Color of Deception (Sullyard Sisters Book 1)

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Left? How terrible. Nathaniel’s hand lifted, ready to reach out to her before he even realized, but once he did notice, he quickly lowered it to his lap. From watching Stratford, he knew not to show too much sensitively. At least not the kind where a woman would think him weak. He nodded once, encouraging her to continue.

  “Now that I’m older, I can understand, maybe a little, why my cousin’s wife left. As a child, I never saw the dark side of him. He didn’t show us his anger until after she left. I’d hear them arguing, and sometimes his wife, Mary, would cry when she thought no one could hear, but once I was older, Robert began to raise his voice to me. To all of us.”

  Clenching his fist, trying to control his fury at a man who would treat his beautiful young cousin so, Nathaniel took a deep breath and let it out. “What happened then?”

  “We’ve never been anywhere near affluent, only having enough to meet our basic needs, but after she left, Robert began to rail on and on about money. All the time. It’s all he speaks of. And if we, that is, my sisters and I, don’t earn enough to satisfy him, he becomes angrier still.”

  Perhaps it was just as well that Nathaniel hadn’t been admitted inside the Sullyard’s house. If their cousin had happened to be about and had shown his anger in front of him, Nathaniel would have—

  You would have what? You’ve never struck another person in your whole life.

  Would he even know how?

  “And that is why, Mr. Bexley, although you spoke of it in jest, you weren’t invited inside. I didn’t want there to be a chance that Robert might…”

  Nathaniel could stand it no more. He had to touch her, to somehow convey that he understood her reasons. With slow movement, as if trying to coax a butterfly onto his hand, Nathaniel leaned forward, reached out and rested his hand over the top of hers, which was at the moment sitting on her knee.

  A thrill shot through him at the realization of what he was doing. If her hand weren’t there, his hand would be directly on her leg. His heartbeat raced in his chest. Calm down, Nathaniel, do you want to give away that you’re a novice in the art of dealing with women?

  He gave her hand a very unsatisfying pat and with reluctance, removed his once more.

  Miss Sullyard lifted one corner of her lips. “Thank you for understanding. Forgive me for being so forward in… in addressing a private family matter with someone of whom I’ve just made an acquaintance. It was only… I didn’t want you to think our family wasn’t civilized forcing a gentleman to stand out in the elements and all.”

  Nathaniel let out a laugh when she used the very words he’d used only moments before. “Nothing to forgive, Miss Sullyard.” He affected a mock scowl. “Now, if it had been frigid temperatures and swirling snow, perhaps I’d think you uncivilized.”

  She bit her lip as her nostrils flared. Giving up, she let out an adorable giggle.

  The carriage slowed as they neared the Epsom racetrack. The scent of horses, and what they tended to leave behind, wafted toward them. Nathaniel liked horses and walking out-of-doors, but he also cherished times of quiet when he could read and be contemplative.

  Admitting that last part, however, wouldn’t help his cause with attracting Miss Sullyard. The way she’d appeared to blossom in Stratford’s presence indicated to Nathaniel that she preferred the type of man who was more physical than smart.

  He glanced to Miss Sullyard, who jostled her great-aunt awake and then reached for her cloth bag, readying herself to depart the carriage. Would Nathaniel have the opportunity to speak to her further as she worked to sketch the horses and riders?

  Perhaps he shouldn’t bother her. After all, she was there for business, not pleasure. Would someone of her financial status even have much time or money for leisure pursuits?

  Time would tell. However, from what she’d said about her cousin’s temper, Nathaniel would be shocked if Miss Sullyard had a chance for much besides trying to earn a few coins.

  The coachman opened the door and helped Miss Sullyard down before Nathaniel had the chance. Nathaniel glared at him just in time for him to give Nathaniel an annoying smirk. Blast him. But there wasn’t much he could do about it since the coachman worked for his uncle. He waited as Miss Caruthers was assisted very laboriously down the carriage steps.

