Artful Deceptions (8 page)

“And you can remember nothing of the name? That would be a most valuable piece of information if you could provide it.” Attired in a brown hammer-tailed coat and immaculate buff breeches, impatiently snapping his beaver hat against his leg, Galen appeared every inch the commanding lord as he stared down the artist’s reluctant pose.

“It has been a long time, Locke. I would be fortunate to remember my own mother’s name after the passing of so many years. Only the circumstances caused me to remember the work at all.”

Unsatisfied with this, Galen ungallantly probed further. “The setting is Welsh, is it not? I believe I recognize the mountain in the background.”

Stiffly the artist drew himself up and nodded. “One must experience all types of settings before one can develop the expertise to know the best.”

“Does the name Llewellyn mean anything to you?” Arianne couldn’t bear the suspense any longer. Rhys had known the subject of the painting, of that she was certain. And with a name like his, he had to have a Welsh heritage. The coincidence was too much to be ignored.

Sir Thomas’ eyes lit with memory. “Llewellyn! Yes, yes, I believe that does sound familiar. The family name, perhaps. Of course, there are many such of that name, but it does strike a chord.”

“The family name?” Galen questioned casually.

“Yes, of course.” Sir Thomas gave him a disdainful look. “I only work for the best of families. I cannot remember the title name, but the man who commissioned the portrait was very definitely a wealthy baron.”

Galen and Arianne exchanged glances and quickly made their departure. Barons were easily traceable.

Chapter Six

“Here it is!” Melanie triumphantly pointed her finger at the page of the open tome. “Baron Llewellyn, with properties all along the Welsh border.”

Galen lifted the book from her grasp and carried it to the light of the library window to study the details. “This just describes Owen Llewellyn. I’ve met the man, perfectly harmless old gentleman. He’s Rhys’s uncle, I believe.”

Arianne clasped her hands in her lap and tried to hide her perplexity. The sunshine pouring in the library’s west window illuminated the light colors of Lord Locke’s hair until he appeared some lordly angel outlined against the panes. If only it were a Bible he was reading ...

She smiled at the image and tried to concentrate on the argument around her. If Rhys truly were of a noble family, then he certainly had not meant anything serious by his words of the other night. But he had seemed in so much pain that she could not believe he was of the same charmed world as Melanie and Galen.

Looking up, Galen caught Arianne’s unhappy frown and wondered at it. Passing the book back to Melanie, he leaned against the shelves and studied Melanie’s cousin. Arianne was dressed almost severely in a blue frock adorned by nothing more than a frill at the high neck and hem. But the style was becoming to her height and the graceful arch of her long throat. She would do better to wear a softer coiffure, and the purely masculine urge to know what her chestnut tresses would look like upon her shoulders struck him unexpectedly.

Galen pulled his attention back to the woman he intended to make his wife as Melanie searched the shelves for an older volume. Melanie’s golden ringlets danced about her throat, and it took no stretch of the imagination to know how they would look spread upon a pillow. He could see her now, all clothed in lace and frills and looking expectantly to him for her initiation into womanhood. It would be a pleasure to teach her, and he had no business considering any other woman in such a way.

But Arianne’s unhappy frown itched at the back of Locke’s mind even as Melanie produced the volume containing information on the previous holder of the barony. Perhaps it was the fact that as a child he had always longed for brothers and sisters of his own, and he envied Miss Richards her large family. Someday he meant to have a large family, but in the meantime there was no harm in trying to help the Richards’ youths. If Arianne wouldn’t accept his offer for the painting, he would have to track it down.

Melanie gave a purr of satisfaction and held the book from Galen’s grasp as she read the details of the prior baron’s history out loud. “‘The eldest son of the fifth baron, David Llewellyn, is married to the former Elizabeth Jones, and has one son named after his paternal grandfather, Rhys Llewellyn.’”

She slammed the book closed and gave the room in general a victorious look. “I knew it. I knew he came from good family. So why is he not Lord Llewellyn instead of Owen?”

