It couldn’t be.
But it was—Donegan Vance stood tall and stunning with masculine confidence, wild curls slicked back, and a heart-stopping cocky smile aimed at me. A dark cutaway jacket with velvet trim lay neatly against his chest, open at the top to reveal a crisp white cravat tucked in a stunning silver vest. His rugged appearance had always exuded a sort of raw attractiveness, but the sight of the restrained wildness and strength now standing before me nearly overpowered my senses.
“Well, go to him, then.” Lucy urged me on with a gentle shove.
Breathless, intrigued, I steadied myself and moved forward. I reached him and simply stared up into his handsome countenance until he extended one hand. I took it obediently and watched this foreign yet familiar face.
When the instruments eased into the introduction of a waltz and other partnerships formed around us, I remained suspended in time for a moment, wondering what on earth this man before me would do as the dancing began. Holding our clasped hands aloft and placing his other firmly at my waist, he stared, brown eyes smoldering with untold secrets, lips still tilted up in a roguish smile.
The dance began in a whish of skirts and Donegan eased me backward with firm pressure against my palm. His hand at my waist steered me around the room, and I found myself twirling to the lively three-quarter tempo with the man who managed our vineyards. Matching our movements to the rhythm of the music intoxicated me, and the way we whirled about turned the rest of the room into a blur. I only saw the remarkable, captivating face of my partner. My delicate senses detected a new scent about him, but even that couldn’t cover the lingering trace of vineyard and woods that was part of his very aura.
“You know how to dance.” My voice came out surprisingly steady.
“I’ve acquired many impractical skills in my travels.”
We spun until I was breathless, his gentle strength guiding my movements. Then the song drew to a crescendo and ended in another whoosh of skirts and chilly air against my arms that were bare above the gloves. We stood thus for a moment while I caught my breath, and then the strains of the next waltz swelled in the air. Pressing my shoulders back to create a steady frame of arms and torso, I again looked up to my partner as he led me into another dance, then another.
At the end of a German waltz we slowed, but his eyes remained firmly on me, as if no other person existed. “You are an artist in every facet of your life, it seems. You infuse your dance movements with the same loveliness and grace you pour into your painting.” The corners of his lips tipped up in a smile of amusement.
And that’s when I perceived a truth that made little sense—this man who was my complete opposite had decided to pursue me. Dizzy with the surprising realization, unsure of what to do around this stunning man who still held me close, I fumbled out my thanks. “Was this your first formal dance?”
“No, but the first time I enjoyed it.” His deep voice only magnified his striking appearance. He glanced over my shoulder as the music started again. “Come, I want to show you something.”
We slipped out of the crowd toward the fringes of the room and walked side by side to another alcove of artwork. Tucked back into this mostly hidden area stood a wall of large canvases, simply framed and unlit. Taking my arms, he turned me to face these nearly concealed paintings, and I gasped at the splendor contained in the plain frames. Bold, vibrant colors splashed across each scene, free of outlines or the dark, hard strokes that dominated the art world. These were not posed portraits of wealthy families but depictions of nature.
The fanciful watercolors portrayed natural scenes in a dreamlike manner that placed me behind the eyes of the artist who had rendered them. Rather than a direct transcription of his subject, this man had poured into his work the climate, his mood, and even his feelings on the beautiful subject he painted. That so free-form a painting would be worthy to hang in a private gallery stunned and fascinated me. I made note of the name etched in the corner—JMW Turner. What a lovely rebel this Mr. Turner seemed to be, deviating from classical styles with such bold work. No wonder our host had hidden these in the far corner of the display.
“These remind me of you.”
“I cannot paint this well.”
“I did not say it resembled your art. It reminds me of you. Colorful. Perceptive. Freely flowing.”
Once again I allowed the frank compliment to wash over me and sink into my heart. “Yet I wear a plain dark dress. Not a single other person in this entire room would call me that when—”
“Then they’re colorblind.”
The rush of words stilled my tongue for a moment and I looked away to rein in my emotions at such a thought. “Perhaps they only see in hues worn on the surface, like my cousin in that stunning gown.”
“Bright hues do seem to fit her.”
I spun to face him with a playful smile to shatter the levity of the moment, but that proved to be a mistake. With my nose so near to his broad chest, I looked up into his finely chiseled face and met his warm, steady gaze that always seemed to be on me, no matter what room we were in or who shared it. “I daresay she’s a peacock.”
His eyebrows raised. “Like the bird?”
“Like the color. If she were a color, she’d be peacock blue.”
A smile twitched his lips. “What makes her that specific hue?”
“She has a beautiful sheen that draws you in, but from close view, she’s painfully startling. One can only be in the presence of such a color for so long.”
“I believe I’d label this night gold. If it were a color, of course. One of those rare days that do not come often in life but one you know is worth holding on to.”
I smiled, strangely touched at our exchange. It was not so much that he instantly understood the wanderings of my mind, but that he took the time to listen until he did, as if he knew he’d find something of value by untangling my mess of thoughts. I’d always had the sense that my oddities were merely to be tolerated—until now. It seemed this man delighted in them.
