Flirting With Fortune (17 page)

He nodded, looking down for a moment before meeting her gaze again. “Yes, though it might have been helpful if he had more sense with the commissions he was earning. It wasn’a long before I realized that if the accounts were to be paid and our bills not lost, it was up to me to see to it.”

Beatrice offered him a sympathetic smile. “Is that how you came to be the responsible barrister?”

Even as her heart went out to him, she could scarcely make herself believe that his legendary father could have such a failing. Everything she had heard about him had been in the vein of charming, affable, and eccentric. A little odd, as artists can sometimes be, but a great addition to any social event. She had been devastated that he had died just as she was to make her debut.

“I suppose one could say I spent my whole life in training.”

“Did things not change when your father remarried?” She knew little about Tate’s second wife, other than the fact she had died several years earlier.

“They did, actually. She was determined to get my father’s life in order and to provide a good upbringing for her two children and me. But old habits die hard, I suppose. After four years alone with my father, letting go of the worry dinna come easy.”

He was so sweet with her, so easy to be with, it was hard to imagine him as the stoic little boy he described. Her own childhood had been so carefree; it made her heart clench to imagine his staidness. She set down her pencil, picked up her brush, and began mixing paints on her palette. “Tell me about her children. Do you get along?”

It was the perfect question to ask to break the tension that had tightened his jaw and beetled his brow. “Very well. They are quite a bit younger than me, but they have always been sweet-tempered and good company. Although they were both terribly unhappy with me for leaving them behind in Scotland while I made my grand debut, so to speak.”

“Now, that I can understand. I hated never being able to join in the fun when Evie was out in society. Ironic, really, since she would have rather been anywhere else.”

He chuckled. “I think I’m with your sister on this one. As for you, I think you would like Cora. She has always been fascinated with Father’s work and would sneak up to his studio after bedtime to watch him paint sometimes. She got caught more often than not, sent to bed with a scolding, but it never stopped her from trying again.”

Happy with the color on her palette, she took a deep breath, set the bristles against the canvas, and made her first stroke. “A girl after my own heart, apparently. And your stepbrother?”

She glanced up just in time to catch a look of disgust contort his features. “I’m so sorry. Are you on bad terms with him?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that I hate that term. They are as much my brother and sister as your siblings are to you.”

“Yes, of course. I didn’t intend to insult you.”

“No, I dinna think you did. But when half the family you have in the world is distanced by the word ‘step,’ it tends to become distasteful. We were raised together from when I was nine, and my life became infinitely better when they came along.”

That was quite possibly the sweetest thing Beatrice had ever heard. Her heart softened toward the two children she had never even met. “I’m so glad to hear it. What is your brother’s name?”

Any remaining stiffness fled completely from his shoulders. “Rhys. He’s a born leader. I could easily see him running the estate, or even making his way into politics. He argues almost as well as I do,” he said with a wink. “If he had gotten his way, he’d be here in London with me now. Luckily, I convinced him that Cora and Gran needed a man in the house to keep them safe.”

“The same Gran who fought the bear?”

He laughed, beautiful amusement lighting his features. “The very one. A more terrifying woman, I have never known.”

“I don’t believe you. You positively glow when you speak of her.”

“She is one of a kind. Half Scottish, half Irish, and with twice the superstition of either people. When I first saw you, her fanciful descriptions of forest nymphs immediately came to mind.”

She paused midstroke, her eyes flitting to his. The sweet smile on his perfect lips made her belly do a little flip. “Forest nymph? Me?”

“Absolutely. The luminescent skin, those huge blue eyes, hair like moonbeams—it all seemed to fit.”

Hair like
moonbeams
? She sincerely hoped her grin wasn’t as foolish looking as it felt. She ducked her head a bit, giving more care to loading her brush with paint than absolutely necessary. “Perhaps it had something to do with me emerging from the curtains like some sort of mischievous mystical creature.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed, the warmth of his gaze heating her insides from clear across the room. “But I’m glad for the way we met. It was pure, in a way.”

“Pure?” she echoed, knitting her brow at his choice of words as she worked on his outline.

“Neither of us knew a single thing about the other. The only thing I knew for sure was that you were beautiful and damn entertaining, and I dinna want to leave you to go meet a horde of strangers I dinna care about.”

The strangest sensation bloomed in her heart, carried by each beat to the rest of her body, until she felt as though she were floating in a cool lake. She swallowed, slowly raising her gaze. The way he was looking at her, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist and there was only the two of them, held her riveted in place. She licked her lips. “I’m glad for it as well.”

“Are you, now?”

She nodded. “I don’t know if I would have had the nerve to talk to you if we’d met after I learned who your father was.”

“Nonsense,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve nerve enough to do anything you set your mind to.”

Perhaps he was right. But was that a good thing? Coming from his lips, it certainly seemed like it, even if many of society wouldn’t agree. She thought of the letters to the magazine, biting her lip against sharing her secret with him. Yes, if anyone would approve, it would be him, but she wasn’t ready to share such a secret just yet.

Feeling light and happy, she grinned. “You, Sir Colin, are a shameless flatterer. It’s a wonder my head doesn’t float away.”