Galen snatched the book from her and turned the pages to the proper notation. “Why does it say nothing of Elizabeth Jones? These things always give the ancestry of everyone on into infinity.” He read the brief paragraph, frowned, and flipped pages in search of noble Joneses.

Melanie gave an insouciant shrug. “What does it matter? She might be a Gypsy for all I care. The mystery is why Rhys is not baron instead of his uncle.”

“The mystery is the missing painting,” Arianne pointed out wryly. “And the woman in the painting certainly appeared to be more Gypsy than English. What does she have to do with any of this?”

Galen slammed the book shut and heaved it on the table. He could answer Melanie’s question, but he was no closer to the truth on Arianne’s. “This is getting us nowhere. When is Evan returning? He can probably explain more than we can find in any musty tome.”

“There is some question in Parliament for which he means to poll his constituents, or some such faradiddle. It would be faster to write to Gordon than to track down Evan. But neither of my brothers is likely to tell me anything, so you’ll have to be the one who questions them.” Melanie started for the escritoire as if to provide pen and paper right then and there.

“I’m not writing to your brothers asking for gossip.” Irritably Galen removed himself from the wall where he had been leaning. He held his hand out to Arianne. “It is time I returned Miss Richards to her demanding family. I can’t see that it is our business to inquire into Llewellyn’s antecedents, in any case. We will just have to take a new route in search of the portrait.”

Melanie instantly fell into her hostess role, summoning smiles and the butler at the same time, urging Arianne to return quickly, reminding Galen of an affair they were both invited to, and seeing her guests out with all the politeness she had been taught. Only after they were gone did the look of determination return to her features as she gazed up the stairs where her brother’s wife rested.

* * * *

“If you think Melanie has forgotten the question about Rhys and his uncle, you are all about in your head, my lord,” Arianne murmured as the carriage rolled down the broad streets of Grosvenor Square. She still felt nervous at being seated in such elegant equipage beside a gentleman of the first stare. Galen Locke had the height and looks that would draw the eye anywhere he went, but she felt particularly conspicuous seated on this high perch. She tried to appear cool and confident as heads swiveled to watch them, but her fingernails would draw blood from her palms did she not wear gloves.

“I think I know enough of the story to know it isn’t one that Evan is going to repeat to his sister. I fail to see how old gossip will return the painting. It has been over a week, Miss Richards, and the portrait has not appeared in any of the places where I would expect it to be sold. We must accept that it has been stolen for other reasons than profit and will probably never be seen again. I’ve spoken to Christie’s and to Sir Thomas, and they’ve agreed that a hundred guineas would be a fair price to replace it. I will deposit that amount wherever you ask, Miss Richards. I will not have your family suffer for my mistake.”

Arianne sat rigidly beside him, staring straight ahead and not at the elegant gentleman handling the reins. “I cannot accept, my lord. It would not be at all proper. I took a risk and lost. You are in no way to blame for that.”

Determined to win this argument, Galen steered the horses toward Hyde Park rather than in the direction of St. James’s. He refused to take her home until he had convinced her to take the money. “My name is Galen. If your cousin can call me that, there is no reason you cannot. And I don’t intend to take no for an answer. If you wish to see your home again, you had best acquiesce quickly.”

Arianne sent him a swift look, but his genial features had lost none of their affability. If she looked closely, she could see Lord Locke was not precisely handsome. His jaw was too large and his nose slightly crooked. And though his eyebrows were more brown than blond, they were not as dramatic as Byron’s, or even Rhys’s. Although he possessed all the imperturbable presence of a proper London nobleman, she responded more to his good-natured friendliness. It was that more than looks that made him handsome in her eyes. His obstinacy now was only part of his gentlemanly nature, and she refused to take advantage of it.

“I shall scream and tell everyone I am being abducted,” Arianne calmly informed him, lifting her chin and meeting the eyes of the occupants of the first carriage they passed. The occupants stared at her with curiosity, no doubt wondering why such a dowdy pheasant was in the company of the fashionable Lord Locke, but Arianne was engaged in a different battle at the moment, and stares no longer rankled.

