The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  “No!” She swallowed hard. “That’s enough for now.” Plenty for now. “You need a book.”

  “A book?”

  “In the painting, Lord Lincolnshire is holding a book.”

  He reached for one of the sketchbooks Mr. Hamilton had left behind. With fascination, she watched his skin moving over his abdominal muscles. “Will this do?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Have a seat. Like Lord Lincolnshire did, if you’ll remember.”

  He sat and held the book, looking nothing like Lord Lincolnshire, although the pose was similar. She sketched a few lines. Shaky lines, since she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him long enough to look down at the paper.

  “I fear you don’t really look like Lord Lincolnshire.”

  “You’re painting him younger, aren’t you?“

  “I thought the portrait would be more appealing that way. And more pleasing to Lord Lincolnshire as well. But I seriously doubt he ever looked like you.”

  Though her thoughts were still a jumble, her fingers began to fly over the page. She felt compelled to capture every detail of what she was seeing, while she had the chance. It was just so unlike anything she’d ever seen or experienced before. To think this was what Sean saw every day when he looked in the mirror…

  She laughed at the thought.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Hmm? Oh, nothing.“

  He smiled and settled back. “How many sessions do you expect you’ll need?”

  A thousand. At least. “I’ve time for only two,” she said regretfully. “After that I’ll really need to paint. I hope Mr. Hamilton won’t return and expect to use this studio before then.”

  “Don’t worry yourself about that.” He shook his head. “I got another letter from him yesterday. He’s staying longer. Claims he’s seeing fairies in the falls or some such blarney,” he added with disgust. “But of course he’s really lingering with his lover.”

  His lover. Corinna felt her face heat. Her eyes skimmed Sean’s form, her pencil traced the lines on the paper, and her mind imagined kissing him.

  Her lips tingled.

  She released a tense breath.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m just concentrating.”

  They sat in silence for a while. As time wore on, he slowly shifted position. The book began to droop. He reclined a little to one side. He laid an arm along the back of the sofa. Soon his pose had nothing in common with Lord Lincolnshire’s. He looked far too relaxed. She considered asking him to move back, but she didn’t want him to. This pose was far more interesting.

  She was shifting too, her pencil slowing, slowing, until finally it stopped moving entirely. She just looked at him in the flickering candlelight. Looked at him and thought about kissing him.

  Oh, hang it.

  This would never do.

  “Is something wrong, a rún?”

  Oh, yes, something was wrong. He kept saying words she didn’t understand, for one thing. Words that sounded lovely and melodic and made her want to launch herself at him, even not knowing what they meant. And the way he was looking at her, the way she was looking at him. She wanted to kiss him, and she needed to sketch.

  It was all just impossible.

  Her sketchbook and pencil both slipped from her hands. “I don’t think I can do this anymore. Not tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t tell him. He sat up, looking concerned. “What is it?”

  “I cannot concentrate,” she said in a small voice. “All I…all I can think of is kissing you.”

  “Oh. Well, then. I think we can fix that.” She thought he might smile, but he didn’t. He looked uneasy instead. “Why don’t you come over here and give me a kiss, then? Get it out of your system?”

  It would have been nice if he’d sounded a bit more eager than that. But, again, she wasn’t one to ignore a good opportunity when it came her way. She was out of the chair faster than you could say shameless.

  He’d intended it to be a brief kiss. A get-it-out-of-your-system kiss. She knew that.

  She didn’t care. She sprawled herself over him.

  His resistance didn’t last long.

  I am yours whenever you come to claim me. The words from Ethelinde rippled through her mind as he gave in and claimed her lips. And then there was, blissfully, nothing in her mind at all. Nothing but warmth and melting and floating. Nothing to hold her back.

  Until he pushed her away.

  “We cannot,” he whispered, taking her hands. Taking them and moving them off him. “I want to, but we mustn’t do this.” He sat up, lifted her easily, set her down on the sofa. “Not now, not before…this isn’t right, Corinna.” A strand of her hair had come loose, probably when she’d leapt on top of him, and he reached to tuck it back.

