by Kelly Bowen
The rest of the students, for whom art was a more casual pursuit, had already departed for luncheon. Lucy had asked for an additional hour. Rose had looked to Eli, knowing the earl had no reason to agree, but to her shock he had simply nodded. And so he remained for a third hour, still and silent, her fallen angel on a bed of crimson satin.
A fallen angel, Rose corrected herself hastily. This man did not belong to her, nor she to him, in any manner.
Her eyes slipped beyond Lucy’s canvas to where he sat on the dais, and she watched him from beneath her lashes. He sat upright, his hands clasped in front of him, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond his knees. The damaged side of his face was slightly angled away from the students, as the pose required, but the earl had, surprisingly, made no effort to hide his scars as her students had filed in. He hadn’t said a word to anyone and hadn’t met Rose’s eyes as she introduced him and thanked him for his generosity and willingness to sit for their class.
In the pale wash of light, his beauty struck her anew every time she looked at him. Her fingers twitched, and she wasn’t sure if it was from her desire to paint her own version of this physically magnificent man or if she simply wished to touch him. Run her hands along the edge of his jaw, feel the broadness of his shoulders, explore the scattering of blond hair in the center of his chest, or trace the ridges of muscle over his abdomen.
When I kiss you again, you will never second-guess the reason why.
A surge of anticipation crashed through her and made her skin tighten and her nipples harden, and made her squeeze her thighs together against the dampness that instantly gathered at her core. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to rein in her arousal. She wasn’t an unschooled girl, given to flights of fancy and ignorant belief in fairy tales. And maybe that was the problem.
I’ve been seduced before, she’d told him. But before had been a long time ago.
Too long ago, clearly.
“Miss Hayward?”
Rose jolted and forced her attention back to her student. She avoided looking in Eli’s direction and instead focused on the canvas in front of her. Which might have been worse.
The seventeen-year-old’s skill was truly extraordinary, and from the canvas had emerged a stunning likeness of the Earl of Rivers. Lucy had sketched him first and added a few washes of color, just enough to add a riveting depth to her work. But it was the expression on his face that she’d captured that made it impossible for Rose to look away. There was a stoic sadness to the portrait, a perfect representation that so many of the Ecce Homo portraits failed to capture.
A perfect representation of a man who had suffered betrayal and heartbreak, a man who had lost everything but found something inside that forced him onward, even when the path wasn’t clear.
“I’d like to finish with the background later on, if that’s all right,” Lucy was saying to Rose as she cleaned her brush. “I do not wish to dominate any more of Lord Rivers’s time.” She flashed Rose a smile. “And, I confess, I’m rather famished.”
“Of course,” Rose murmured, unable to look away.
Lucy set her brush aside and stepped out from behind her easel. “Thank you, Lord Rivers, for the privilege. And for the generosity of your time and for your…progressiveness.”
On the dais Eli had stirred from his pose; he straightened with a small frown. “My progressiveness?” It was the first thing he’d said in three hours.
Lucy glanced back at Rose.
“I think she means your confidence that your current state of dress could be regarded with the objectivity required for portraiture and not met with female hysterics, followed by a dozen cases of the vapors,” Rose explained drily. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lucy nod.
“You are a rare man, Lord Rivers,” the young woman added solemnly. “Thank you again.”
Eli blinked at her, and Rose hid a smile as the young woman drifted from the room. The earl stood and stretched, grimacing. Rose averted her gaze, the sight of all that masculinity making her wonder if perhaps she had been a little hasty in her earlier comments. Because her knees were suddenly feeling a little weak, and her breath had become alarmingly shallow. Vapors indeed.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Rose asked, aiming for a light tone, her eyes firmly on the portrait.
Eli made some sort of inarticulate noise as she heard him move to retrieve his shirt.
“Would you like to see it?” Rose willed herself not to raise her eyes and stare, though she could still see him over the top of the canvas. “Lucy’s work, I mean.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t.” He pulled his shirt on over his head.
“She’s extraordinarily talented,” Rose admonished. “I can’t necessarily say the same for my other students, but what Lucy has done here is—”
“I said no.” He collected his coat from the back of a chair, his back to her. “I did what you wanted. And now I’m done.”
Rose frowned and looked up at him. “What I wanted? I was under the impression that—” She stopped abruptly as a commotion from somewhere downstairs filtered up.
“My lord? Miss Hayward?” The address came from near the door. A young girl, wearing a plain dress covered by a soot-stained apron, was wringing her hands. She glanced at Eli, averted her eyes, and addressed Rose instead. “Captain Buhler is here, demanding to speak with someone. An’ there’s a dozen redcoats in the drive outside with him,” the maid continued. “I reckon they’re looking for Charlie, but Lady Theo and Tabby are out and Dr. Hayward ain’t here and the duchess is in town and—”
“Thank you,” Rose said, and cursed softly under her breath. She’d almost forgotten about the captain, though it was faintly surprising that it had taken Buhler and his posse of garrison soldiers this long to show up. “I’ll be right there to speak to him—”
“You will not,” Eli said evenly. “I will speak to this officer.”
