"I know less about my husband's art than you might think. You did a grand job deflecting those questions. I can see why my brother admires you."
Sean had told her that? Corinna's heart skipped a beat at the thought. "I'm surprised to hear he said so."
"Not in so many words, mind you. But he told me all about you, and I could hear it in his tone of voice."
"He likes my paintings."
"Sean doesn't care a fig about art. But he likes the way you're not afraid to face great odds to get what you want. He did the same himself, you know. He started with nothing, and now he's richer than a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow."
Corinna hadn't brought Sean's sister out here to glean information about him, but she couldn't resist taking advantage of that opening. "How did he manage that?"
Deirdre shrugged. "He says he has a knack."
"A knack?"
"I don't know what he means, exactly. All I can tell you is that shortly after I wed John, Sean moved to London, using a small inheritance he received from our uncle. A small inheritance," she emphasized.
"And?"
"The next time I saw him, he owned several pieces of property, including his own house. Twenty years old, and he had his own house." Wonder suffused her voice, and she shook her head disbelievingly. "I never saw my brother often, since John doesn't care to live in London. Once a year, maybe, if that. But the next time I saw Sean, he owned more property, and some manufactories, and any number of other businesses. Ships, too. And a bigger house. And, a couple years later, a bigger one still. Now he lives in a house so big all of Kilburton could move in. The whole village would fit in a corner of the acreage."
"Kilburton?"
"Perhaps that's a bit of an exaggeration." Deirdre shrugged rather sheepishly. "Kilburton is where we grew up in Ireland."
"Tell me more," Corinna said, thinking she knew even less of Sean than she'd thought. "Tell me how he came to own all he does."
"I don't know that much," Deirdre said with a quiet smile. "I think you should ask him yourself."
TWENTY-THREE
"GRIFFIN," RACHAEL said. "What are you doing here?"
In his cousins' Lincoln's Inn Fields town house, Griffin stopped pacing the drawing room and turned to find her leaning against the doorjamb. Even in a simple day dress, she looked entirely too sultry for his comfort. Her lips appeared freshly licked. Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her face. Her eyes looked large and luminous.
And sad.
"I'm waiting for you, as I suspect your butler told you. Why aren't you at the Billingsgate ball?"
"I didn't feel like going," she said.
Her wan expression broke his heart, but he embraced the emotion. Pity was much safer than lust. "You cannot withdraw from life, Rachael."
"I'm not." She scanned his evening clothes. "Why did you leave the Billingsgate ball?"
"To fetch you."
"What if I don't want to be fetched?"
He shrugged and said nonchalantly, "Then I won't tell you my news."
"What news?" she demanded, straightening and coming toward him. "Tell me."
"I'll tell you on the way to the ball," he promised her with a smile—the charming smile that worked on everyone.
But it didn't work on Rachael. Not tonight. "I don't want to go to the ball."
"Then I don't want to tell you my news. I'll stop by again tomorrow."
"Griffin!" Moving closer, she laughingly punched him on the shoulder. "You cannot do this to me!"
He was happy to see her more animated, but that wasn't enough. He wanted her joyful. He wanted her socializing. He wanted to see her dancing with eligible gentlemen and getting on with her life.
"Would you care to bet?" he asked, starting from the room.
She grabbed his arm. "All right, I'll go to the ball."
"Excellent." With any luck, she'd find a love interest tonight. Then it wouldn't matter that she wasn't his cousin, because she'd be taken anyway. "I'll wait here while you change."
"Oh, no, you won't." Still holding his arm, she pulled him toward a sofa. "Tell me what you learned." With both hands, she pushed him to sit. "Now, damn it."
"Has anyone ever told you you're demanding?"
"Most everyone." She sat beside him and licked her lips, kicking his pulse up a notch even though that was the last thing he wanted. "Did the man you hired find my father's parents?"
"His mother is dead, but the man found his father. His name is Thomas Grimbald, same as his son. Colonel Thomas Grimbald—he was a military man, too."
She nodded, looking vulnerable in a way that made him want to hug her. "Is he still living in Yorkshire?"
"Not anymore. He's living at the Royal Hospital in Chelsea."
"So close," she murmured. The Royal Hospital wasn't a hospital for the ill, but rather a government-funded home for pensioned soldiers. "I have a grandfather so close, and I never knew it." She licked her lips again, proving Griffin a pathetic weakling of a man. "I want to see him. I want to meet him and find out if my father really committed treason."
"I'm glad," he said. It was better to know than to stay in denial. "I'll take you Monday. No, Tuesday. I've got a meeting with my solicitor scheduled for Monday. I'm sorry."
"You're entitled to live your own life. I can wait. I've waited twenty-four years already."
"I guess you have. Now I'll wait while you change for the ball."
She sighed. "You're not really going to hold me to that, are you? I don't want to dance, so what's the point in going? I don't feel up to having men paw me."
"They wouldn't dare. I'd issue a challenge on the spot."
"To a duel? Just what I need…your death on my head."