  She ducked his hand. “What’s not right?” she demanded. “It’s only kissing, for heaven’s sake. It’s innocent.”

  Sighing, he dragged the hand through his own crisp black hair. “Innocent, is it? With me half-dressed, and the two of us alone up here in the dark?”

  She couldn’t look at him. She stared at the floor, chewing her lip. Part of her felt mortified. Rejected. But she knew that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her. She could tell from the frustration in his voice that he wanted her, even if he was apparently much better able to control himself than she was.

  He was just too honorable to let things get out of hand.

  Too dratted honorable.

  But she’d already known that about him, hadn’t she? He’d proved his honor so many times, in so many ways. The way he’d tried to tell her his true identity from the very beginning, and kept at her until she believed him. The way he still felt guilty deceiving Lord Lincolnshire, even though he knew it was best.

  And then there was the way he didn’t want Deirdre to be with the man she loved until they could marry. She should hardly be surprised that he held himself to the same standard. That his honor wouldn’t let them get into a position where they might get carried away.

  Sean was the most honorable young man she knew.

  That was one of the many reasons she loved him.

  And those two little words hadn’t escaped her notice: not now, he’d said. Meaning there would be a now sometime in the future—meaning he was planning a future with her! He hadn’t told her yet, just like she hadn’t told him she loved him. All of that had to wait until the deception was over, until they could put this mess behind them. She was just going to have to keep her hands to herself until they could be properly wed.

  Unfortunately, patience wasn’t her primary virtue…or even a secondary one, really. But she would try.

  “You’re right, of course,” she said quietly. “I understand why we mustn’t.” And then because she couldn’t help herself, she added: “I was just surprised that…well…that it was so easy for you to stop.”

  “You think that was easy?“ he burst out, sounding exasperated, sounding like he couldn’t believe he had to explain this. “You obviously don’t understand. It’s never easy to keep away from you. It’s not easy now, it wasn’t easy a minute ago, and it won’t be easy a minute from now. Being near you is all I ever think about. The only thing I care about more than being near you, isyou.”

  And when those words came out of his mouth, that was when Sean knew.

  He loved her.

  Yes, he’d fallen hard for her; yes, he admired her ambition; yes, he wished to be near her, always. But it was more than that, much more. Because when he’d pushed her away, he hadn’t done it out of some sense of honor or integrity—he’d done it for her. Because as much as he wanted her—and he wanted her more than he’d known it was possible to want anything—he wanted what was best for her even more.

  And if that wasn’t the definition of love, he didn’t know what was.

  He loved her. He was going to ask her to marry him.

  Not now, not until all of this was ove
r. Not until he’d fulfilled his obligations to Lincolnshire, dealt with the aftermath, and settled things between Deirdre and her husband. Not until he had something to offer Corinna besides lies and complications. Not until he could approach her brother with his head held high.

  Even then, Cainewood would probably refuse him. But he was going to ask.

  And, vicar’s son that he was, he was going to pray harder than he ever had that the answer would be yes.

  He kissed her, because he couldn’t tell her he loved her. Not yet. But he kept the kiss chaste, because he really had meant it when he’d said they should wait.

  Then he rose and reached for his shirt. “I’m thinking it’s a good idea for us to stop, as you said. We’ll finish tomorrow afternoon.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The next day, Lincolnshire perked up.

  When Lord Stafford made his usual early morning call, he was pleased to see his patient more comfortable. “He’s more awake than he’s been for days,” he reported when he came out of the earl’s bedroom following his examination. “And he can speak whole sentences—entire paragraphs—without pausing for breaths between words.”

  Sean had suspected the man might be getting better. “Do you expect all the sleep has revived him?”

  “Perhaps, but only temporarily,” the doctor reminded him. A gentle warning. “This sort of disease tends to progress and regress in uneven waves, but he’s not recovering by any means.” His brown eyes met Sean’s with sympathy. “You’d best enjoy your uncle’s alertness while you can.”