“You don’t need to do that. I can handle this.”
“I’m quite sure you can.” He turned to the maid still wringing her hands in her apron. “Have this captain put in the blue drawing room. I’ll attend to the man presently.”
The maid’s eyes were wide and uncertain, but she raised her chin tremulously. “Forgive me, milord, but ye won’t be sayin’ anything about—”
“The fact that Charlie just beat me at checkers twice this morning?” Eli dropped his coat back on the chair. “No. I have a reputation to uphold. Best not to mention that such an indignity ever happened or that he was ever here, don’t you agree?”
The girl stared at him before bobbing her head, relief written all over her face. “Yes, milord.”
Rose turned to Eli as the maid vanished, her chest strangely tight. “You didn’t tell me you had gone to see Charlie this morning.”
“You didn’t ask.” He was rolling the sleeves of his shirt up his arms.
“Why did you?”
Eli leaned on the back of the chair, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the upholstery. “Because I know what it feels like to be injured and alone.”
“Oh.” The tightness had moved up into her throat. Rose had a sudden, overwhelming urge to touch him. To stroke the side of his face, to smooth away the sorrow touching his features.
“He was worried about his sisters. And his mother.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him to worry about getting well. So that he could get home to them sooner.” Eli abruptly straightened and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a little disheveled. “Tell me about this Captain Buhler.”
Rose let him change the subject. “He is…ambitious. Ruthless. Heartless. Resolute in his mission to exterminate every smuggler and thief along the Kentish coastlines, regardless of age or gender or circumstance. He craves recognition. Power. Possesses an incessant need for admiration.”
Eli strode to the door. “You know this man well.”
Rose shook her head. “I only
know what Harland has told me. And Clara and the duke have crossed swords with him on more than one occasion.”
He paused in the door frame. “Literally or figuratively?”
“Figuratively. For now, anyway. Buhler is not well regarded by anyone in this household. In this parish, really. And the feeling is mutual, I rather suspect. The captain knows, however, that he is outranked at every turn at Avondale. He resents it, just as he resents the occasions that Harland is called to the garrison by a major or colonel to consult and treat one of the enlisted men or officers.”
“Why would he resent that?”
“Because Harland is a baron who does not answer to him and who is very good at what he does.”
Eli looked grim. “Well, then, let’s see how this captain does with an earl who does not answer to him. An earl who is also exceedingly good at what he does.”
Rose stepped around the canvas. “Which is what, Dawes?”
“Scaring people away.”
* * *
Eli strode down the hall to the wide staircase. He had a good idea what sort of man this captain was. He had met many men like him, and it mattered not if it had been on a battlefield or in the back rooms of White’s. Men who wished to carve a name out of history for themselves by whatever means necessary, even if those means were devoid of honor or integrity.
“Dawes!” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, realizing Rose had followed him.
“What?”
“Your coat.” She was holding the garment he’d left on the studio chair out to him.
“I don’t need it,” he said. “If I’m going to shock this captain out of Avondale, I might as well do a proper job of it.”
Rose was looking at him, worry in her dark eyes. “Are you sure you want to—”
“Do not ask me what I think you are going to ask me,” Eli said. “The answer is still the same.”
“Lord Rivers?” The address came from behind him.
Eli turned to find Avondale’s butler approaching. Danby? Dirkley? He hadn’t yet reacquainted himself with the entirety of the staff, and his memory floundered. “Yes?”
“I’ve put Captain Buhler in the blue drawing room,” the portly man said. “As usual.”
As usual? “How often does this happen?”
“More than we’d like, my lord.”
“Thank you, Digby,” Rose answered for him. “His Lordship will be there shortly.”
“Very good.” The butler paused. “I did not mention that you were in residence, Lord Rivers. I believe the captain is expecting the baron.”
“Well done, Digby,” Eli said. He would use every advantage he could get.
“I thought so, my lord.” The butler offered him a faint inclination of his head before he pivoted smartly and withdrew.
Rose was watching him, a strange expression on her face. “Do you want me to join you?”
“No, I don’t want you to join me. Do you not trust me to get rid of this captain?”
“Of course I trust you. I just thought you might want someone else on your side in there.”
“On my side?”
“Yes.” Rose looked suddenly flustered.
Eli took a step toward her and caught her hand in his. Without thinking about what he was doing, he raised her knuckles to his lips. That chronic, empty darkness within him that threatened to swallow him whole at times had suddenly splintered into a thousand tiny pieces.
He saw her lips part, heard her catch her breath.
And God help him, but if he didn’t have a boy hidden in his attics and a captain in his drawing room, Eli might simply have picked up Rose Hayward, swept the vase of roses from the table in the center of the hall, and had his way with her right then and there.
“Thank you,” he heard himself say, though it came out as an undignified croak.
“For what?” she whispered.
He had no idea. For being on his side? For believing he could be trusted? For believing in him, period?
