Flirting With Fortune (14 page)

Stepping to the window, he draped himself across it like a lovesick maiden and gazed out, his eyebrows lifted and knitted as though hope itself resided in the rooftops beyond the glass.

She smacked his shoulder lightly. “Oh stop. You shouldn’t tease me.”

He dropped his ridiculous expression and chuckled. “Yes, I know. I never tease anyone, actually. I doona know why I canna seem to stop myself when you’re near.”

What a thing to say. It didn’t sound like a compliment, but it certainly felt like one. “Perhaps that means I put you at ease.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve let myself become too familiar around you. It’s a social sin that I should feel much more concerned about than I am.” His expression bordered on boyish, especially with his tousled hair. Lord but she loved the rumpled version of the man. He was always so proper, she felt as though she were seeing him in a way few ever did.

“Hold that.”

His brows dipped together as he blinked in confusion. “Hold what?”

“That,” she said, waving her hands around to encompass his position. “Your pose, your expression, whatever you were thinking about just then.”

He went stiff, doing exactly as she said. She rolled her eyes. “No, don’t go rigid. Just relax. Breathe. Be still, not frozen.”

He loosened up a bit, and she smiled. “Yes, that’s better. Give me a moment. I’ll be right back.”

She scurried around the room, rooting out a wide notebook with blank pages and a pencil. She dragged a tall stool over to a spot just in front of him and sat down. “All right. Now, turn your head a bit to the right and look out as if there is something interesting right outside the window.”

“That’s requiring quite a bit of imagination from a barrister in training.”

She widened her eyes meaningfully at him, and he sighed and obeyed. “Excellent. Now tip your head down a bit . . . a little more. That’s good. Now relax your left arm and lean a bit onto the casing. There—perfect.” The daylight illuminated half his face, sending the other half into soft shadow. It made the scale of grays and whites that much more dramatic, highlighting all the angles and planes that she loved so well.

She set to work on the drawing, sketching in his general outline, the shape of the window, and the lines of his limbs. It was quick work, and she glanced up repeatedly as she went about it. After only a few minutes, she looked up to find him watching her. “Colin,” she admonished, pointing her pencil at him, “look outside.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, not appearing the least bit chastised. He averted his gaze to the window again, and she went back to work.

Less than a minute later, she glanced up and found herself caught in his gaze once more. “Ahem,” she prompted.

“Such a taskmaster,” he teased, shaking his head, “especially when the view inside is vastly preferable to anything outside.”

She bit her upper lip, fighting against the pleased smile that threatened to encourage him. “Now you sound like my brother. Richard is forever saying things like that.”

That won her exactly what she had intended. With a mild scowl—who wants to be compared to a woman’s brother, after all—he turned to look back outside.

“Now the angle is all wrong. Chin down, please. No, more to the right. No, that’s not quite right either. Just a moment,” she said, standing up and setting her notebook on the stool.

Stepping up to him, she reached out to adjust his angle, but realized all at once that her hands were gloveless and he was no family member to be casually arranged to her liking. She froze, her hand only inches away from his chin. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

She started to drop her hand, but he smiled and caught her by the elbow. “No, it’s fine. My father did this a thousand times. Consider me your still life, to be adjusted at will.”

She drew a slow breath, trying not to betray her wildly pounding heart. This was art, after all. Arranging one’s subject was to be expected. When she nodded, he released his gentle hold and lifted his head, inviting her to do with him what she would.

Wetting her suddenly dry lips, she slipped her hand beneath his chin, touching the surprisingly smooth skin stretched across his angular jaw. He watched her, his eyes tracking hers even as she tilted his chin in just the right angle. He responded to the lightest of touches, moving easily with her direction.

“There,” she breathed, not quite able to find her voice. “I think that’s good.”

“Are you certain?”

Beatrice nodded, the movement slightly jerky under the weight of his gaze. She should step back, she knew she should, but something in his smoky eyes held her rooted in place, her skirts brushing his legs. With the way he leaned against the casing, the difference in their heights wasn’t as great as it might have been, making him seem all the more accessible.

“You wouldn’a rather have my chin tilted down a bit more?” He lowered his head, pressing his jaw more firmly into her hand and closing the distance between him and her upturned face.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out reason and thought, narrowing her world to the warmth of his skin against her fingers and the incredibly intoxicating scent of his breath as it caressed her cheek. When she didn’t move, he reached up and slid his fingers over hers, flattening her palm against the curve of his jaw.