“I haven’a flattering bone in my body—just ask my siblings. I am exceedingly good at speaking the truth, however. And I’m delighted to hear you approve.”

•   •   •

For the next half hour, Colin watched in fascination as Beatrice went about the task of committing his countenance to canvas. It was
much
more interesting to watch her work than it ever had been to watch his father. And it wasn’t just because she was infinitely more attractive. No, it was more because of the joy she radiated as she worked. Father had always been so severe, determined to get it exactly the way he wanted in a way that seemed to indicate that death would be the penalty for an imperfect stroke.

Colin held perfectly still, not wanting to distract her work. He liked watching her this way. She was so at ease, as if standing in front of an easel was her natural state of being. She was strong and spirited, not at all the wilting violet, as she had put it, that one might expect from one so petite. And best of all, he affected her. He could see it, anytime he complimented her, or stood too close, or met her gaze—she felt for him as much as he did her.

Could he really be so lucky? Could the woman who was about as close to his perfect match as he could think of truly be standing right in front of him? She was clever and sweet, beautiful and talented. She had the fortune that he required, but it was not at all what he saw when he looked at her.

To him, she was simply his
stór
.

Slowly, deliberately, he straightened and began walking toward her. She glanced up, a single brow raised. “What do you think you are doing?”

“I thought to take a look at what you’ve done so far. A man can lean against a window only so long, my dear.”

She came around the easel, standing defensively in front of it with her hand stretched out between them. “Oh no, you don’t. An artist’s work is not to be seen until it is done.”

“Nonsense. How am I to know you are doing me justice?” He made to sidestep her, and she jumped to her left to block his way, mock outrage bringing her hands to her hips, which had the unexpected benefit of pushing up her small but perfect breasts.

“Don’t even think about it. I shall never forgive you if you ignore me.”

“Mmhmm, that’s nice,” he said, moving to step around her.

Both hands came up this time as she widened her eyes in laughing earnestness. “Sir Colin Tate, if you so much as take one more step, I’ll—”

He stepped forward, bringing his chest flush against both of her palms. “You’ll what?”

Beatrice’s mouth fell open, her eyes darkening almost to navy. The fragrance of lilacs rose above the smell of paint, teasing him with its familiarity. She wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for
him
. He stood there, letting her feel his heart race beneath the fabric of his clothes. Letting her feel how much she affected him. Not even trying to hide the desire in his eyes.

After a moment, her arms relaxed a bit, bringing her wrists down against his body as well. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips before she looked back up at him through her golden lashes. This close, he could see the halo of green around her pupils, flecked with a bit of gold.

He licked his own lips, waiting, wanting her to make the next move. When it came, it was much more bold than he could have hoped for. Drawing a deep breath, she slid both hands up his jacket and grabbed his lapels. His blood roared in his ears as want rushed through him, testing his willpower. His heart beat in a heavy rhythm once, twice, three times, and just when he thought she might change her mind, she tugged him hard and brought his lips to hers.

G
od, it felt so good to have her lips pressed against his at last. It had been near torture, painting him when what she really wanted to do was kiss him. Having two of him—the living, breathing, warm-blooded Colin as well as the emerging portrait of him looking at her with those incredible eyes, seducing her without lifting a single finger or saying a single word was pure, delectable torture.

She held tight to his lapels, pulling him to her as if her life depended on it. For his part, he came willingly, slanting his lips over hers and overwhelming her every sense. She opened her mouth, eager to taste him once more, to feel the heat of his tongue slide against hers. His hands slipped around her waist, pulling her whole body against him, even as her arms remained between them.

The feel of being completely engulfed in his arms was so foreign but yet so pleasurable, even more so with the wickedness of it all. The light of the afternoon sun lay across them, heating the right side of her body while the rest of her languished in shadow.
His
shadow.

His tongue danced with hers, making her moan with the sensation that shot through her whole body at his touch and landed deep in her belly. Colin’s arms slid farther down, cupping her bottom, shocking her at his boldness. She drew a deep breath through her nose, savoring the smell, the feel, the taste of him. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could be bold.

Releasing his jacket, she slipped her hands up the side of his neck, and delved her bare fingers into the silk that was his hair. It was cool and soft—in perfect contrast to the rest of him.

He broke the kiss then, and she started to moan in complaint, but his lips moved across her cheek, down her neck, and explored the exposed line of her collarbone. Oh good heavens, it was an altogether different sensation from his lips against hers. She had no idea her skin could be so utterly sensitive, so perfectly alive to the touch of another person.

A wave of chills ran down her spine, raising gooseflesh on her exposed arms and making her shiver. He pulled away and smiled down at her, their faces almost too close for her to focus.

“You, my little artist, are entirely too delightful for your own good.” He slipped his hands up her bare arms, lightly clasping her fingers and pulling them down. He kissed each hand in turn before releasing them.

Her mind was absolutely reeling with the shared intimacy between them. She had never thought a man could so thoroughly addle her senses—or that she would like it. A delicious thrill rolled down her body like a drop of warm honey. Lord have mercy, did she like it.

But not nearly as much as she liked
him
.