He squeezed her fingers in his, unable to answer, and turned away. He stalked across the now-gleaming hall, the white marble as pristine as it had been before a body had been carried through it. He stopped just outside the partially closed door of the blue drawing room and straightened his shoulders, trying his best to push all lingering remnants of Rose from his mind, knowing he could not afford the distraction. Eli took a deep breath, wondering for just a moment what he was getting himself into. Then he shoved the door open with enough force that it banged against the interior wall and stepped inside.
Afternoon light poured in the windows that overlooked the long drive and lawns at the front of Avondale. The captain had been standing in front of one of them, polishing the shiny buttons on his scarlet coat, but at Eli’s unceremonious entrance, he whirled.
“Captain Buhler.” Eli crossed the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his boots silent on the luxurious rug beneath his feet.
The captain was a bulldog of a man with a barrel chest, thick neck, and slightly bowed legs. His boots were polished to a blinding sheen, and he held his hat under his arm. He was a good head shorter than Eli, with the dour, unhappy look of a man who found little enjoyment in life. Buhler’s flinty eyes widened as Eli approached, skittering distastefully over Eli’s ruined face before he sneered slightly at Eli’s casually improper attire.
“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” the captain said, drawing himself up to his full height but not meeting Eli’s gaze. “I had requested an audience with Lord Strathmore, not his gardener.”
“Indeed? I will need to reprimand my butler for his ambiguity. Allow me to introduce myself. Eli Dawes, fourteenth Earl of Rivers.”
The captain’s jaw slackened, and his lips worked for a moment before he was able to form a sentence. His eyes slid to the sides, anywhere but Eli’s face, as if looking for an explanation. “Forgive me, but I was told that the late earl’s son was dead.”
Eli shrugged carelessly. “It would appear that you should consider acquiring better sources of information. I can assure you I’m quite alive.”
“Ah…”
“What is it that I can do for you this afternoon, Captain?” Eli asked, his tone glacial.
The captain’s face hardened. “We are looking for a criminal. A smuggler and a thief. He was seriously wounded in our attempt to apprehend him, and we have reason to believe he was brought here.”
“To Avondale? You’re accusing me of harboring criminals?”
“Not exactly—”
“Again, Captain, I would encourage you to reconsider your sources of information.”
Buhler had yet to look him in the eye. “My lord—”
“Do you know who I am, however, harboring here at Avondale?” Eli interrupted. “The Haverhall School for Young Ladies. A dozen tender young women and their headmistresses. None of whom can be considered diabolical offenders or vicious felons, except, perhaps, when one is forced to listen to their ghastly music lessons for more than an hour.”
Buhler grimaced. “It is not necessary—”
“You know what else isn’t necessary? A dozen of your men and their mounts destroying my lawns and alarming my guests. These young ladies are delicate, fragile creatures, Captain. And I will not allow them to be terrorized by you and your men.”
“But my lord—”
“Do you honestly think that I would allow a criminal on my premises? Do you dare suggest that I haven’t made the welfare and well-being of the daughters of some of the most influential men in England my foremost priority? While these young ladies are here, they are under my protection. Are you suggesting I am not living up to my responsibilities?”
“That’s not at all what I was suggesting, my lord.”
“Good.” Eli spun and walked to the door, stopping and waiting expectantly. “If there is nothing else?”
The captain didn’t budge. “It is your position, then, Lord Rivers, that you know nothing of the theft and illicit activities that occ
urred yesterday? Theft from the garrison’s own stores. Theft from the king himself.”
“Did you not hear a word that I just said, Captain?”
“There are persistent rumors, my lord, of smugglers using your property to land and transport their ill-gotten gains. The cove just to the northeast of Avondale, specifically. In cheating the excise men, they are cheating the king.”
“And your belief is that I condone such activity?”
Buhler’s expression was hard. “Let me be clear. I represent the king. I have the power to bring to justice and crush every thief and every smuggler who blackens this nation’s name. Those who help them are no better. They are traitors to their country. And I will do so by whatever means necessary—”
“Take a good look at me, Captain,” Eli sneered. “My service to king and country almost cost me my life. I take grave insult at the insinuation that you would suppose I was a traitor by mere rumor.”
“That is not at all what I was suggesting—”
“Then I’m glad we are in agreement. I’ll have you shown out.”
* * *
“‘Delicate, fragile creatures’?”
Rose came to stand beside the earl, gazing out the drawing room window as Captain Buhler collected his men and departed down the drive, back in the direction of the town. She clasped her hands behind her, watching Eli out of the corner of her eye.
He had a strange expression on his face—as if he had suddenly discovered something repellant. “I saw no reason to disillusion the good captain.”
“Indeed.”
“You were spying on me again.” He said it casually, with no venom.
“Eavesdropping,” she corrected.
“You’re splitting hairs.”
“Possibly.” The soldiers had been reduced to only a small puff of dust in the distance. “That was well done.”
“What was?”
“Your dismissal of the captain. I couldn’t help but notice that at no point in time did you ever actually answer a question. In fact, I don’t know if you ever let him finish a sentence.”
She thought she saw Eli smile faintly. “Answer a question with a question. A trick my father would use. On me, mostly. Exceedingly effective.”