  Lincolnshire wasn’t his uncle, but Sean nodded and thanked Stafford and saw him out. Only to find someone else coming in.

  The tall man carried a leather valise. A quite official-looking one. “I’m Mr. Lawrence Lawless,” he said by way of introduction. “Lord Lincolnshire’s solicitor. Here to consult with him at his request.”

  Lawless seemed a very sober sort of man, but Sean couldn’t suppress a smile at meeting a lawyer named Lawless. He turned away to hide it, allowing Quincy to escort the man upstairs.

  It was the last time Sean smiled that day.

  The solicitor spent a full hour closeted in Lincolnshire’s bedroom, and no sooner had he left than the earl summoned his nephew. On her way out to go to Raleigh, Deirdre turned back and went upstairs with Sean.

  “Good day to you, Lord Lincolnshire,” she said warmly as they entered his room.

  “Good day to you, my dear,” the earl wheezed. Sean was amused to hear him echo Deirdre’s Irish phrasing rather than saying good morning in the English way. And pleased that Lincolnshire had managed to complete the sentence without pausing for breath.

  But when the earl added, “I’m getting my affairs in order,” Sean’s good humor vanished.

  That sounded so dire. So final. Despite the doctor’s warning, despite his need to get on with his own life, Sean must have been holding on to some small hope that Lincolnshire might recover after all, because suddenly he felt an ache in his chest.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

  “For what?” The older man coughed. “Sit…both of you.”

  Sean and his sister exchanged a glance. Playacting, or perhaps sensing Sean’s distress, Deirdre took his hand as they slowly lowered themselves in unison.

  The earl swiped the back of a swollen hand across his face, clearing his mouth of a bit of froth he’d coughed up. When his hand dropped, his lips were curved in a half smile of his own. “I’m pleased to see the two of you holding hands. I cannot imagine why those infidelity rumors persist, when I’ve seen for myself you’ve a wonderful marriage. Devoted, close…understanding.”

  Sean’s guilt spiked to record levels. He’d have dropped Deirdre’s hand like a hot coal, except she sensed that and gripped his tighter.

  “Give her a kiss,” Lincolnshire coaxed.

  Sean turned to his sister and gave her a wee peck on the cheek.

  Lincolnshire nodded, still smiling. “Discreet in public, as usual. But I’d wager that behind closed doors—”

  “Uncle,” Sean cut in. He couldn’t take hearing more about his wonderful marriage to Deirdre. Not without losing his breakfast. “Was there something else you wished to tell me?”

  “Indeed. I wanted you to know that I’m pleased—or shall I say overjoyed—at the success you’ve had finding new positions for all of my staff.”

  “It was nothing,” Sean muttered.

  “It was everything,” Lincolnshire disagreed. “My heart sings to know all my holdings will be going to such a worthy young man. My nephew—my blood.” Tears sprang to the older man’s eyes: not tears of pain, but tears of regret. “I’m so sorry I never came to know you before this. That your undeserved reputation and my unresolved feelings about my brother kept me from seeking you out earlier—”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Sean interrupted, having had enough of this guilt-inducing affection. “I’m glad we’ve had this time together. But your brother…this is the first you’ve mentioned these ‘unresolved feelings’ concerning him.”

  Lincolnshire shrugged. “I loved him, of course. He was my twin—”

  “Your twin?” This was the first Sean had heard that.

  “Surely you’ve noticed your father and I look identical?”

  “I hadn’t…thought about it.” Now he was the one pausing between words. “My, uh…father…died years ago. He never mentioned you were twins. What happened between you? What made you banish your twin brother to the backwoods of Ireland?”

  “Banish him?” Lincolnshire snorted. “He should have been down on his knees kissing my feet. I saved the ungrateful son of a gun.” He cocked his head, measuring Sean for a long moment. “He never told you what happened?”

