Anne Barbour (20 page)

She glanced up from beneath her lashes. "I suppose I am not making a particle of sense, but I very much fear that, having met the Marquess of Belhaven, no other man will do for me."

"Oh, dear God," murmured Eden. What was there about the Derwent men, she wondered dazedly, that seemed to attract the Beckett women like lemmings to the nearest cliff? For she could not help but recall yet again the sense of contact she felt every time she was with Seth. Not that she felt Seth was the only man for her, of course. She was shaken by a swift, sudden inner turmoil. Good Lord, she didn't, did she?

Unwilling to pursue this line of thought, she rose from Zoë's bed.

"You're right, dear sister. You are talking arrant nonsense. I suppose there is nothing I can do to prevent you from making a mess of your life—beyond going to Father, of course and—"

"Eden!" Zoë's face whitened. "You would not! You've
never
done that! If you ... I'd never forgive you!"

"No, of course I won't. But, believe me, I'll do anything else in my power to keep you from making the biggest mistake of your life—up to and possibly including slipping something lethal into his lordship's soup."

Zoë giggled—a girlish, carefree sound that saddened Eden inutterably. "Oh, Eden, you are so absurd. I think that's why I love you, even when you are your most spinsterly disapproving self."

For the next week, Eden did not let her sister out of her sight. During the day, she accompanied Zoë on shopping expeditions, a picnic to Richmond Park with friends, a visit to Bullock's Egyptian Hall to see the latest in that establishment's collection of rarities from the ancient world, and even to tea with their mother at Grillon's Hotel, taken in company with an elderly relative up from the country. In the evenings, there was the usual round of balls, soirees, and dinner parties, at which she enacted her role of foil for Zoë's beauty. On these occasions, the girl did not so much retire to the ladies' withdrawing room without her sister close on her heels. Belhaven appeared at one or two of these functions, but appeared to pay little attention to Zoë beyond the exchange of a few innocuous pleasantries. After some days, Eden began to think that she had not so very much to fear in that direction after all.

Thus, she set off on her appointment with Mr. Rellihan with an untroubled mind. Surreptitiously bundling a small collection of her paintings into her father's carriage, she set off with her maid, her heart high with what she realized were perfectly absurd hopes. At their last meeting, the gallery owner's attitude had been anything but promising.

To her astonishment and great pleasure, however, Mr. Rellihan displayed a most flattering degree of attention toward her work. He examined each one carefully and set them against the walls of his shop, positioning them for effect among the works of other artists. At last, when Eden felt she had been holding her breath for hours, Mr. Rellihan expelled one of his own.

"Yes, yes, I believe we can find a buyer or two. Miss Beckett." Eden exhaled with an unladylike burst of gratification and surprise. "I particularly like your portraits. I realize that commissions for those will be contracted with individual patrons, but you must understand that if I display your other works, I shall naturally expect a commission on any such agreements."

Eden nodded wordlessly.

"Fortunately, the two endeavors will go hand in hand," continued Mr. Rellihan, rubbing his hands. "The more of your nature studies we sell, the more portraits will come your way, in all likelihood—and vice versa."

"Oh, yes," breathed Eden.

Mr. Rellihan went on to speak of the contract that he would have drawn up, the method of payment, and other mundane concerns, to which Eden, floating in a rosy cloud of disbelieving bliss, scarcely listened. When the gallery owner had finished enumerating the conditions under which they would operate in the future, she bade him a cordial good-bye. Emerging onto the street, she blinked, dazzled as much by the vision of the future upon which she had just embarked as by the blaze of morning sunlight that flooded Oxford Street.

Her first act upon arriving home was to pen a note to Seth, informing him of her good fortune. Afterward, she repaired to her studio to finish up a work in progress—another scene from the park, this time children at play, and to think about her next project. She was surprised, upon her descent to the breakfast room to join her mother and sister for a small nuncheon, to receive a missive from Seth, expressing his felicitations and his intention of calling on her that day to discuss the ramifications of the business end of her new career.

"For, if you don't mind," said Seth on his arrival at the Beckett home later that afternoon, "I would like to go over the Rellihan's proposed contract. I believe him to be an honest merchant, but I should not want to see you taken advantage of due to an ignorance of common business practice."