  Holding out his arm for Miss Sullyard, Nathaniel gave a scowl over his shoulder to the coachman. Then he glanced ahead at Mrs. Caruther’s retreating back. The woman had appeared sleepy and inattentive, but moved quickly for a woman of her years. Too bad they had to have a chaperone. Otherwise, he’d enjoy some time alone getting to know the Miss Sullyard better.

  Stratford had already voiced his disapproval of Nathaniel taking her today. Not for any reason of appearance’s sake, but because Stratford wanted her all to himself.

  Thank goodness Uncle Gilbert had found Nathaniel’s offer to escort Miss Sullyard a good suggestion. Anything his uncle said was usually law. At least as it pertained to the magazine.

  Nathaniel led the women to the family’s usual seats. From their vantage point, Miss Sullyard would be able to the view everything quite well. The horses, coats gleaming with sweat and nostrils flaring in the heat of the race. The jockeys in their bright colors, hunched low, leg muscles quivering as they gripped the reins of the horses. Clods of dirt flying from the horses’ hooves when they rounded the curve of the track.

  A group of ladies gaped at Miss Sullyard, eyeing her from hat to boots. Admittedly, their seats were in a section where members of the gentry liked to make their appearances. Nathaniel cared not for any of that. Expensive garments and carriages had never meant much to him. He wasn’t poor, could pay his own slight expenses, but didn’t have the advantages Stratford did due to Aunt Hortense’s money.

  With a relieved sigh, Nathaniel was pleased to see that Miss Sullyard hadn’t noticed the other women’s reactions. No, she was too busy staring around them. At the horses near the starting gate. The jockeys as they tried to quiet their mounts with words and calming touches.

  “Would you care to sit down, Miss Sullyard?”

  She let out a tiny gasp and then bit her lower lip, the edges of her teeth pressing down ever so slightly on her perfect full lip.

  “Pardon. Didn’t intend to startle you.”

  “You didn’t. Well, you did, but…”

  “But you didn’t want to admit it?”

  “Something like that, yes.” Her grin rivaled the sun that had finally popped out from behind a large fluffy cloud to lend warmth to the day. Nathaniel’s heart swelled, knowing her smile, at least that one, was only for him.

  He assisted Mrs. Caruthers to a seat but she shook her head and moved away to slump down into a place several feet away. It was all well and good with Nathaniel, but he hoped whoever would normally occupy the space wouldn’t be at the race that day.

  Miss Sullyard accepted his offer of assistance to sit, and he took up his position next to her.

  Fascinated, he watched as she retrieved a tube of rolled paper - six inches long, a pencil and a sizeable book from her larger bag. She placed the book on her lap.

  Nathaniel raised his eyebrow. “Planning on reading? I can assure you, the race will not in any way be monotonous.”

  “That,” she said, as she pointed to the tome, “is my desk, so to speak.”

  “Ah… I guess it might be difficult to hold the paper in your hand to draw something. It would be unsteady and cumbersome, I imagine.”

  “Exactly.” She tilted her head. “You are such an understanding man. I’m sure you have many good friends who enjoy your company.”

  Friends?

  Warning bells flashed in Nathaniel’s head. He didn’t want her to see him as simply a friend.

  Much as he didn’t like it, he needed to act more the rake.

  And he needed to start now.

  Chapter Seven

  A light breeze ruffled strands of Kitty’s hair that had come loose from her hat. What a lovely day. People had begun to fill in some of the se
ats surrounding them but not all of them were taken as yet. A giggle floated up from her throat when she glanced over at Great-Aunt Anne. Yes, she was already dozing. How could the woman sleep with all the noise and confusion going on around her? Maybe some of it was that she could no longer hear very well.

  Or perhaps she just wished to ignore distractions and go into her own little world. Kitty had to admit there were times she’d wished to do the same. Escape her present circumstances with Robert. Meet a wonderful, rich man who would take care of her, treasure her. Love her forever.

  With a sigh, she got her paper situated on her large book and began to sketch one of the horses. It was a large black one, solid in color except for the white patch between its eyes. The horse’s muscles rippled and its tail whipped in the breeze as a man led it to the starting gate. Did the horses enjoy running? Trying to win a race?

