by Darcy Burke
A world where he’d never belong.
He knew that, and it was the reason he’d done his best to stay away from her the past few days. He’d kissed her three times already—four if he counted kissing her neck—and he knew that was three or four times times too many.
He also knew she didn’t feel the same hesitation. She was impulsive and eager. When he drew close and she playfully reached out to run a fingertip along his jaw, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. She smiled warmly, impishly, and that made him smile too, drawing him even closer. She went straight into his arms.
It was overwhelming, almost frightening, the effect her nearness had on him. But the fear didn’t stop him from giving in and taking what he wanted. It didn’t stop him from running his hands down her back to feel the warmth of her skin through the thin material of her dress, from wrapping her in his arms and dragging her body against him, from slanting his mouth so he could press her even closer.
When they broke apart, they were both breathless. She stayed near and laid her head upon his chest. “I’ve missed you these past three days,” she said softly.
“It’s sorry I am for that.” He was sorry for disappointing her, and also for letting things get to the point where she’d miss him. But weak-willed as he was, he couldn’t stop his arms from stealing around her anyway. “I’ve had things I’ve had to do.”
“What things?” She pulled back far enough to gaze up at him, her blue eyes looking black in the darkness. “What do you do, Sean, exactly?”
“Lately, very little of what I should be doing. Now Lincolnshire has asked me to find new positions for all of his many servants. Well, actually he asked me to keep all his servants after he passed, but Hamilton isn’t going to do that, so I told him I’d find positions for them instead. So that’s what I’ve been doing. Finding placements for them all.” He smiled down at her, and because he couldn’t help himself, he gave her another kiss. A short, gentle one. “Thank you for keeping him busy and making that possible.”
“It sounds like a horrible imposition. You’ll be glad when this is all over, won’t you?”
“Very glad.” Although he wondered if he would ever see her again. How he possibly could. And how he would bear it if he couldn’t. “I’ll miss seeing you, though, when it’s over,” he admitted.
She sighed and laid her head back down. Her arms stole back around him. ”I think we’ll see each other again. My brother wants to talk to you. He wants to ask your advice about property management.”
“Does he now?”
“He likes you. He’s impressed with your business sense.”
“I didn’t think marquesses were interested in business.”
“They’re not, mostly, but Griffin’s a little different. He never wanted to be the marquess. He likes keeping busy. He was in the cavalry, you know, before our older brother died. An officer. He led campaigns in the Peninsular War. And he complains about the burden of a marquess’s responsibilities, but I think the truth is he feels a bit useless now. He’d much rather be challenged, be doing something that feels important.”
“Managing property can be very challenging.” Cainewood sounded like a fellow he might get along with. And if the fellow got along with him as well, then…
There was no sense thinking in that direction. There were other obstacles to consider besides Cainewood’s approval. Many obstacles. ”We’d best get back,” he said reluctantly, pulling away and taking her hand to lead her out of the trees. “Or people will come looking for us.”
“That wouldn’t be good,” she agreed, trailing along without resistance. “Juliana would come looking for us first, and then who knows what would happen.” While he was wondering what she meant by that, they turned onto the path. “I liked what you said in the picture gallery.”
“In the picture gallery? Saints preserve us. You liked the part where I was blathering like an idiot or the part where I was tongue-tied like an idiot?”
“The part where you said that an artist’s work should stand on its own, that his identity—or hers—shouldn’t dictate the viewer’s opinion of any particular piece.” Her small hand soft and warm in his, she looked up at him and smiled. “Wherever did you come up with that?”
“Hamilton,” he admitted, not bothering to hide his disgust. “Hamilton said something very like that, and I remembered it. In my desperation to sound artistic, I just blurted it out.”
“I know he’s a despicable human being, but I’m so very glad to hear that. It makes it so much more likely that he’ll vote for my painting.”
Sean didn’t think so. She didn’t know the rest of what Hamilton had said—the part about girls never painting good portraits. But he wasn’t going to tell her that, not now. He wasn’t going to ruin whatever time they had left together.
“He should be back by now,” he told her instead, pulling his hand from hers as the house came into sight. Faint snatches of music floated to them from the open French doors. “He said he’d be gone two weeks, and it was two weeks on Thursday. But instead of coming home to deal with the mess he caused, he sent a letter.”
She clasped her hands before her, as if to make sure she kept them to herself. “That’s just as well. If he came home now, he might ruin his uncle’s last days. What did the letter say?”
“He’s painting the Lady of the Waterfall, and he doesn’t want to leave. But I’m suspecting the lady he doesn’t want to leave is the lady of the house.” The weasel. “He told me not to worry; he’ll be home well before the Summer Exhibition vote.”
“I don’t expect you were worrying,” Corinna said. “You obviously cannot do the voting for him. Just like you cannot come to Lady Avonleigh’s reception next week in his place. Ten days,” she added with a sigh as they approached the open French doors, instinctively moving to put an appropriate amount of distance between them. “In ten days my painting will be turned in and Mr. Hamilton will come home.”
“He should return before that. He said he’d be here well before the vote.”
“Then in fewer than ten days, you’ll be free.”