"Indeed, I would be most grateful. Of course—" She halted abruptly as her mother bustled into the room. Upon being apprised of the highly improper circumstance of her daughter's entertaining a gentleman in the drawing room sans chaperon, Lady Beckett had at once abandoned the laundry inventory she had been contemplating with the housekeeper and hurried to the drawing room to provide suitable chaperonage. If she felt any surprise that the gentleman had apparently come to see Eden rather than Zoë, she concealed the emotion admirably. When Mr. Lindow suggested that Miss Beckett might enjoy a ride to the gardens near Kensington Palace to enjoy the fruit trees blooming there, she made no demure, merely adjuring her daughter to don a warm pelisse, or at least a shawl, for if she was not mistaken, the wind would rise sharply later in the day.

Seth had hardly turned from Portman Square into Seymour Street when Eden began in a breathless rush. "Seth, he actually wants my paintings! He said one or two other artists are experimenting with what he calls stylistic impressions and they have proved highly popular. He says that the thing he likes about this style is that each artist is allowed such individual freedom of expression, and Mr. Rellihan says ..."

Seth's mouth curved in a smile of infinite tenderness. Her happiness filled him and made him want to enfold her—to keep the world at bay—to keep the glow that radiated from every fibre of her forever safe and secure.

It was not until they had reached the environs of the palace that Seth drew his curricle up near the Round Pond and, bidding his tiger to walk the horses, drew Eden along a path bordered by blooming apple and plum trees. Since the spot was nearly unknown to those wishing for a fashionable promenade, the two found themselves virtually alone in the shade cast by the low-hanging branches.

"Now, then, about this contract Mr. Rellihan wishes to form with you ..." he began.

"I have no compunction about such an arrangement," said Eden earnestly, "for any portrait commissions I receive will be due to his sponsorship. Actually," she mused, "I don't think I have the makings of a 'society portrait painter.'"

"I agree," commented Seth. "Your portraits are studies of the inner person. They are honest and seeking. Those with the means to have their likenesses painted are interested mainly in the outer person. They wish to be flattered, in the style of Gainsborough. They want the viewer to see their prosperity in the richness of their garb, and their material possessions in the background."

"That's very true," agree Eden thoughtfully. "I do like to get under my subjects' skin. In any event, it will be difficult to maintain my anonymity if I waltz into someone's home, paint pots and brushes in hand, one day and encounter them at my lady Highnose's ball the next evening."

"Quite," said Seth, laughing. "Of course, you could wear a disguise. Appearing in their drawing rooms, wearing a false nose and a wig would certainly provide a piquant air of mystery."

"Oh, yes," Eden cried delightedly. "And I could wear a voluminous cap and perhaps affect a limp."

"No one would know you in a hundred years," Seth assured her gravely. He paused and lifted his hand to brush a few stray blossom petals that had drifted into the cloud of her dark hair. Eden stood still under his ministrations, and when his fingers remained to trail along her cheek, she lifted her eyes to his.

Immediately, Seth felt a renewal of the sensation that he was sinking into the warm, soft, misty depths of her gaze. Slowly, almost wonderingly, his head bent to hers until at last his lips covered hers in a kiss that was warm and searching. The feel of her in his arms was unlike anything he had experienced before—except for the last time he had kissed her. Her supple womanly curves pressed against his body, making him wild with desire. No, not just desire. He recognized dimly through the maelstrom of wanting that coursed through him that what he felt for Eden Beckett went far beyond lust. He wanted to hold her, to protect her, to somehow draw her within himself, to keep her safe forever.

He had never felt more frightened in his life.

Chapter Fifteen

The sound of approaching voices brought Seth back to reality. He stepped back abruptly, steadying Eden, whose arms dropped with equal suddenness from around his neck.

"Good God," whispered Seth. "I must apologize, Eden. I don't know what. .. That is, I must have been .. ." In any event, he concluded, "I... I apologize."

"Yes," said Eden when she had recovered enough breath to speak. She cursed herself for the inanity of her reply, but she felt as though all her strength had drained out of the bottoms of her jean boots, to be replaced by a tremulous weakness that tended to make her knees give way and her heart pound like a child's drum.