  The shading and details of the drawing she could add later. When her subjects were moving about, she couldn’t very well ask them to stand still while she tried to draw everything she saw. Besides, she doubted very much the owners wanted their prized possessions to be docile. At least not on race day.

  Warmth caressed her leg as Mr. Bexley leaned closer. A thrill shot through her even though the contact was brief. Was he curious about her drawing? Trying to view her work in progress? She’d been doing it since she could remember but found that the process often fascinated others who were not artistically inclined.

  She lifted her pencil and turned to ask, startled that his face was so close. His gaze met hers, his eyes like two pools of sun-kissed ocean, the color so inviting, she could almost believe herself at the seaside town of Brighton, of which she had once seen a painting with its clear, blue waters.

  His lips were full and looked soft. Would they be, if she were to reach out her hand and touch them? Or if she angled her chin just so, and pressed her lips against—

  “—the race?”

  She swallowed and leaned away. “P-pardon?”

  One side of his mouth rose, slowly, so slowly she was afraid to glance away lest she might miss even one slight movement. “I asked if you were able to properly view the race.”

  It had started? She darted a quick glance below them to the track. Sure enough, the horses were running.

  Running?

  How had she missed that important development?

  Something about Mr. Bexley grabbed hold of her, threatening to heat her from the inside out until she feared she’d burst into flame. No had ever affected her thus, except…

  The other Mr. Bexley.

  But they were both rakes. And rakes weren’t to be taken seriously.

  A shout from someone nearby startled her. A large man, his coat a size too small, stood up, shaking his fist at the goings-on of the track.

  What on earth?

  Something soft and light touched her arm on the other side of her. Mr. Bexley, grinning, pointed his thumb toward the man. “Guess his horse isn’t in the lead.”

  Right. If she’d had money riding on a certain horse and lost, she’d be upset too. Still, the mere idea of having any extra money at all, much less to throw it away on a slight chance of an animal reaching its destination before the other animals, was ludicrous. What would it be like to have that much wealth?

  She nodded to Mr. Bexley, as if in agreement. As if she had any idea what went on in his world.

  With a jolt, she remembered why she was even there. To sketch the race. To earn some much needed money for food and clothing. She eyed Mr. Bexley’s nice coat and shiny boots. Not that he would ever understand that.

  Forcing herself to concentrate, she leaned forward over the paper. As the horses came around a curve, she was able to see the different colors of each individual rider a little better. Goodness, the men were small. Was that on purpose? With a glance at the large man to her right, who was still grumbling about his horse performing poorly, she nearly giggled. Wouldn’t it be awful if someone of his… uh… mass, were to ride one of the horses? The poor defenseless animals might crumble beneath his weight.

  “Something wrong, Miss Sullyard?”

  “Pardon? Oh, no. It’s nothing.” She bit down on her lip, hard. Kitty, do your work and stop allowing distractions.

  People seated all around them cheered or moaned. Easy to tell whose horse was ahead. With renewed determination, Kitty quickly sketched the outlines of the horses, their hooves striking the dirt or angled behind as the horses moved forward. Strong thighs, muscles flexing as they increased their speed. Tails whipping in the breeze, slapping against their rumps.

  Next she added the riders, small caps pressed close to their heads, long-sleeved shirts and tight-fitting breeches. Faces in frowns of concentration, boots pressed solidly in stirrups.

  It wasn’t too difficult to outline them hurriedly seeing as the horses were all the same shape and nearly the same size. Since she’d already done the panorama of the horses at Astley’s Amphitheatre, she was familiar with the equine form.

  The jockeys as well appeared to be about the same height and weight.

  Later, Kitty would add the colors, but jotted quick notes on another small piece of paper of the colors she’d use for the people, animals and track. If she were drawing a still scene, such as a river bank or buildings along a street, she could afford to add more detail at that time. Kitty had a feeling, however, that even if she asked nicely, the horses wouldn’t stand still, holding their poses like ladies for a portrait, in order for her to finish her work.