“What about you?” His rich voice spilled over my thoughts again. “What color are you?”
As I mentally sorted through several answers, a garnet-red gown entered my peripheral vision. I stepped back from him, out of the intoxicating aura, as if caught in an inappropriate act. “Mother.”
Her sharp look speared into the moment, returning me to reality.
Donegan turned with all the casualness of one who bore no shame at our closeness. Mother drew me toward her with a hard stare at Donegan, sending a warning with her eyes. Donegan did not wilt under her silent condemnation, as nearly everyone did in the face of such a look, and a flicker of respect for the man took root in me.
“Mr. Vance. You must be enjoying yourself. Isn’t this estate heavenly? So vastly different than what you’re accustomed to, I’m sure.”
I held my breath at the veiled insult. With a polite smile, Donegan turned to me and studied my face, as if collecting specific words, and I couldn’t wait to hear what he’d say. “It is not exactly to my specific tastes, my lady, but thank you for asking.”
I coughed to hide the laugh that bubbled out.
Mother’s tiny nostrils flared dangerously, contrasting with her pinch-lipped smile. “What a novel thing to say. Did the princess’s portrait at least meet your high standards? Certainly you cannot find fault with Her Royal Highness.”
“As I’ve not yet met her, I suppose I could not.”
The woman eyed him carefully. “It’s said she had first set her sights on her father’s librarian. It would not be such a happy occasion to celebrate a union like that, but how fortunate for her that she has resettled her sights on that German prince and made a fine life for herself.”
“I’m sure her sights had help resettling from her mother, who happens to also be her sovereign. Yet another reason I’m grateful for my mother of lower birth and higher caliber.”
As my pulse increased at the climbing tension, I excused Mother and myself and steered her
toward the long refreshment table, hurrying to speak before she could. “Mr. Vance looks quite refined tonight, does he not?”
She turned when we reached the table and surveyed me, her gaze lingering on my face. “Quite the picture of a gentleman. He could fool anyone . . . until he opens his mouth.”
I thrust a cup at her and urged her to drink. At least that would keep her from speaking for a moment. “I hope you’re not tiring yourself, Mother. Shall I take you up to our rooms?”
She studied me with those watery blue eyes. “I do believe I’m needed here, tired or not. Where’s Andrew?”
His name smarted against my ears. “I haven’t seen him lately.”
“He said he’d be leaving soon to attend to some family business nearby. I hope he does not depart without a proper farewell from you.” With a look that was clearly an order to find him, she pivoted and glided away.
Yet it was the presence of another—the eagle-eyed reporter—that tightened the room around me then and drove me to find fresh air and space. With purposeful steps I crossed the floor toward the three balconies extending over the front of the house, eager for air. I brushed aside the sheer curtains lifted gently by the breeze and stepped onto the middle terrace. Leaning gratefully on the cold stone railing that overlooked the lush gardens below, I took a deep breath and enjoyed the solitude. A light breeze played with the ends of my hair, tickling my face with pleasant coolness.
A faraway crunch on gravel disrupted my quiet, and my attention reverted to the glow pouring from the front entrance on the ground level below. A man in a dark suit emerged. My stomach clenched as I recognized Andrew’s golden hair highlighted by the lanterns of the Carrington carriage. He turned back to the house and lifted a gloved hand in farewell to whoever stood at the front door before springing into the waiting vehicle. A sense of betrayal washed over me once again as I watched him leave, his recent words smiting my heart as they’d done when he’d left years ago.
It was probably wise of him to slip out this way, for who knew what might erupt once the news of my supposed guilt leaked out. I couldn’t help feeling like I was an anvil about his neck, and that thought weighed on my heart.
As his carriage sped out of sight into the trees bordering the drive, heavy footsteps swished against the stone floor of the balcony. I turned, knowing immediately whose dark form I would see. “Mr. Vance.”
He stepped out of the shadows with a playful smile. “I thought we were past that formality.”
“Not when you’re dressed this way.”
“Then I shall have to revert to my normal attire.”
“I’m sure you will, the second we leave here.”
As he neared, I gathered the courage to look directly into his eyes and what I found there surprised me. Past the intensity was unexpected softness. Not the sort that accompanied doe eyes and gushy words and weakness, but a gentle passion with great depth that glowed inside him and radiated out toward me. The welcome I saw there disarmed me, splashing cool waves of peace over the hurt created by Andrew.
When he stepped close, somehow emboldened by the elegant clothing he wore, I did not push him away. Instead I looked up into his face and saw appreciation and even admiration there, and delighted in it, allowing it to balm my wounds. I stood a breath’s distance from him, allowing his eyes to search me and probe deeper than seemed proper. I couldn’t speak for the nearness of him.
“I took your advice.” His earnest voice captivated me.
“Which?”
“Kind words. To your mother.”
“Ah, that. Yes, you used my exact words.”
He paused, studying my face. “So how did I do?”
A playful smile twitched the edges of my mouth. “Surprisingly horrible.”
“You’ve begun to speak the way I do. True and honest.”
“You taught me well.”
