The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  “Well, I had no idea he was speaking of your painting, did I?“

  He shook his head in apparent disbelief, but he didn’t seem truly upset. Her hand went up to touch her claddagh necklace. She was so lucky to have him.

  “Are you going to varnish it now, then?” he asked.

  “In a minute.” She wanted to let it all sink in for a while first. She shifted her paint box to her other hand, looking around. “Sean,” she whispered, thrilled. “It’s J.M.W. Turner. There, in the top hat and tails. I’ve heard he always dresses like that.”

  “His painting doesn’t look finished.”

  The artist had hung an all but monochrome canvas. “You’re color-blind. How can you tell?”

  “It’s a landscape, and the sky isn’t even blue. How on earth did it get accepted?”

  “Academicians are allowed to hang six paintings each without going through the selection process,” Corinna explained in an undertone. “And Varnishing Day isn’t just for varnishing; it’s also for fixing little things. Turner is rather famous for this trick. While his fellow artists—”

  “That’s you,” Sean interrupted.

  “Holy Hannah, it is, isn’t it?” She beamed. “While the rest of us struggle to fix some tiny mistake, he practically paints an entire picture.”

  “Thus proving his technical virtuosity?”

  “And awing everyone else in the process.” She watched the dull painting blaze to life as Turner swiftly transformed it with glorious chrome and brilliant vermilion and costly ultramarine. He stood so close to his canvas he appeared to paint with his eyes and nose as well as his hands. “He’s legendary,” she whispered. “They call him the painter of light. He first exhibited here at the age of fifteen.”

  “While you’re an ancient seventeen?”

  “I suppose I should feel lucky you’re willing to marry such an old hag.”

  “We’d best wed quickly, a rún, before you get any older.”

  “Is tomorrow soon enough?”

  “An hour from now wouldn’t be soon enough.”

  She laughed, a joyous sound that felt like a cool breeze across Sean’s soul. To think, only four days ago, he’d believed he’d never hear that laugh again.

  “I don’t know how Turner does it,” she said. “He’s been known to produce two hundred and fifty pictures in a single year. It takes me at least two weeks to complete a painting.”

  “Not that one.” Sean gestured to his image on the wall.

  “That one was rather quick,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing. “I guess I’ll varnish it now.”

  She looked nervous as she walked toward it, paint box in hand. Sean followed, moving a step stool so that she could reach it.

  “Is that yours?” someone asked as she climbed up, setting off a volley of comments.

  “She’s unknown!”

  “A woman painted that?”

  “She’s a genius.”

  “I think it’s shameful,” a disgruntled man disagreed.

  Through it all, Corinna held her head high, nerves notwithstanding. She made her own way in the world, just like Sean did. That was why he loved her.

  Well, that and because she was the most captivating girl he’d ever met.

  Only one more day until he made her his forever. Standing back, he smiled as she dipped her brush in varnish and began swiping it over his bare chest.

  SIXTY

  “Well,” Griffin said. “That’s it.” Upstairs in the Berkeley Square town house, he shut the master bedroom door and leaned his hands against it. “Corinna is on her way to Hampstead, to a house I’ve never even seen.”

  “You’ll see it soon,” Rachael said behind him, where he knew she was slipping off her shoes.

  He heard the soft give of the mattress as she sat on the bed across the room, and he imagined her rolling down her stockings. He remained facing away, listening to the sound of swishing silk.

  “And I’m sure it’s a fine house,” she continued, her sultry voice settling around him like a blanket. “Deirdre told me it’s enormous, and set in acres of gardens and woodland, and it was built by Robert Adams. She said her brother has more money than a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.”

  “I swear, Rachael, that fellow could eat a pot of gold for breakfast and never notice it was missing. But it doesn’t matter. He has Corinna now, and that’s all that counts. Corinna wanted him, and I wanted her happy.”