"You think I would lose? You wound me." He playfully clutched his heart. "Get changed. You can dance with me," he offered, vaguely wondering what the devil he was doing suggesting something that would result in clenching his teeth all night. "Nothing but innocent, cousinly dances."
TWENTY-FOUR
THE BILLINGSGATES had a rather impressive art collection, one Corinna had spent much time studying during the ball the Billingsgates held last season. This year, although she once again found herself hovering in their picture gallery, she wasn't enjoying herself nearly as much.
And she wasn't studying the paintings this time, either. Mostly, she was trying to help Sean escape both the room and the guests who insisted on surrounding him. If she could manage that, maybe she could also manage to get him off alone.
She wanted to talk to him without everyone's eyes on the two of them. She wanted him to look at her without it being a look of distress. She wanted to touch him and feel his touch in return. She wanted to be close enough to breathe in his scent.
And she was dying for a kiss.
Unfortunately, Lady Billingsgate's guests weren't cooperating. And neither was Lord Lincolnshire.
"Wouldn't you care for some air, Uncle?" Sean asked for the third time.
"Oh, no. I'm…enjoying this conversation."
No doubt he basked in seeing his heir command so much attention. But Corinna had already had to save Sean from mistaking a watercolor for an oil and justify his description of a piece of William Hogarth's as a "groundbreaking new work."
Not an easy task, considering Hogarth had died in 1764.
"It was groundbreaking when it was a new work," she'd said. Fortunately, the hangers-on bunched around Sean had nodded as though they'd interpreted his comment that way all along.
"Oh, I do adore mythology as the subject for a painting," Lady Trevelyan said now, moving on to the next piece of art. "What do you think of this one by Kauffmann, Mr. Hamilton?"
"Very detailed," Sean said—a safe enough comment. But then he added, "I admire his—"
"His?"
"Joshua Reynolds, he means," Corinna rushed to say. "Am I right, Mr. Hamilton? You were referring to Sir Joshua Reynolds, since Angelica Kauffmann was one of his protégées?"
"Joshua Reynolds, yes."
The smile he sent her was a grateful one. "As I was saying, I admire Reynolds for being open-minded enough to recognize a female artist."
"That's what I thought." Corinna breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Although, of course, Kauffmann was widely recognized as one of the founders of the Royal Academy. One of only two female Academicians in its history, as a matter of fact."
Sean's smile now was warm rather than grateful. "I look forward to your being the third."
Their gazes caught and held. He really did want to see her succeed. "I appreciate your support," she said softly.
A gentleman cleared his throat. "Speaking of Reynolds," he said, moving along to stand before two large portraits. "What do you think, Mr. Hamilton, of Reynolds's work as compared to Gainsborough's?"
"Hmm." Corinna saw Sean glance to the artists' signatures. "This Gainsborough is rather sentimental, is it not, while the Reynolds here is, ah, more grand. Establishing the importance of the man portrayed rather than sympathy with the subject."
Though Sean looked quite proud of his analysis, the questioner frowned. "I meant in general, Mr. Hamilton, not these particular portraits. One man's body of work juxtaposed against the other."
"I do not judge entire bodies of work, sir. I never seek signatures prior to evaluating a painting. Each work should stand on its own—the artist's identity shouldn't influence my opinion of any specific picture."
The gentleman was clearly taken aback. "I thought all artists studied the masters' techniques."
Corinna didn't quite know what to say to that, so she was relieved when Juliana stepped forward and laughed. "Ah, there is your mistake, Lord Prescott," she said. "One cannot make suppositions regarding all artists. Artists are known to be eccentric and individualistic. They pride themselves on being unconventional. Therefore you should never expect a particular artist, such as Mr. Hamilton here, to approach other artists' work in any singular, conforming manner."
Thank God for sisters, Corinna thought. Lord Lincolnshire also looked impressed with Juliana's speech. He blinked madly. And then he coughed. And coughed again. A bit of froth appeared on his lips.
Looking alarmed, Sean dug out a handkerchief and dabbed it off. "I really think you need some air, Uncle. I insist."
"Take me to the…doors, then. And…let me see…you dance"—gasping, he looked to Deirdre—"with your wife."
Corinna was alarmed, too. "He cannot even get three syllables out before needing a breath," she said to her sister as they followed Sean, Deirdre, and Lord Lincolnshire into the ballroom. "Maybe you should ask James to have a look at him." Besides being an earl, Juliana's husband was also a physician.
"I'm sure Lord Lincolnshire has his own doctors."
"But he's getting worse."
"He's dying," her sister reminded her gently.
"But he might die before I finish his portrait, and he really wants to see it completed."
Juliana measured her for a moment. "All right. I'll ask James."
"Thank you," Corinna said.
They watched Sean wheel Lord Lincolnshire over to the open French doors, then turn to Deirdre and reluctantly escort her to the dance floor. The musicians struck up a country tune.
Corinna breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness it isn't a waltz."
"Why is that?" Juliana asked.
"Sean cannot waltz to save his life."
"Sean?"
"Mr. Delaney," Corinna corrected quickly. "And thank you for stepping in to save him. With any luck, that was the last in our long series of close calls."