Galen fought the amused lift of his lips. “Your father would be forced to call me out, in that case. Or I would have to marry you or be named a rake. Does either alternative appeal to you? And surely by now I should be allowed to call you Arianne, shouldn’t I? It’s a lovely name, one I’ve been quite eager to use.”

“You are making light of me, my lord.” Angrily Arianne fiddled with the strings of her nearly empty reticule. “I have done nothing to deserve the insult.”

“I’m not making light of you.” Patiently Galen tried to retrieve the wildly departing reins of this conversation. “I am merely pointing out the foolishness of your position. A hundred guineas means nothing to me. I will lose that much at the gaming tables tonight. But my honor is valuable, if only to me. It would impugn my honor not to make good the loss of that painting.”

“Balderdash.” Arianne refused to succumb to his temptations. Just the thought of accepting such a sum from the gentleman beside her raised heat to her cheeks. What did he think she was?

“It’s not balderdash!” Galen spoke so sharply his horses gave nervous whinnies and pulled at their bridles. Galen fought against the sudden rush of temper and returned his attention to his cattle rather than the irritating woman beside him. “I am not offering to buy you. I merely wish to make up my error. I can see no wrong in that.”

“That comes of being from two different worlds, my lord. If you will put me down right here, I shall walk home. I see no need to carry this conversation any further.”

“I am not putting you down anywhere but the door to your home. You are being unnecessarily obstinate, Miss Richards. And confound it, if you don’t stop ‘lording’ me, I shall throw a proper fit right here in front of everyone.”

“It has been my experience that the very wealthy can get away with all types of eccentric behavior. Be my guest, my lord. Throw a fit, then please return me to my home or allow me to climb down from this monstrous conveyance.”

“I am likely to strangle you if I have this fit, Miss Richards. And wealth has nothing to do with anything. It is unseemly for a woman of any station to be so damned obstinate. I shall go to your father and offer reparations for the loss. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that in the first place.” Galen shook the reins and steered the carriage toward the far gate.

“You wouldn’t!” Arianne turned and stared at him in disbelief. “I trusted you with my confidence. You have no right to betray me now.”

“I have every right if you continue on this course of obstinacy. It’s for your own good.” Too furious now to judge whether he had the right or wrong of it, Galen stuck to his position. The chit would have the money and her family would travel to the country if he had to shove the blunt down her throat to do so.

A tangle of carriages waited at the gate to exit while the contents of a vegetable cart were hastily swept to the side and the owner wrangled with the elderly ladies in the coach causing the accident. Galen was forced to come to a halt, and seeing her opportunity, Arianne gathered up her skirt and her courage, and catching the frame of the phaeton for support, swung herself toward the ground.

“Where in hell do you think you’re going!” Locke shouted after her as the carriages began to move and his horses pulled to follow.

Heads turned at the sound of the elegant nobleman screaming like a fishwife after the retreating figure of a rather dowdy female. The female made no effort to answer, and much to their delight, the
ton
was treated to the sight of the notorious whip hauling at his reins and attempting to pull his rakish phaeton from the jam toward the grass in pursuit.

Hurrying as far from the road as she could get, Arianne ignored the commotion behind her. She wanted to scream in return. She wanted to stamp her foot and throw the tantrum Lord Locke had threatened to throw. And she wanted to fling herself to the grass and cry until her heart broke and there was no further reason to cry again. That such an impossible man could bring her to this state was not logical, but logic had nothing to do with the emotions careening through her right now.

She was not normally an emotional person. She had much too much to do to indulge in emotional tirades. Life was meant to be attacked logically and practically if one were to survive in this world. She didn’t have time for the fits and starts of the wealthy like Lord Locke. But all the same, she wanted to strangle him for putting her through this scene.

She heard him call her name once more, but she was almost out of range. There would be no room for him to turn his phaeton around and come after her without tearing across the grass and endangering pedestrians. Once into the trees, she slowed and gave herself time to breathe. She could walk home now without being disturbed by any more insults. After this incident, she could be certain Lord Galen Locke would no more darken her door.