His eyes never left hers, and she watched as they darkened and his pupils widened, drawing her toward him without even moving a muscle. She swayed forward, drawn by his heat, and his scent, and the intensity of his gaze. Even as he bent toward her, she lifted her face to him, seeking, eager, driven by a need she never knew she possessed.

And then his lips touched hers.

T
he scent of lilac and fresh rain washed over him as Colin gave in to the overwhelming need to kiss her, letting his lips press against hers with a gentleness that belied the driving desire that raced through his body. She smelled of home, and innocence, and happiness, all wrapped up in the sweetest of packages.

He held his body rigidly still, forcing himself not to swallow her up in his arms, letting her have the control. After a long, perfect moment, she pulled away, peering up at him through her golden lashes with wide-eyed wonder.

She didn’t say a word, just looked at him with those huge blue eyes as her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. His own breathing refused to be calmed—he could hardly believe he had just kissed her!

Her tongue darted out and swept across her beautiful lips, bringing his attention to them once more. He could feel the warmth of her body only inches from him, a siren call that begged him to pull her to him and kiss her properly, to tangle his tongue with hers and wrap his arms around her.

God, he needed space, or he would do just that. She was an innocent, and she sure as hell didn’t need the likes of him corrupting her.

He started to straighten, moving slowly so not to upset her.

“Wait,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

He immediately froze, arrested by the look in her eyes as much as the tone of her voice.

“It’s just . . .” She trailed off, looking unsure of what to say. Swallowing, she drew a deep breath, rose up on her toes, and pressed her mouth full across his.

He was so surprised, he didn’t react at first. But when her hands stole up around his neck, pulling him even closer to her, he gave in to the kiss. It was exactly what he wanted, what his body craved, and he couldn’t stop his own arms from encircling her slender waist. She was somehow bold and tentative all at once—a little bit wicked and a lot tempting.

Her lips parted, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She responded at once, sliding hers over his in a dance that made his heart hammer. He heard nothing but her soft moan, felt nothing but her body against his, tasted nothing but her sweet mouth. She inhabited his every sense, and he loved it.

When at last the kiss ended, he was near light-headed with the pounding of his poor heart and his desire for her. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly swollen as she stepped back. “Now
that
was a proper first kiss.”

He broke into a broad grin, shaking his head at her. No one could ever master her perfect mix of frank adorableness. “I’d say that was a good deal more than proper. I feel as though I should apologize for taking advantage of you, but I’m fairly certain you have the advantage here.”

“Exactly the way I like it.” Her eyes shone with impish delight, and he resisted the urge to tuck her beneath his chin, hugging her to him. “Now, then, about that pose.”

The world was still as it was before the kiss—he was sure of it—but for him, everything somehow felt different. Beatrice didn’t just respect him, didn’t simply admire his father and enjoy the company of the man’s son. No, clearly she saw him, Colin, and liked him as much as he did her. No one kissed like that without the hot simmer of attraction burning deep inside them. That thought brought a rather pleased smile to his lips.

He leaned back against the window and spread his arms. “Care to adjust my position?”

Her laughter was sweet and merry. “Indeed I would, but I think perhaps I should refrain. And truly, it’s getting quite late. I should probably be getting home.”

“Of course.” As she gathered up the notebook and pencil, he went to the easel and plucked a handful of brushes out of one of the cups. “Here. Take these with you. Perhaps they will give you some inspiration as you work this week.”

Her gaze settled on his offering before rising up to meet his. “You are too kind to me.” She accepted the offering, tucking the handful of brushes against her chest, along with the folded piece of paper that contained her sketch. “Although I hardly think I shall be in want of inspiration this week.”

With a wink, she turned, collected her maid, and made good her retreat. He stood in the window, watching as they emerged onto the street below and headed toward St. James’s Square. Just before she disappeared around the corner, she turned around, touched her fingertips to her lips, and offered up a small wave.

And with that, he was lost.

•   •   •

“What has you smiling so brightly this afternoon? You look like the cat that got the cream.”

Jane eyed Beatrice over her teacup as she took a dainty sip. Her eyes were more green than brown just then, which meant Beatrice had clearly piqued her interest.

