Artful Deceptions (5 page)

She wanted to ask why, but it was evident he didn’t mean to tell her. Although they had been much in each other’s company this past week, they had observed all the proprieties and could not claim more than a passing acquaintance. Acquaintances did not ask personal questions of each other.

But Rhys Llewellyn’s request raised their relationship to some new level for which she was not prepared. Arianne frowned slightly and released her hands from his grip. “If it is so very important, I would like to honor your request, but I’m not certain that I can do so. Lord Locke has been dealing with the auction house for me. He would have to be the one to make the request.”

“It will not create a hardship for you?” Rhys inquired anxiously, his dark gaze searching her face for any evasion of the truth.

Arianne gave a wry grimace.
“We have waited this long, I cannot see that it matters if we wait awhile longer. When should I tell Lord Locke to make it available?”

Llewellyn’s carved visage closed up again, as if anxiety and concern were no part of him any longer. Only a note of gratitude could be found in his words. “I will speak with him myself. You cannot know how much I am indebted to you, Miss Richards. Perhaps someday I’ll be free to tell you.”

“I would appreciate that. You have my curiosity all astir. Won’t you come in to have some tea?”

Rhys hesitated, contemplating her bravely refurbished bonnet and the intriguing face beneath, sensing the first tentacles of interest drawing them together. But he had resisted stronger bonds than these, and for good reason. Making a polite bow, he murmured his excuses, and was on his way before he could change his mind.

* * * *

“Rhys did that? I cannot believe it of him. I shall ask Evan of it. They know each other very well, but they’re both as close-mouthed as hermits. Do you think I should ply him with wine first?”

Arianne laughed at Melanie’s reaction and shook her head. “Your brother would suspect something immediately if you were to cozen up to him like that. It really is none of our concern if Mr. Llewellyn doesn’t wish to talk about it. Perhaps there is some sentimental attachment to the subject and he wishes to find the funds to buy it for himself.”

“Rhys never takes his head out of his papers long enough to recognize the difference between a fly and a hole in the wall. I daresay you could cover his walls with paintings and he would think them wallpaper. No, there is a story here, and I wish to know it. He and Evan have always been very secretive about something. It makes me so angry, I could kick them.” Melanie stomped her slipper-clad foot to prove her point.

That was a rather startling reaction for one who spent the better part of her life laughing and making light of most subjects, and Arianne raised her eyebrows. But the momentary aberration had passed, and Melanie was already flitting about her brother’s library, unleashing her abundant energy on her plotting.

“Evan joining the cavalry was to be expected. He thinks himself some kind of white knight dashing off to save the world. But it wasn’t at all the kind of thing that Rhys would do. It wasn’t until they came back from the war that I noticed he was acting strangely. I thought perhaps it was the injury to his foot that made him so ...” Melanie searched for an appropriate word and tried, “Aloof. Distant. Rhys didn’t used to be so. He used to treat me as if I were a real lady, even when I was little. We would go riding together, and talk of books, and he would tell me the funniest stories. But then he came home from the war and everything was changed. He works and scarcely comes to the house anymore, and when he does, it is only to see Evan or Gordon. The only reason he has been with us this last week is that Galen insisted on it.”

That was a dampening thought, but Arianne tried not to give it too much consequence. She couldn’t blame Lord Locke for wishing to have Melanie to himself and insisting on a fourth to the party to aid in that endeavor. But it would have been pleasant to think that Mr. Llewellyn had joined them willingly.

“Since he must work to support himself, it is very possible that he didn’t wish you to think of him as a suitor,” Arianne answered slowly, in response to the frustration in Melanie’s voice. “When you were young, it was permissible for him to be your friend. But now you are an eligible young lady, and it would not do to harm your reputation by encouraging someone who may not be quite suitable. It is possible that Mr. Llewellyn is trying to protect you.”