  “You did the right thing, Griffin. She loves him, and he loves her. And I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He straightened and turned to look at her. She rose and took a few slow steps toward him, barefooted and gorgeous. Hopping on one foot and then the other, he pulled off his own boots and stockings, then shrugged out of his tailcoat and waistcoat, leaving it all littering the floor as he went.

  He couldn’t believe he’d wed Rachael. He couldn’t believe anything that had happened this week, all the incredible events that had led to him marrying his last, youngest sister to someone he hardly knew and simultaneously getting married himself.

  “You’re wearing your mother’s wedding dress,” he said, walking toward her, remembering her pulling it out of the heavy oak trunk, and how he’d thought it looked lacy and beautiful. It fit her perfectly, as he’d known it would. Rachael was all willowy, graceful curves, and the sight of her in his bedroom, in the white dress, made his skin heat. It made his palms itch.

  He couldn’t believe she’d been his for half a day and he still hadn’t touched her.

  “You look lovely,” he told her.

  “You look better.” She was standing before him now, so close their noses nearly touched. “I’m a Chase now,” she said.

  Her heady scent was overwhelming him, making him dizzy. “Is that why you wanted to marry me? So you could think of yourself as a Chase again?”

  “No, that’s just a bonus. I wanted to marry you because I love you.”

  He loved her, too. And she was his.

  And he still hadn’t touched her.

  Her face was raised, her cerulean eyes fastened on his. They sparkled with mischief as she licked her lips. “Do you want to kiss me, Griffin?”

  “I do,” he said.

  But first he wanted to put his hands where they belonged.

  He did that, and then he used his hands to yank her against him, and then he kissed her. He was mad for her. He’d always been mad for her, it seemed, but now she was his.

  Rachael kissed him back with abandon, wanting to belong to him, wanting him to belong to her. She’d thought she’d been in control of this relationship, but something about the way Griffin was holding her, like she was precious—but not fragile, not at all—seemed to flip a switch inside her, and suddenly she was heedless, senseless, frantic. She wasn’t losing herself in him, not exactly. Maybe they were losing themselves in each other. It didn’t signify, and she didn’t care.

  He’d always been the one for her. Realizing that now, she cursed herself for all the wasted time, all the months she’d spent denying her feelings, thinking of him as a cousin or a brother and concentrating on things that didn’t really matter. Happy as she was to have discovered Mama’s family, the person most important to her had been by her side all that time, and she was grateful beyond belief that she’d seen the truth before it was too late.

  He broke the kiss and pulled back, his intense green gaze burning into hers. What she saw there made her heart squeeze. Lust, yes, but also devotion and affection and understanding. And most of all love.

  She grinned and pulled his head back down to press her lips to his. Her heart singing, she held him tight and knew she would never let go.

  Although Sean’s house was just a few minutes’ walk from Hampstead Heath and the High Street, Corinna found herself amazed when the curricle started up the long, serpentine drive. The property seemed in a different world, the setting idyllic, a picturesque, pastoral landscape. As they approached the classical villa, the sun was setting low on the horizo
n, its last rays glinting off glossy arched windows in the creamy white building.

  “Oh,” she breathed, “it’s beautiful.”

  “It’s glad I am it pleases you, a rún,” Sean said in his melodic Irish lilt.

  She nestled against him with a happy sigh. “We’re almost there. You’ll be able to kiss me.”

  His arm tightened around her shoulders. “I can kiss you now,” he said, and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “Not the way I want.”

  “My straightforward Corinna.” A low chuckle rumbled in his throat as he grabbed her hand and kissed the back. “Like that? Is that how you want me to kiss you?”

  “Not quite,” she said tartly.

  He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “Here, then?”

  “Sean…”

  He leaned sideways and took his eyes off the lane for half a second, just long enough to plant a kiss on her neck. “Closer?”

  “You’re getting closer.” Her stomach did a little flip-flop. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever.”

  He pulled the curricle to a halt. “Well, you won’t have to wait much longer, críona.”