“Sir Colin gave her a bunch of his father’s paintbrushes,” Jocelyn said around a bite of ginger biscuit, rolling her eyes in the process. “One wonders if he has ever heard of flowers before.”

Beatrice glared at her sister, despite the fact she provided the perfect excuse for Beatrice’s overbright smile and warm, sure-to-be-rosy cheeks. “Anyone can give a lady flowers. It takes a very special man to come up with something much more personal.”

Jane bit back a grin, her porcelain skin blushing a pretty shade of pink. “Indeed.” When she realized all three of her sisters-in-law were looking at her with interest, she cleared her throat. “Well, Beatrice is right. Flowers and poems are all well and good, but it’s the more unique gifts that stand out during courtship.”

“Courtship?”

Beatrice turned, internally groaning at her brother’s dreadful timing. Looking sharp in his deep blue jacket and gray breeches, he strode into the room and sat beside his wife. “Who is courting whom and why have I not yet heard?”

“Perhaps,” Jane said, sliding her hand through the crook of his arm, “because you’ve had other things on your mind lately.”

His gaze softened as he glanced to Jane’s still-flat belly. “Excellent point.” He leaned over and kissed her square on the lips, ignoring the twins’ groan. Beatrice couldn’t help but smile, however. Their happiness was a long time coming, and it did her heart good to see them so in love.

Richard returned his attention to the room at large. “Right then. Well, I’m here and present now. All I need is the name and direction of the scoundrel who thinks to court my sister, and I’ll be off.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Bea said, rolling her eyes at his threats. “And honestly, I’m not even being properly courted yet. We’re merely . . . enjoying shared interests.” For some reason, the words brought to mind their incredible kiss, and without her consent, her cheeks heated with a blush.

Her brother’s brows rose, and he exchanged a quick glance with Jane. “That’s it—tell me his name now so I can get the headstone carved in time for the burial.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake—stop teasing. Sir Colin has been a perfect gentleman. It’s I who gets flustered every time I think of who his father was.”

“So you’re thinking of his father now?” Carolyn asked, setting down her teacup. Jocelyn chuckled, earning them both a glare from Beatrice. Carolyn patted Beatrice’s knee, smiling sweetly. “I’m only teasing. And it sounds as though the brushes truly were a lovely gesture.”

“Brushes?” Richard asked.

“He gave her a bouquet of his father’s paintbrushes,” Jane supplied, ever so helpfully.

“Sir Colin Tate, then. One ‘L,’ two ‘T’s’?” He pantomimed spelling the name out on an invisible pad of paper.

Beatrice raised a haughty brow. “You forget, I think, that I know all about the certain bouquet—or should I say basket?—you sent to Jane. Or didn’t you know? Cook does so like to chat when she’s cooking.”

“Right then,” he said, winking to her as he reached for a chocolate biscuit and took a bite. “Though I’m not entirely certain you are helping your cause by pointing that particular similarity out. Am I to assume Sir Colin’s intentions toward you are the same as mine were toward Jane?”

“Good heavens, I should hope not. I think you’ll find Sir Colin to be quite the gentleman.” Except when she pushed the issue, in which case he could be deliciously ungentlemanly.

“And are the brushes a declaration of intent?”

“No, nothing like that. He knows how much I admire his father and decided to pass them on to a fellow artist.”

“Mmhmm.” Richard took another bite of his biscuit. “Darling, these are excellent, as usual,” he said, smiling to Jane. He then turned his attention back to Beatrice, tilting his head just so, with a decidedly wicked gleam in his eye. “Perhaps I’ll take a batch when I go to visit Sir Gift Giver.”

Beatrice collapsed back against the sofa, scowling at her brother. She did
not
want him sticking his nose into things. One, she didn’t want to cause Colin undue worry, and two, she didn’t want to scare him away.

Especially when she was having a hard time thinking of anything other than his perfect kiss. A wisp of pleasure danced through her at the memory. She wanted
more
of that, not less. “Richard, if you embarrass me, so help me, I will make you regret it. Sir Colin is a
nice
man and deserves respect.”

Richard’s smile was overly sweet as he blinked his light blue eyes innocently. “Me, embarrass you? I wouldn’t dare.”