  A sudden image of the large beasts, standing together in a line, wearing frilly dresses, hats and slippers over their hooves nearly caused her to sputter a laugh. She covered it with a light cough instead.

  Control yourself.

  Pressing her lips together in an earnest attempt at remaining businesslike, she glanced around. Oughtn’t she to add some spectators to her drawing? She’d want the large man, for sure, in his tight black coat and tall hat. Next to him was a woman, as thin as he was large, her bonnet alight with pheasant feathers and yellow ribbons, which dipped down slightly on either side of her face.

  She wouldn’t draw them exactly as they were, as she’d not want someone to possibly recognize themselves and not appreciate the way she’d portrayed them. Better to depict someone with similar characteristics and leave it at that.

  The men and women sitting near them, young and old, all had one thing in common – they were dressed in such finery as Kitty had ever seen. And just to attend a horse race. She might understand if they were, say, to go to a ball somewhere. Not that she’d ever been to one, but could imagine wearing one’s best for such an occasion.

  A shadow appeared on her paper as Mr. Bexley once again leaned closer. His focus was on her drawing. She pulled her hand away from the paper and caught his attention.

  His face reddened. “Pardon. I hadn’t meant to interrupt your work.”

  “You didn’t. Did you… want to see it?”

  “May I?”

  She handed him the edge of the paper and he ran his finger beneath the race in progress.

  “Fascinating.”

  “In a… positive way?”

  He glanced toward her and beamed. “Quite.”

  “Thank you.” She’d gotten many compliments on her drawing in the past. Why did his words seem to mean so much more? Make her heart warm and her spine tingle? His cousin was just as handsome, but there was something about this Mr. Bexley. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Would she have the opportunity to discover what it might be?

  “I’m barely able to write legibly. Always in too much of a hurry to get work done, I suppose. This must take much concentration.”

  “It does.” Especially when someone like him was sitting so near.

  He leaned a little closer toward the paper. “And what is… this?” He tapped the paper lightly with his finger.

  “Ah… you’ve a good eye. That is something my sisters and I all do in our paintings. If you check very closely, you can s
ee it’s the letter S, for our surname.” Kitty had drawn the tiny symbol and tucked it just behind one of the horses’ ears.

  “When I’d first looked at the picture, I didn’t see it, but just happened to notice it when I took another glimpse. Does it have some meaning?”

  She laughed. “Only to us. It’s a game we play. We try to find it in each other’s work. It’s like a game of hide and seek.”

  “This is only in pencil. Will it be easier to see once you’ve used colors?”

  “Actually, it will be more difficult. The colors draw the eye to them, not always to minute details.”

  “I see. That’s how I could view it easily now.” He gave her a frown, but one side of his mouth twitched.

  “Not at all. I dare say there would be few who would have caught it as quickly as you.”

  He smiled and gazed at her, his eyes deep pools of blue. “I hope you don’t mind my interest.”

  Interest? In her? Her heart gave a little jolt but the excitement quickly faded. Wait. He means interest in my art work. And remember, he’s a rake. She swallowed down disappointment. “Of course I don’t mind.” Time to get the focus off of herself and take the conversation in a different direction. “I’m sure you’ve been told before, but you and your cousin certainly do bear a close resemblance.”

  Was it her imagination or had he just lowered his brows in a frown? It had happened so fast, she couldn’t be sure. But why would that be? The two men, aside from being related, worked together. Surely they were close?

  He sat up straighter in his seat and blinked. “Why yes. I’ve been told that many times. Not sure if that’s good or bad.” He laughed, but it came out sounding forced. Had Kitty stepped into a hornet’s nest of some sort?

  Not caring at the moment if anyone saw her, she lightly pressed her fingers to his sleeve, wanting to soothe away whatever bad feelings she’d invoked. “It’s good, I assure you.”

  He tilted his head to the side and gave her a wink. “Is that so?”

  What am I doing? She whipped her hand back to her lap. “P-perhaps I’d better finish my sketch.” She pointed toward the winner’s circle. When had that happened? Kitty. You’re here to work, not flirt. “Now that the horses are standing still, I can sketch the patterns of their clothing a little better.”