  “Never.” And Sean would wager that Deirdre’s weasel of a husband wasn’t aware of the facts, either. “What happened?”

  “You honestly don’t know?”

  Sean shook his head.

  Lincolnshire sighed. ”When we were young men,” he said, settling back against his pillows, “our father died, leaving me the earl. Your father was less than happy I inherited everything and he nothing. He was furious, as a matter of fact. A mere five minutes’ difference in our births made me the heir and him the second son.”

  “It’s understandable he might feel that way,” Deirdre said, perhaps in leftover deference to her father-in-law.

  “I agree. But that’s the way our world works. I assured him I’d take care of him, support him and his new child and his young wife—a wife he’d been forced to wed after getting her in the family way, I might add.”

  “Like father, like son,” Sean whispered beneath his breath.

  “Why do you say that?” the earl asked, proving his hearing wasn’t affected by the dropsy. “My father’s marriage was a love match. No one forced him to wed our mother.”

  “No, of course not,” Sean said quickly, thinking back. Hamilton’s parents’ marriage hadn’t been a happy one, from what he remembered. He’d always figured the discord was caused by their misery at being stuck in Ireland, but maybe it had been more than that. “Just a slip of the tongue. Pray, go on.”

  “Well, promising to support my brother and his family wasn’t enough. He wanted more than just a generous allowance. Shortly after I inherited, I went off to Ireland, to Kilburton, to see my steward, meet my villagers and tenants. I returned to a scandal of unimaginable proportions.”

  “What?” Deirdre breathed.

  “In my absence, William had decided to take some of what he considered his due. He’d pretended to be me, and we looked so much alike that people had believed him. He’d lived in this house, worn my clothes, gone to my club. He’d attended dinners and card parties and breakfasts and balls and soirees. He’d even paid my respects to King George at court, and while doing all of this, he’d run up debts that amounted to thousands. The biggest gaming debt in all of London, in my name. He couldn’t pay it, of course. And a man’s vowels, a debt of honor, is expected to
be paid before any other.”

  “They must have been livid,” Deirdre said. “All those men to whom he owed money.”

  “Oh, they were livid, all right. All the gentlemen and the ladies, too. But not because of the debt. I paid that immediately upon my return.”

  “Why then?” Sean asked. “Why should they remain angry after having been paid?”

  “Because he’d tricked them,” the earl said. “Made fools of them, one and all. He’d made them believe he was me, and for that they would never forgive him. Society has a long memory, and they hold a grudge even longer.” Lincolnshire’s sigh was one of heartache, of sorrow and deepest regret. “Only the gravest misdeeds will warrant the cut direct, but my brother had crossed that line.”

  “He had to leave,” Deirdre concluded. “He couldn’t stay any longer in London.”

  “Indeed, he couldn’t. Many wanted him banished to the countryside, to live in poverty and anonymity, or even better, they’d have preferred to have seen him shipped off to America. He hadn’t the option of entering the clergy, and I couldn’t buy him a commission in the military—the peerage is too well connected to both for him to have held posts in either. So I did what I could. I sent him to Ireland, where no one knew him. Where he could hold up his head and play the lord in Kilburton. Live in the drafty old castle—”

  “He built an enormous new manor house.”

  “I know that, my dear.” Lincolnshire smiled sadly at Deirdre. “He wanted a fancy new house, and I wanted him to be happy. Or at least as happy as possible. He was my brother, after all, my twin. If I never fully forgave him, it wasn’t because of what he did, but because I lost him as a result.”

  “He never forgave you, either,” Deirdre said.

  “I know that, too. But I also know I did my best.” He looked to Sean, who hadn’t said anything for quite a while. “I hope you don’t blame me for your father’s disgrace. Under the circumstances—”

  “No,” Sean said in a dead tone. It was the only tone he could manage, because he felt dead inside. “I don’t blame you.”

  “You understand, then?” Lincolnshire pressed.