Drat her brother and his stupid newfound sense of responsibility. At least her brother-in-law was back in Aylesbury with Evie. She could just imagine Benedict and Richard showing up on Colin’s doorstep together. “Fine. Do what you must. Just know that of the two of you, you’re the one who has to sleep in the same house as me.”

“Put away the stinger, Bea—I promise to be nice . . . enough.”

•   •   •

Colin stared down at the heavy, cream-colored calling card, trying to remember where he’d heard the name before. “The Earl of Raleigh,” he muttered, turning it over in his head. Damned if he could place it. “Thank you, Simmons. Please see him in.”

Aunt Constance’s butler bowed his head and retreated, his impassive expression not helpful in the least. Colin closed the law book he had been reading and came to his feet. He was absolutely certain he had heard the name before, but for some reason he couldn’t recall where. And he certainly couldn’t figure what an earl would want with him.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor and the butler reappeared. “The Earl of Raleigh.”

One look at the man and Colin knew exactly who he was. “Lady Beatrice’s brother, I presume?”

Raleigh tilted his head, raising a single brow in exactly the way his sister did. “Does my reputation precede me, then?”

“No, but your looks certainly do.” Colin gestured to the chairs situated closest to the fire. “Can I offer you a seat?”

At Raleigh’s nod, they made their way to the little seating area. Colin paused by the sideboard. “Care for something to drink?”

“A good scotch, if you have it.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart. Or tastes, at least.” He poured two glasses before handing one to his guest and taking his seat. The afternoon sun slanted through the room’s three windows, lightening the tone of the normally austere library. Beatrice’s blond brother seemed to fit right in, with an easy smile, slightly mussed hair, and an insouciant air about him that Colin was certain put most people at ease.

Not him.

Especially when he had no idea why the man was here in the first place, or more concerning, what he knew. Colin took a long draft of his scotch before settling back in his chair. “I find I’m curious as to what I can do for you, my lord.”

“Well, I’ve heard your name bandied about the house a time or two, and since I haven’t been able to attend many functions lately, I thought I would take it upon myself to meet the prodigal son of the great Sir Frederick Tate.”

“Not so much prodigal, but certainly I am the son.”

“Beatrice has spoken for years about your father’s masterpieces. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Colin nodded his acceptance, but refrained from saying anything more. He was content to let Raleigh set the tone, so he knew better where he stood with the man. He thought of the kiss in the loft, which he later realized had played out in front of the window. Not the smartest moment in his life, even if there had been no light from within to illuminate them. God help him if Raleigh somehow learned of the kiss.

Of course, if that were the case, he probably wouldn’t be sitting calmly in Colin’s aunt’s library, sipping his scotch.

After a moment, he sat back in his chair and angled his head, watching Colin with disconcertingly clear blue eyes. “Well, I’m quite anxious to learn more about the man who descended from a legend and is only just now emerging into the public eye. You are a baronet now, are you not?”

“Indeed. I am also a barrister in training who has lived in London for the last two years.” It was more than needed to be said, but he didn’t like being made to feel as though he’d been hiding under a rock somewhere, waiting for his chance at the title.

Raleigh’s brow lifted in surprise. “Two years, you say? And nary a ball or party? Good God, man, however have you filled your time?”

“You’d be amazed how much time learning a trade can fill.”

For some reason, Colin’s slightly acerbic response raised genuine amusement in Raleigh’s otherwise impassive expression. “No, actually, I wouldn’t. I know full well the dedication that goes into learning a trade, and I respect any person, man or woman, who can submit themselves thusly. It can leave a man with a devil of a sore arm.”

Colin raised an eyebrow. “A sore arm, my lord?”

“Yes, a sore arm. So I wonder, then, what made you decide to take the plunge into society now. I saw your father a few times over the years, by the way. He certainly seemed to fit right in.”

Of course he did. He had charm, charisma, and the favor of the Prince Regent. Colin knew full well the beau monde looked at his father like some sort of plaything to be taken down from the shelf from time to time and examined. Father, on the other hand, never saw it. He genuinely thought he was part of their world and basked in the attention like an unquestioning lapdog.

Which, at this point, would have been preferable to the role Colin was currently filling in society: cliché impoverished nobleman. He took a bracing drink and met Raleigh’s gaze straight-on.