Sean wouldn’t be free until Lincolnshire passed, whether or not Hamilton had arrived.
But he didn’t want to say so. He didn’t want to think about losing the dear, sainted old earl. He would miss him.
But not as much as he’d miss Corinna.
TWENTY-SIX
“How does Lord Lincolnshire fare today?” Sean asked as he returned to the earl’s house late Monday afternoon.
Quincy sighed mournfully. “I know not. Perhaps you should ask his new physician.”
“New physician?”
“He’s with him now. Second doctor to visit today.”
Alarmed, Sean headed for the crystal staircase. Glimpsing Corinna inside the salon as he passed, he was tempted to stop. But her back was to him, and she looked absorbed, humming tunelessly while dabbing at her canvas.
And the earl’s health took precedence anyway.
Sean took the steps two at a time, wincing at the sound of Lincolnshire’s cough. Apparently hearing her brother’s footsteps, Deirdre hurried out into the corridor. “You’re back early today,” she whispered.
“He wasn’t doing well this morning.”
“That’s why I decided to stay home with him. He was sitting for Lady Corinna when he started coughing blood. Just a wee bit, but…”
“A wee bit is too much.”
She nodded. “Lady Corinna sent him upstairs. Nurse Skeffington summoned his doctor, and then Lord Stafford arrived, too. Dr. Dalton was livid.” Her eyes were wide. “He packed up his leeches and left.”
“His leeches?” Sean pulled a face before registering the rest of Deirdre’s words. “Lord Stafford? Corinna’s brother-in-law?”
She nodded again. “Lady Corinna sent him a note. He’s in with Lord Lincolnshire now.” She ushered Sean into the room.
“My recommendation is that the leeches and bleeding and blistering be stopped,” Lord Stafford was t
elling the earl as they walked in. “It’s your choice, of course, but I don’t believe those treatments will accomplish anything, except to make you even more uncomfortable.”
Lincolnshire’s nod set off another fit of coughing.
“There now.” Lifting a cup off the earl’s bedside table, Lord Stafford leaned closer and held it to his lips. “Have a little sip for me, will you? It will soothe your throat, and the warmth will ease your lungs.” He straightened and looked to Sean. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hamilton.”
Considering the gentleman knew he wasn’t Hamilton, he’d said that smoothly, Sean thought. “Thank you for attending him. I thought you ran a smallpox facility?”
“I do spend most days vaccinating. But I also see a few very special patients.” He looked back to Lincolnshire with a kind smile. “Another sip for me, as a favor?”
The earl took a very tiny one.
“He doesn’t have but a wee appetite,” Deirdre said.
“He’s sure to be nauseous,” Stafford explained. “Although we cannot see it, of course, his internal organs will be swelling along with those parts we can see. He won’t be wanting to eat much, but you should encourage him to take what he can. Especially the tea.”
“We will,” Sean said. “And we shouldn’t allow Dr. Dalton to apply more leeches, then?”
Stafford shook his head. “In my opinion, they’re ineffective at best.”
“And at worst?”
“They’d only bring on the end faster,” he said grimly. “Better to let things progress naturally and do what we can to keep the patient comfortable. But I don’t expect Dr. Dalton will be returning in any case.” Stafford set a gentle hand on the earl’s shoulder. “I’ll be attending Lord Lincolnshire now.”
Lincolnshire gave him a fatigued smile. “Thank you,” he whispered, closing his eyes.
“Think nothing of it. I’d do anything for you—just like everyone else who’s had the good fortune to be part of your life.”
Not Hamilton, Sean thought darkly, watching the earl’s breathing even out as he drifted off to sleep. His head lolled against the pillows. Despite his show of good cheer, Lincolnshire was weakening. He wouldn’t last much longer. Though Sean regretted spending the day out of the house, he’d needed to talk to his people, to figure out where more of Lincolnshire’s servants could be placed. He wanted to fulfill the earl’s wishes before he passed.
Stafford dropped his stethoscope into his black leather bag and fastened it with a snap. “I’ll return in the morning. I trust Nurse Skeffington to take good care of him in the meantime.”
Deirdre nodded at the sturdy woman hovering nearby. “Sure, and she will. And Sean and I will be caring for him, too.”
Lord Lincolnshire’s actual niece by marriage, Deirdre was proving more devoted than Sean had expected. More trustworthy than he’d expected. Perhaps his big sister had grown up more than he’d thought. He gave her a faint smile of approval before following Stafford downstairs.
The two gentleman paused at the salon door. Corinna still had her back turned, but she wasn’t painting anymore. She wasn’t humming, either. She just stood there, gazing at her canvas.
Her hair was swept up, and the nape of her neck looked exposed. Vulnerable. Sean couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the sight.
As though she could sense his gaze on her, she turned. “Sean. And James.” Joining them in the entry hall, she looked to her brother-in-law with a question in her eyes.
“Lord Lincolnshire has fallen asleep. I put a drop of laudanum in his tea. He’s resting easily for now.”
“Might he get better, then, do you think?”