Melanie brightened briefly at the thought that Rhys only meant to protect her, then drew her exquisite features into a thoroughly formidable frown as she understood the implications. “But that is just it, you see! Evan would never have invited him to the house if he were not of perfectly respectable family and consequence. I know Evan has disreputable friends among all sorts, but he introduces only the most proper people to me. Rhys never went without before the war, and I have met his uncle and know his family is accepted by the
ton
and lacks for nothing.

“There is no reason I know of that he cannot dress as respectably and live as comfortably as Galen. I think I shall strangle him.”

Chapter Four

Lord Galen Locke
,
sixth baron of that name, adjusted his impeccable gloves, picked up his ebony carved walking stick with the gold crown and the gleaming black beaver hat to be arranged on his golden curls, and strode out of the house. At peace with the world, he hummed a merry tune as he chose to enjoy the warm spring night and walk to the club where he had arranged to meet Rhys.

He liked to think of himself as an uncomplicated fellow, with no grudges to grind and no ambitions to distort his view of the world as a very pleasant place to play in. As an only child, he knew he would inherit fortune and title with his father’s passing, and as he did not indulge himself to excess with wine, women, horses, or gambling, he had sufficient wherewithal to support himself very comfortably in the meantime.

Although many another gentleman in his idle position filled his time with the physical pleasures London had to offer, Galen’s interests were more intellectual. Not that he didn’t enjoy good horseflesh and an occasional bout of fisticuffs to keep in shape, but they weren’t sufficient to stimulate his mind or senses. With the extra time and money he had on his hands while waiting for his father to surrender the operations of his estate, Galen found pleasure in the arts.

Again, he wasn’t the first gentleman to follow his Grand Tour with a passion for collecting, but his tour had been limited by Boney’s war, and his passion had been whetted by collections here at home. His father’s estate had a fine gallery, and his interest had begun when pursuing a particular Turner landscape to complete one wall. One Turner hadn’t been enough, and he had begun to search out other suitable examples when the available supply of Turners was exhausted.

In consequence, Locke had begun to meet the artists who produced the paintings he most enjoyed. Constable had not yet made a name for himself, but Galen was certain he would soon, and he patronized the artist frequently. He knew Sir Thomas Lawrence personally, although he wasn’t any more fond of the man than of his paintings. But the acquaintance led him to new and different artists who in turn led him to learn more of the old and valuable art being sold for a song in the aftermath of war. His pursuit had become almost as much of a passion as he would allow himself.

For a proper English gentleman did not allow himself passions; they were upsetting to logic and the orderly running of things. Galen had been taught that at his father’s knee and learned the lesson well. It was most likely the reason that he and his father seldom spoke now. The earl was a busy man and had taken time to lecture his son only when his heir had indulged himself in excess, whether it were of high spirits or liquor or song.

Perhaps another man would have chosen to consistently indulge in excess in order to obtain his parent’s attention, but Galen was made of stronger stuff. He was an only child, after all, and obedience was trained into him. Not for him were the romps in the haystacks with brothers and sisters, or wild races through the fields with neighboring children. His had been an orderly upbringing with the proper tutors and the right sort of amusements. And so after a while his father did not need to
notice him at all.

And he had turned out quite excellently well. Galen grinned at the thought and pushed his hat to a cocky angle with his walking stick. His main fault was that he wasn’t serious enough. Perhaps he would turn serious when he had an estate to run. Meanwhile, he found it amusing to watch people, entertaining to be the center of attention when he entered a room, and pleasant to drink wine, make love, and enjoy art. Not necessarily in that order.

But that was the order for tonight’s entertainment. Galen knew he should be seriously considering marriage, but until he was ready to take that step, he had healthy urges that shouldn’t be neglected. It had occurred to him upon occasion to set up a mistress, but as in wife-hunting, he had not found a woman that he was serious enough about to consider. So when the need came upon him, he met with some other cronies and went visiting.

The house he had in mind for tonight was not so delightfully stimulating as that of the Wilsons, but he had his company for the evening to consider. Harriet Wilson and her sisters were priced high, too high for Rhys Llewellyn to afford. So they would take their chances at one of the more respectable bawdy houses in Covent Garden.