A slow smile curved her sister's lips. "Our, hmm?"
"Yes, our. You, me, Mr. Delaney, Alexandra, Griffin. We're all in this together. All of us who know the secret."
Juliana's smile remained. "Our could also mean just you and Sean—I mean, Mr. Delaney." Now her smile widened at her own deliberate mistake. "The two of you belong together. Anyone can see it."
"We do not." The last thing Corinna wanted was her meddlesome sister interfering. "He's not from our world, Juliana. Griffin would never agree."
"Griffin has nothing against the man. In fact, he said he admires him. I asked him what he thought of Mr. Delaney earlier this evening, before he left and came back with Rachael."
Rachael and Griffin were dancing together even now. Unsurprisingly, Corinna's sister was looking rather smug about how that relationship was progressing. And Corinna wasn't at all surprised to hear Juliana had questioned Griffin about Sean, either. "Mr. Delaney is color-blind. He cannot even appreciate my paintings."
"There's something between the two of you," Juliana insisted.
"A mutual desire to see Lord Lincolnshire happily through his last days, that's all."
Her sister shrugged. "If you say so," she said agreeably, without sounding like she really agreed at all.
"Holy Hannah," Corinna muttered. "Go dance with your husband, will you? And don't forget to ask him to have a look at Lord Lincolnshire."
TWENTY-FIVE
SEAN HAD decided that the day he'd brought Lincolnshire to Hamilton's studio hadn't been the longest one of his life, after all.
This damn ball felt at least a week longer.
Escorting Deirdre off the dance floor, he noticed Corinna standing by the open French doors. She caught his eye, motioning her head toward the Billingsgates' garden before slipping outside.
Sean brought Deirdre in the same direction, walking her back to Lincolnshire. "Are you enjoying the fresh air, Uncle?"
"Very much. And…I enjoyed…seeing you dance."
"We enjoyed the dance, too." For the dear gent's benefit, Sean smiled at his sister and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm feeling a wee bit overheated after that, though, I'm afraid. Would you mind keeping my wife company while I step outdoors for a moment?"
"Not at all," Lincolnshire said, reaching for Deirdre's hand.
Leaving the two of them, Sean entered the garden, knowing he probably shouldn't, and immediately spotted Corinna on a path lit with twinkling lanterns. Beckoning for him to follow, she disappeared.
He briefly thought of turning back, but having come this far, he didn't feel it fair to leave her waiting. Following the sound of her light, running footsteps, he found her quite a distance down the path and off to the side, in the darkness of a small stand of trees. Though the area was shadowed, he could see the outline of her lovely form, not at all hidden by her slim, high-waisted dress. He walked closer, telling himself he shouldn't touch her, knowing he would.
Her scent wafted to him through the starlit night, flowery and sweet, underlaid with that astringent hint that reminded him she was an artist, a talented female who went her own way. But she was aristocratic, too. Beneath her facade of originality and forwardness, she was sheltered and unspoiled, a woman who had never wanted for anything. Like a bright, newly minted coin, nothing had tarnished her. She was shiny and pretty, and that perfection drew him. Tempted him toward a world where he didn't belong.
He knew that, and he'd tried to stay away the past few days because of it. He'd kissed her three times already—four if he counted the occasion he hadn't resisted pressing his lips to the nape of her neck—and he knew that was three or four times too many.
He also knew she didn't have the same reservations. She was impulsive and eager and ardent. He drew close, and when she raised her fingers to brush along his jaw he wasn't the least bit surprised. A moment later they were in each other's arms, their lips locked together.
It was frightening, this mad passion. He felt swamped. But the fear didn't stop him from taking what he wanted, from feasting on her mouth and running his hands down her back. From tasting her and finding that taste intoxicating. From pressing her against his body and reveling in the feel of her and enjoying her small sounds of delight.
When he drew back, they were both breathless. She moved closer again, close enough to lay her head against his chest. "I missed you the past three days," she said softly.
"It's sorry I am for that," he said, becau
se he was sorry, for disappointing her but also that he'd let things get to the point where she would be disappointed. And that he wasn't doing anything to stop that progression. "I've had things I've had to do."
"What things?" She pulled away a little and gazed up at him, her blue eyes looking black in the darkness. "What do you do, Sean, exactly?"
"Unfortunately, very little for myself since this began. 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." He smiled down at her, and because he couldn't help himself, he gave her another kiss. A short, gentle one this time. "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 whether he'd find himself content again if he couldn't. "I'll miss seeing you, though, when it's over."
"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 being in the center of things. He was in the cavalry, you know, before our older brother died. An officer. He led campaigns in the Peninsular War. Although he complains of too many responsibilities, I think in his heart he feels a little useless now. He'd like to find something of his own, something more challenging, more involving."
"Managing property can be very involving." Her brother sounded like a man he might admire. And if the man admired him as well, then…
There was no sense thinking in that direction. But he held Corinna a wee bit closer and pressed another kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the warm, floral scent of her hair. "We'd best get back," he said regretfully, taking her hand and easing them both out of the trees. "Or people will come looking for us."
Art of Temptation (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 3) Page 14