“’Tis a shame. I was going to suggest we work together. That verse you mentioned, something about truth in love. I say, we go everywhere together as one. I provide the truth part, you the love.”
I smiled again at his playful words, enjoying the moment and feeling myself losing control of the situation like sand through my fingers. “Everyone should learn to speak lovingly for himself. I cannot do it for you.”
His jaw flinched as he stared at me for several moments of surreal silence, and I desperately wished to peek inside his thoughts. Grasshoppers and frogs serenaded us quietly from the garden below. So many thoughts swirled in his dark eyes. “Then I must say, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.” His words gushed in a barely controlled whisper. “Full of color and life and passion that spills out of you and lights up the gray walls and people around you. Don a dark gown and it only accentuates the color inside you, like the sky is a backdrop for the stars.”
He lifted my hand in his large one and tugged off the satin glove to run his fingertip over the barest of paint stains on my wrist, then his touch trailed down my arm, lighting little sparks of intrigue in its path.
“I thought to make you a canvas, but you’re not that sort of artist. No, you will not be contained on a little white square simply because everyone else is. I watched you admiring the work of the artists in there, but the beauty in you is richer, grander, than they could even comprehend.”
Like a needle and thread, Donegan’s words sewed up the gaping hole carved inside me earlier that night, and I couldn’t resist him.
When I did nothing to stop his ardent advances, he reached up and grazed my cheek with his fingertips and slid them back into my hair. In that brief contact I suddenly realized the severe lack of such tenderness in my life. It made me crave more with alarming intensity, and I closed my eyes, leaning into the caress. It was so innocent, that surface-level touch, but it had somehow plunged into the depths of my heart with its supreme gentleness.
“Do you know what I wish every time I look at you?”
I opened my eyes and looked past him to the curtains trembling in the slight breeze, my heart pounding.
“I wish to embrace all that life and spirit in my arms and hold it close, let it touch the gray walls of my life and splash all that color over me, because there’s little so glorious, so exquisite, in all the world.”
The gentle assault of affection crumbled my barriers, and I sincerely wished he’d kiss me with the lips that had just spoken those beautiful things.
He stepped close and whispered with a smile, “There. Now how’d I do?”
I lifted my eyes to his, where the glow had only deepened, and moved into his embrace, wanting more of it. “Absolutely wonderful.” The man worked the fields with passion, and to my utter surprise he loved in much the same manner. I had never met a single person like him before in my entire life, and I wished this moment would never end.
I tipped my head up toward him, yet he came no closer. Instead, he remained in place like a stone wall bracing himself against what I knew he wished to do. I studied his familiar face until the enticing blend of friendship and attraction, coupled with the powerful restraint I sensed in his posture, dissolved my sense of propriety completely. “As long as you truly mean it.”
He pulled me into his embrace, bestowing on me a kiss that matched the fervency of his words. Life flooded my parched heart and warmed me thoroughly. I wrapped my arms around him, returning the affection with all the passion pent up inside. Fueled by my utter fascination with this bold man and his powerful draw, I sank into the embrace and delighted in the feel of his arms about me. In that moment, hurt and betrayal raged around me in my life, but I had escaped into perfect bliss in the midst of it, and I savored it.
Finally he released me with a shuddering sigh before opening his eyes. Then, in a moment that should have been terribly awkward, we simply looked at one another, sharing a perfect silence that needed no words. Like the night I’d first met him, I felt supremely grateful for Donegan Vance. It seemed he truly had a habit of rescuing me at my lowest points, even before I realized how mu
ch I needed it. Andrew seemed a distant memory, his words like the meaningless patter of raindrops heard from under a protective roof. It seemed nothing could ruin this calm I now felt.
Ah, but there was one thing. Like a knife, reality sliced through the delicious moment. My muddled brain recalled the newspaperman with the beady eyes and painful questions. I pushed back. “Things are a disaster right now. You shouldn’t be involved. It’s . . .”
His smile disintegrated my attempts. “You aren’t doing much to dissuade me.” He kissed my nose tenderly, then my cheek. He brushed back tendrils that had come loose from my upswept hair and kissed the tip of my ear, his breath tickling my face.
“There’s a huge scandal brewing and I have no alibi.” The words pouring from my overwrought mind hardly made sense. Hopefully he understood.
“I suppose I’d no longer be welcomed into society gatherings. How tragic.”
“I might be arrested when Mr. Prescott—”
He rested his forehead on mine and grinned wickedly. “Then I shall have to kiss you through the bars.” Fingertips tickling my scalp under the upswept hair, he pulled me close and kissed me again with eagerness loosening his restraint. When we parted, my mind reeled, and I couldn’t think of another thing to say. Somehow in his presence, it seemed the world would eventually right itself without any effort from me, and my worry would have been pointless. Again I delighted in the single moment of peace as our gazes held and his arms supported me.
“Prescott cannot have you arrested simply because he suspects you. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Before I could tell him about the threatening letter I’d supposedly sent, the sharp click of heels shattered the calm and I stepped back. Forcing my hand back into my glove, I turned to face Mother.
A Rumored Fortune Page 18