  He leapt down and came around to her side, but instead of handing her down, he scooped her into his arms.

  “Put me down!” she said with a laugh.

  “Oh, no,” he said, striding toward the house. “They say the groom must carry the bride over the threshold to protect her from evil spirits.”

  He carried her so easily. Feeling cradled against his warm body, she linked her arms about his neck. “Do you believe in evil spirits, Sean?”

  “I believe they’re a good excuse to carry you.” He dropped a kiss on her chin as the door opened, revealing a portly, gray-haired servant. “Good evening to you, Simpson,” Sean said, stepping inside. “This is your new mistress, Lady Corinna Delaney.”

  Simpson kept an admirably straight face as he shut the door. “Welcome, my lady.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.” Corinna glanced around the entrance hall, a square room with a polished wooden floor and pale blue walls trimmed in white. “Put me down, Sean.”

  He didn’t. “If the bedroom is ready, Simpson, I’ll thank you to make yourself scarce and see that everyone else does as well.”

  “Sean!” Corinna shrieked, laughing at the expression on Simpson’s face.

  While the butler walked off in one direction, Sean carried Corinna in another. “You’ll meet the rest of the staff tomorrow, mo chroí.”

  She wondered what he meant by the bedroom being ready. “We’re inside now, so you can put me down.”

  “I think not.” Holding her close, he carried her through a dining room with blue walls and a crystal chandelier. “I’m finding I rather like carrying you.”

  In truth, she rather liked being carried. No one had carried her since she was a child, and the pure romance of it made her head swim. Sean swept her through a drawing room carpeted in blue with blue sofas. “I don’t need a tour tonight,” she said breathlessly. “Just your bedroom will do. I’m ready for a real kiss.”

  “Our bedroom, you mean,” he said, his voice deep with meaning. He carried her past a library with white columns and plush ultramarine-blue velvet chairs, and on into a small, cobalt-blue lobby. “There’s another wing and two more levels you can see tomorrow.”

  “I expect all of those rooms are blue, too?”

  “Except for Deirdre’s. I don’t know what color it is. Maybe you can tell me.”

  “Not tonight,” she said, thankful his sister had gone to Daniel Raleigh’s house.

  “I haven’t any paintings,” he said apologetically as he started up a grand staircase with a blue runner. “You can buy any paintings you want and hang them wherever you’d like.”

  She turned her face into his neck, inhaling his clean, soapy scent. “I don’t care about paintings, Sean.”

  “And everything doesn’t have to stay blue. You can have the rooms repainted any colors you’d like. You can have the furniture reupholstered or buy all new things.”

  “I don’t care what color the rooms are.” She was melting. Liquefying in his arms. “All I care about is you,” she told him as they finally reached the master bedroom.

  Set before a huge blue-toned tapestry, the bed was covered with a plush, sapphire blue counterpane and piled with lighter blue pillows. He walked to it, laying her upon it so gently, so reverently, that she could swear every bone in her body dissolved.

  She gazed up at him as he stepped back. He looked better than a Greek god, but even better than that, he was the best person she’d ever known.

  And she saw what he’d meant by ready. Candles flickered everywhere—on the windowsill, along the marble mantel, atop every piece of furniture—bathing the room in shadows and dancing light. Dozens of them. He must have set them about before leaving for the wedding and instructed a servant to light them when they arrived. Like a Minerva Press hero, she thought, her heart doing a slow roll in her chest.

  “It’s a wonderland,” she breathed.

  “Every bride should have a wonderland, mo chroí.”

  Sean thought she was a wonder herself, a vision in a simple white dress, those brilliant blue eyes looking dreamy as he’d ever seen them. His necklace glinted silver against her skin, and he loved the way it seemed to mark her as his own. He couldn’t believe dear Lincolnshire had fixed everything, had made it work out so he could have her—it seemed a miracle, and much more than he deserved. She was his, and he was hers, and nothing had ever been so right.

