizing her host’s time. Thank you for the greeting, Sir Colin. We are most anxious to view the featured works.”
With the efficiency of a captain directing his troops, the marchioness herded the family toward the first portrait, pausing only long enough to accept a glass of negus from a passing footman.
Lady Beatrice remained by his side, watching as her family merged with the crowd. “You survived,” she said, a bit of mischief tugging up the corners of her mouth.
He lifted his wineglass to his lips and took an unconcerned sip. “Not so very terrifying, I assure you.”
“You say that now, but you are forgetting, I think, that you have yet to meet my father, sister, niece, and brother-in-law. When we are all in one room, then we’ll see how brave you are.”
“Is that an invitation?”
She pressed her lips together and lifted a slender shoulder, drawing his attention to her very kissable collarbone. “Perhaps. If you decide you are a glutton for punishment, that is.”
“Any time spent in your presence could hardly be punishment.”
“Oh well, yes, there is that.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
He knew his duty was to be greeting guests and offering unique insight into the artist, but the thought of pulling himself away from her was distasteful in the extreme. Turned as he was with a view toward the entrance, he noted the arrival of a distinguished-looking gentleman in a rather resplendent naval uniform. Stepping into the gallery, the man surveyed the area as if inspecting his fleet. He was poised as if standing on deck, his feet firmly planted and his shoulders squared as if for optimum balance. Every dark hair was in place, and his boots were so well shined as to reflect the light from the chandelier above.
Colin started to point him out to ask Beatrice if she knew who the man was, but his dark eyes landed on them in that moment and his stern expression vanished. Actually, Colin realized, his gaze wasn’t on them so much as it was on her. Colin straightened, biting the inside of his lip against a scowl as the man smiled and extended a hand as he approached.
“Lady Beatrice, how lovely to see you.”
Her delight was palpable as she smiled warmly—perhaps a bit too warmly, if you asked Colin—and allowed him to kiss her gloved hand. “Captain Curry, what a wonderful surprise. I thought you were still sailing the seven seas, dutifully frightening all of England’s enemies away from her shores.”
“Yes, well, even the saltiest of sea captains craves a bit of dry land now and again. What a pleasure to find you here. I should have known you’d never be able to resist this particular exhibit.”
They chuckled as if sharing a private joke. “I am devastated to be so predictable. I shall try harder to maintain an air of mystery in the future.”
“Don’t you dare—you are perfect just the way you are.”
Colin’s gaze bounced back and forth between them, his brows inching closer and closer together. Who was this Captain Curry, and why did he seem to be on such intimate terms with Beatrice? More important, what was it about the man that inspired the altogether foreign sensation of jealousy?
“Oh my, where are my manners?” she said, turning to include Colin in the conversation. He straightened at once, correcting his expression to its normal neutrality as she made the introductions. “Captain Edward Curry, have you met the son of the legend himself, Sir Colin Tate?”
“I don’t believe I have,” the older man said, sizing Colin up in one glance. “Your father was a phenomenal talent. Please accept my condolences for your loss.”
Colin nodded his acceptance of the sentiment. “Thank you, sir. Tell me, how is it you and Lady Beatrice are acquainted with each other?”
“Actually,” Beatrice said, smiling once again at the officer, “Captain Curry owns quite a collection of naval paintings. He is generous enough to open his home to visitors, and I just happened to visit when he was in residence this spring.”
“Yes, and imagine my surprise to learn that this young lady seemed to know more about the artists than I did. We had quite a stimulating conversation that afternoon.”
“And imagine my surprise to discover that the Pirate Gentleman was much more gentleman than pirate,” she teased, shaking her head as if disappointed. “I had high hopes for a parrot and a peg leg.”
“Shocking, I’m sure,” Colin muttered. The thought of them sharing such “stimulating” conversations did not sit well with him. He wanted to be the one doing the stimulating when it came to Beatrice. “Well, as an art collector, you must be eager to take a look around, Captain.”
“Oh, indeed you must be,” Beatrice exclaimed. “It is a thousand times better than I had even imagined. And I haven’t even seen the royal portrait yet.”
The captain extended his arm, his eyebrows raised in question. “Shall we go see it together? I’m sure Sir Colin must have all sorts of duties that we are keeping him from.”
Beatrice blinked and looked around them, as if just noticing the newcomers trickling in. “Oh, goodness, I wasn’t thinking. Of course we’ll allow you to get back to your duties.”
“No, it’s fine, really—”
“Don’t be silly. I’ve taken up far too much of your time already.” She accepted Curry’s arm before turning back to Colin. “Perhaps later, when things have settled down a bit, we could discuss the newest painting.”
The way she emphasized “newest” was subtle, but Colin knew she must be referring to the portrait she was painting of him. Good—he wanted her thinking of the portrait and the kisses they had shared during the sittings. And at that exact moment in time, he didn’t care how juvenile such a thought might be.
He dipped his head in agreement and watched them as they headed toward the far end of the gallery, where the royal portrait was displayed. Well, that was a different experience. He couldn’t remember a single othe
r time in his life when the uncomfortable rub of jealousy had been felt quite so keenly.
Squaring his shoulders, he turned to resume his duties, only to catch Lord Raleigh’s eye. The earl smiled and raised his glass, an odd toast of sorts, before turning his attention back to the Devonshire piece his wife was observing.
What was that about? Had he been watching the exchange? As private a person as Colin was, the thought rankled a bit. When he spoke with Beatrice later, he’d have to keep in mind how many curious gazes might be settled on them.
Gritting his teeth into smilelike proportions, he welcomed the older couple closest to him. He had so much he wanted to say to Beatrice, now more than ever, but first he had to get through the next few hours.
* * *
The evening was long, but one of the more pleasant Beatrice had ever spent. Surrounded by Sir Frederick’s paintings, speaking with many who actually cared about art, and best of all, being so close to Colin as to be able to sneak glances all night had combined to give her a near dizzy sort of pleasure. It wasn’t unlike the effect of a glass or two of champagne, making everything a little more exciting and enhancing the giddiness she felt every time her eyes landed on Colin’s dark form.
Captain Curry had departed not long after Prinny’s arrival, which had caused the usual hubbub. Mama had left more than an hour earlier with the twins and an exhausted Jane, but Richard volunteered to stay with her as long as she liked. She knew he was her favorite brother for a reason. Now that the royal party had moved on, only a smattering of guests remained. With Richard engaged in a lively conversation with one of his friends from his club, Beatrice finally made her way over to where Colin stood beside Lord Northup’s painting.
His smile was the perfect greeting, quiet and sincere. “At last, I find my treasure.”
She would never stop loving the way her stomach flipped when his Scottish-flavored words caressed her ears. “Did you ever lose it?”
“No, I doona think as I did. Though one can never trust a treasure around a pirate.”
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