“I fear not,” Lord Stafford said gently. “It is, of course, difficult to predict the path of an illness. He could have an hour or a day when he seems better, but overall he’ll continue to decline.” He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “You were right to send for me. Juliana suggested I see him, but I didn’t realize the situation was so urgent.”
“Thank you for coming.” She walked him to the front door, which the competent Quincy was already holding open. “I know Lord Lincolnshire is in the best of hands,” she added.
Watching him go down the steps, then waiting for Quincy to close the door, she finally turned to Sean. “When did you get home?”
This wasn’t home, but he didn’t correct her. “A while ago. You looked very busy.”
“I’m finished.”
“Leaving for the evening, then?”
“I’m finished. With the painting.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “May I have a look?”
“Yes, I was hoping you would.” She hesitated a moment before heading back to the salon, motioning him to follow. As they drew near the canvas, she seemed to hold her breath. “What do you think?”
“It looks just like Lincolnshire. A much healthier Lincolnshire.” The man who’d sat for her, blended together with the younger Lincolnshire of her memories, Sean guessed.
It was a full-body portrait, a natural pose in lieu of the typical head-and-torso formality. The painting showed the earl seated on a bench beneath a plane tree in Berkeley Square—perhaps the same bench where Sean had explained the truth to Corinna. Lincolnshire wasn’t eating a Gunter’s ice, though; instead he held a weighty, leather-bound book. Rather than reading it, he looked like he’d just glanced up, distracted by the viewer walking by. He seemed relaxed and contemplative. And very much alive.
“It’s good,” Sean said simply.
She exhaled in a rush. “You know nothing about art.”
He snorted, knowing better than to take offense—it was true, after all. ”I know what I like, and it looks very well done to me. You’ll submit it for the Summer Exhibition, won’t you?”
“I hope to. But first I’m going to show it at Lady Avonleigh’s reception on Wednesday.” She’d have it delivered, along with a selection of her other paintings, to Lady A’s house tomorrow. “I want to see what the artists think of it.”
“The judges.”
“Yes.” Corinna bit her lip and met his gaze, nerves suddenly jumping in her stomach. “I hope they’ll like it.”
Her voice quavered, and she wondered if he’d heard it. He didn’t say anything, so she couldn’t tell. He only looked at her for a moment. Just looked at her, while she stood there wishing she hadn’t eaten any luncheon, because she felt like the cold meat and fruit she’d nibbled on was about to come back up.
Abruptly he turned and walked back to the salon’s huge carved and gilded door. Shut it with a heavy thump. Then turned to face her. “You’re nervous,” he said in that melodic voice that made everything shift inside her. “Come here, Corinna.”
She rushed into his arms, lifting her chin for a kiss. The kiss was short and fiercely sweet, and then he only held her. He only held her tight, swaying slightly, murmuring comforting words she didn’t recognize, perhaps Irish words or perhaps just nonsense ones—she didn’t know. But just at that moment, she fell in love.
The realization made her heart stutter. Then it raced. She slid her hands beneath his tailcoat, wrapping her arms around him as if she could keep him here. Squeezing him as he was squeezing her, as hard as she could.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” he said soothingly, skimming his hands up and down her back. “It’s a beautiful painting.”
She turned her head to lay her cheek against his warm, comforting chest. “I know.”
“And you’ve many more paintings at home, don’t you? So if the judges don’t agree, they could choose another one.”
He smelled like starch and soap and something else. “I know.” Something she couldn’t put a name to.
“And if they don’t choose another one, there’s always next year. You won’t give up. I know you.”
She knew him, too. And she loved him. She didn’t think she could tell him now—there was so much happening around them, so much complicating their lives. But she loved him. She lifted her chin, wanting to tell him witho
ut words.
She hoped he’d get the message.
It was different from their other kisses—different from any kiss she’d shared with anyone. It wasn’t urgent or forceful. It was slow and tranquil and lingering, as though they had all the time in the world. As though they were getting to know each other. She didn’t feel the same desperate excitement she’d felt the other times they’d kissed, but she felt something better. Something that made her skin prickle from head to toe. Something that made her feel as if she were floating.
She heard a low sort of moan escape her throat, but she was floating too high to get embarrassed. It just seemed natural and right. Or maybe it was just that nothing could embarrass her or bother her, not here. Not now that she knew she loved him.
A knock came at the door, and they jerked apart. Sean whirled and opened it. “Deirdre.”
His sister blinked, looking between them. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t meaning to interrupt.”
“No, no.” He drew her inside. “Lady Corinna was just showing me her finished picture.”
Corinna feared Deirdre could see the truth on her face—or rather her lips, which felt puffy and thoroughly kissed. But if Deirdre could tell, she didn’t let on. Her attention was on the painting, her face lighting up as she walked forward.
“Oh, Lady Corinna, it’s absolutely stunning. Tell me about it, will you?”
Behind Deirdre’s back, Corinna shared one last look with Sean. His eyes were unreadable, but she was sure her own were moonier than ever. She wasn’t worried about that anymore. Nor about the reception. She felt so much better about everything. She was in love, and she knew that mattered more than any painting. She could always try again next year.
Hugging her new secret to herself, she went to join his sister.
TWENTY-SEVEN