She turned and walked back toward the curricle. Seth hurried to catch up with her, and cupped a hand under her elbow.

"I did not mean to distress you, my dear," he said softly.

Eden swung about to face him directly.

"I am not distressed ... precisely. I have to admit that I like kissing you, Seth. You are very accomplished in the art. However, it is not my practice to fall into a man's arms as I seem to do with you, and I am more overset by my own actions than I am with you. After all, men are predatory by nature, and one must not be surprised when they, er, seize the initiative. I wish us to remain friends, however, and I hope you feel the same. So ... again, let us just forget this happened."

Seth studied her face for so long that Eden felt the heat rise to her cheeks once more. "I agree with you, my dear," he said at last, "except for the part about forgetting it happened. I'm afraid I can't do that. Indeed, the moment will remain one of my happiest memories."

At this, Eden found herself blushing and speechless. Silently, she accepted his arm once more and proceeded sedately down the path at his side.

Their conversation on the way home dwelled on trivialities. Eden constructed elaborate castles in the air, describing her upcoming success as a painter of fashionable portraits. Seth tried to initiate her into the arcane world of contracts and investments, with little success. They were both laughing companionably as the curricle drew up before Mrs. Nassington's home. Seth declined to recoup his strength with a cup of tea, and deposited her inside the house with due ceremony and a promise to visit again in a few days.

It was not until Eden had removed her bonnet, pelisse, and gloves and ascended the stairs to her bedchamber that she allowed her thoughts to return to that shattering experience under the apple trees at Kensington Palace. She flung herself face-down on her bed, giving herself up to the memory.

Despite what she hoped was her poised discourse on the subject to Seth, she had been shaken to her core by the heat of his kiss. The fire ignited by his lips on hers had surged through her like a lightning strike, and the feel of his hands moving along her back had nearly undone her. All she had wanted to do was curl into him, never to be separated again. She wanted the kiss to go on forever. And she wanted more. She wanted his hands on her, those wonderful, strong hands. She wanted ...

She drew a deep, shuddering breath. She turned over and gazed at the ceiling. She very much feared she was falling in love with Seth Lindow. For the first time she thought seriously of marriage—marriage to a man with whom she could join in a true union of spirit and body. Her thoughts drifted off into rosy visions of long walks down secluded lanes, of evenings spent with her head close to his before a cozy fire, of waking to find him next to her, his long body curved about hers ...

Humph, my girl, she thought abruptly. This nonsense is all well and good, but what about Seth? It was obvious to the meanest intelligence that he had enjoyed the kiss he had instigated. He had no doubt enjoyed the embrace in her studio a few weeks earlier. A few moments of pleasure, however, was not enough to drive a man to the brink of matrimony. But, was that all Seth had found? A few moments of pleasure? She had sensed more in his touch. In truth, she had believed him as stirred by the episode as she.

"You're being a fool," she said aloud. "You are counting eggs and crossing bridges. Seth Lindow is your friend, and a couple of kisses do not a commitment make. You'd best be content with his friendship."

The next few weeks seemed to Eden the happiest she had ever known. To her delight, Mr. Rellihan sold three of her paintings. To be sure, one had gone to the Duke of Derwent, and one to his man of affairs, but a third had been purchased by a wealthy merchant. This gentleman, though he might smell of the shop, had a genuine eye for fine art, and was in the habit of acquiring paintings simply because he liked them. In addition, the Countess of Weirhaven, having seen the portrait of the Simms twins, declared that she must have just such a study of her two darling little daughters.

When Eden appeared at Weirhaven House to begin work on the project, she was accompanied by her maid, whom she had taken into her confidence. Makepeace had been in her service since her come-out and was completely devoted to her mistress, thus Eden had no hesitation in entrusting the woman with her plans for her future. For this first sitting by the Weirhaven offspring, she wore an austere gray linen round gown, and tucked her hair firmly under a matching, unadorned cap. Since she had never met the countess and thought it unlikely that they would encounter each other at any social function, Eden felt fairly secure in the hope that, so far, the secret of her career was safe.