The problem of Llewellyn caused a momentary frown to crease Locke’s seamless brow, but not for long. He would ply the gentleman with good food and wine and an artless evening, and by morning he would know what was on the man’s mind. Rhys was a good friend, but he’d never met a more stubborn man. What in hell could that painting possibly have to do with the fact that Rhys’s family considered him to be a bastard?

* * * *

Rhys met Locke at the club as planned and they ate and drank and amused themselves with tales of old, but by the time they were on the street again, the ex-soldier was more taciturn than ever on the subject that most concerned them.

“Devil take it, Llewellyn, I’ll buy the painting myself if that is what concerns you. I meant to anyway. I just thought Miss Richards would receive a fairer price if it went through the auction house. You can hang the damn thing on your wall and contemplate your muse as much as you wish, or buy it from me when you’re feeling flush, it makes no mind to me. I just don’t see why you must make the lady wait for her money. You, of all people, must understand what it is like to scrimp and save. She could undoubtedly use the ready.”

“I would not wish to feel obligated to you if the painting commands a high price, that is all,” Rhys answered stiffly. “Good intentions are well and good, but common sense would win out if the thing went higher than it is worth. And I really would not wish it to fall into other hands.”

“And you’re not only not going to tell me why you want the damn thing, but you aren’t going to tell me why in the name of Jupiter it should command more than the hundred guineas a portrait of Lawrence’s brings currently?”

“No.” The reply was simple and curt and brought them to the house they had meant to visit.

Galen cursed and knocked upon the door, and they entered to the usual fawning welcomes of delight. Glancing around at the garish taste of the decor and the flamboyant dress of their hostess and her “girls,” Galen made a new resolve to begin a serious search for a wife in the morning. It would be much more suitable if one could meet an intelligent woman in impeccable dress in the quiet tastefulness of one’s club and take her home to indulge these harmless needs. Why mankind made sex sleazy and tawdry was beyond his desire to imagine. It was high time he acquired a wife when he began to think like that.

Rhys wasn’t any more communicative when sipping from a snifter of brandy with a half-dressed nymph wrapped around his shoulders than he had been at dinner. The girl was short and dark and perhaps a trifle too plump, but a mischievous urchin with a smile that teased. Remembering other smiles from other women, Galen began a methodical search through his memory for the ones that pleased him most. It gave him something to do while deciding which of the ladies to choose.

Undoubtedly Melanie’s smile stood out from all the others. He’d known the chit since childhood. She had never been the whining sort of brat that many another of his friends’ younger sisters had been. She was always pleasant and smiling and happy and well-behaved. Well, almost always. Her behavior on the way to Christie’s the other day was an oddity he had not bothered to investigate. But she had become her usual self quickly enough, and Galen thought her usual self was all that a man could ask.

Yes, Melanie was very definitely the sort of girl for him. She would make a proper earl’s wife when the time came, and in the meantime she would afford him much amusement. They knew each other well and she would know precisely what to expect from him. He really should have thought of this sooner, and he could have been going home to a laughing conversation with his wife rather than sitting in this disreputable parlor watching an overdressed, overweight hostess go in search of a better selection for him.

But even as Galen sorted Melanie out from all the others, his memory kept snagging on a barely perceptible winsome smile that appeared and disappeared so quickly as to leave no trace. Why he should remember that smile, he had no clue, unless it had something to do with the haunting enchantment of the Mona Lisa’s. And he really didn’t think he could classify Miss Arianne Richards as a Mona Lisa. Not to mention that she was much too prim and respectable to be in that dubious lady’s company, but it would never occur to her to seduce a man with a smile. No, it must be just that she so seldom smiled, a man noticed when she did.

Satisfied with that decision, Galen gave a nod of agreement as the hostess led out a pleasantly blond young lady of pleasing proportions. The girl’s smile showed healthy white teeth, and she clung to his arm quite agreeably. Galen set down his snifter, gave Rhys a nod, and set out in the direction of the stairs.