  Watching her face, which glowed with candlelight and love, he slowly leaned down and finally kissed her the way she wanted.

  For his part, he just wanted this night to be perfect.

  And it was.

  THANK YOU!

  Thank you for reading Corinna! We hope you enjoyed it!

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  If you enjoyed this book, please consider posting a review. Reviews help other readers find books. We appreciate all reviews, no matter how long or short!

  Corinna is the third book in our Regency Chase Brides series. If you haven’t read the others, you might want to start with Book 1, Alexandra, which is free! We also have a connected seven-book historical romance series titled simply The Chase Brides, which features Chases of an earlier era.

  If you'd like to learn more about the real people, places, and events in Corinna, turn the page for Lauren’s Author's Note...

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Dear Readers,

  During the Regency, a female artist like Corinna might have had her picture accepted for the Summer Exhibition—but it's a sad truth that she probably never would have been elected to the Royal Academy of Arts. In 1768, the founding membership did include two women, Angelica Kauffmann and Mary Moser. However, ladies weren't admitted to the Royal Academy schools until 1861, and the next female Academician, Dame Laura Knight, wasn't elected until 1936.

  Although we think of art from Corinna's era as classic, it was the contemporary art of its time, and the Royal Academy's Summer Exhibition is the largest contemporary art show in the world. Held every year since 1769, the Exhibition is and always has been the place to see a wide range of new work by both established and unknown living artists. Admission cost one shilling in the nineteenth century, and the exhibit has been extraordinarily popular all along. Attendance grew from 60,000 in 1780 to 390,000 by 1879. In 2006, the show drew over 150,000 visitors (including us!), and more than 1,200 works were included.

  The Summer Exhibition Selection Committee members who attended Lady A's reception were the actual committee members in 1817, with the exception of Thomas Phillips. We removed him to make room for the fictional John Hamilton. We do apologize to Mr. Phillips, but we had to choose someone, and he was the man with the least biographical information to draw on.

  It's been said that the modern novel was born in 1740, when Samuel Ric
hardson wrote Pamela or Virtue and Reward. A tale of frustrated desires, it sparked controversy that created a thirst for more of the same. As a result, reading Gothic and romance fiction became a decades-long craze. Or maybe it still is a craze…as a romance reader, what do you think?

  In about 1790, an Englishman named William Lane saw an opportunity and established Minerva Press. For a number of years, Lane dominated the novel publishing industry. Over half the popular books were printed by Minerva Press, and Lane reportedly made a fortune. According to the poet Samuel Rogers, Lane was often seen tooling around London in a splendid carriage, attended by footmen with cockades and gold-headed canes. All of the lines from books that Corinna recalls in her story are real quotes from Minerva Press novels that she could have purchased in 1817.

  Most of the homes in our books are inspired by real places. We modeled Lincolnshire House on Devonshire House, which was designed by William Kent and served as the London residence of the Dukes of Devonshire for nearly two hundred years. Because we wanted Lord Lincolnshire to live in Berkeley Square, we turned this house around—in reality, the house fronted on Piccadilly Street and its gardens backed up to the square. Devonshire House is no longer standing, but before it was demolished in the 1920s, many of the interior furnishings were moved to Chatsworth, the duke's residence in the countryside. You can still see some of them there.

  Sean's house was inspired by Kenwood House in Hampstead. Set in an idyllic landscape beside Hampstead Heath, the house was expanded by Robert Adam between 1764 and 1779. Although Sean didn't have any paintings, the real house is a veritable gallery. Edward Cecil Guinness, brewing magnate and first Earl of Iveagh, bought Kenwood House in 1925, and when he died in 1927, he bequeathed the estate and part of his art collection to Britain. The house is open daily all year round, and if you visit you will see important paintings by many great artists including Rembrandt, Vermeer, Constable, Turner, Reynolds, and Gainsborough. We like to imagine that, with Sean's vast fortune at her disposal, Corinna might have put together such a collection!