•   •   •

“What on earth is that ridiculous look on your face all about?”

Colin started, looking up from the law book he wasn’t actually reading to see his cousin striding into the room. “Woolgathering, I suppose.”

Lifting a sandy brow, John shook his head. “Don’t believe you for a moment, old man. If ever a man was thinking of a female, it was you, just now.”

Colin started to deny it, but came up short. Why not share with John? His cousin was as good a confidant as any in this city. “I’ll concede the point.”

“Well done, man,” John said, slapping him on the shoulder before dropping into the chair across from him. “Who’s the chit? Find a proper match, did you?”

A proper match. It was the perfect way to describe the way Colin felt about Beatrice. Especially when he thought about that last kiss. The first one had been innocent, sweet and passionate all at once. But the kiss from yesterday? He swallowed, adjusting his position just thinking about it. That was not the kind of kiss one shared with just anyone. “I did. And I’m thinking of asking for her hand.”

“Good on you, my friend. Who is the lucky heiress?”

Colin clenched his jaw, rebelling at the descriptive. “It’s not about her bloody money, John. She is the finest person I have met in society—male or female.”

Concern clouded his cousin’s eyes, and he leaned forward. “Devil take it, Colin—you didn’t go and fall for a penniless woman, did you? Think of your family, man, not to mention that excessively mortgaged estate.”

“No, no—she has an exceptional dowry. But Lady Beatrice is so much more than that.”

Relief washed over John’s face, and he sat back and chuckled. “Yes, I’ll just bet she is. God, you had me going there for a moment. An exceptional dowry indeed.”

Colin was fairly sure putting a fist through his cousin’s face wouldn’t go over well. The strength of his aversion to John’s reaction was shocking. If he reacted this way to his own family, how would things go when others whispered behind their hands about the nobody baronet pursuing the powerful marquis’s daughter?

“I’ll not say it again, John. Her bloody dowry has nothing to do with the way I feel about her. She is a remarkable, talented woman.”

“Sure, sure, if you say so. But if you’ll remember, I warned you against the fair Lady Beatrice. How do you plan to handle the financial discussion with her family, should it come to that?”

Even though he’d already thought of that particular conversation, Colin’s gut clenched. There were two ways to go about it. One, he could tell the whole truth and be instantly turned away. Two, he could disclose how much the estate made per annum, discuss his prospects as a barrister, and know that once the business loan was paid with the funds from the dowry, it would no longer be pertinent to the discussion, particularly with the generous amount he planned to keep in trust for Lady Beatrice.

In other words: He could lie.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, working at the tension that seemed to follow him whenever he thought of his father’s exceedingly unwise business decision. “Obviously I must disclose the details. I don’t see that there is any way around it.”

Approval lightened his cousin’s expression, and he gave a crisp military nod. “Good plan. The Moores are a powerful family, despite their peculiarities. I wouldn’t want to cross them.”

“Agreed.” Even if they weren’t one of the oldest and most respected families in the
ton
, he didn’t wish to disrespect the family of the woman he hoped to spend the rest of his life with.

“When do you plan to move forward?”

Nerves flickered through him before settling in the pit of his stomach. Moving forward meant asking for her hand, and that would mean a massive change in the rest of his life. “After the exhibit opening, I think. From what I understand, most of her family will be there, so it should be an excellent opportunity to see how they interact with the
ton
en masse. I’d like to at least know what to expect of the earl and his wife.”

“Sounds like a reasonable approach. Plus, Mother and I will both be there to support you, should you need it.”

“Rallying the troops behind me, are we?”

John nodded, not a hint of irony in his expression. “One never knows when one will have need of reinforcements.”

•   •   •

“Care to take a walk with me?”

Jane smiled from the doorway of Beatrice’s studio. Her porcelain skin was a bit paler than usual, but she still looked utterly lovely in her lavender-trimmed morning gown. Thank goodness Bea had positioned her canvas so that it faced away from the doorway, hiding Colin’s emerging visage from anyone who happened to drop by.

“I suppose a break could be nice. Are you feeling better today?”

“Much better than this morning, to be sure, but these last few days have been dreadful. I honestly can’t imagine how Mama worked in the bakery when she was expecting. As much as I wish I could bake, the thought of stepping in the kitchen with all those smells . . .” She shook her head, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “But the sun is shining, and the air is crisp, and I am thinking that a walk might be just the thing.”

Beatrice hid a grin as she stood and removed her apron. Jane never was one to sit still for very long. “Who’s doing the baking for the orphanage, then? Surely it’s not just Richard.”

Jane’s green eyes widened with delight. “It is! I’m so proud of him for it, too.”

“Well, I haven’t seen any bandages or splints, so clearly he is much improved since our lessons. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked me to join him. I may have had only two baking lessons, but I remember being the better student, of the two of us.” She winked as she led them into the corridor and shut the door.

“He’s under strict orders from your parents not to involve you in anything remotely scandalous until after you are safely married.” She rolled her eyes, leaning down to whisper, “Imagine what people would think if they knew you’d whisked your own eggs.”

Beatrice almost snorted. If only they knew exactly how scandalous she had been. Getting her hands dirty in the kitchen was the least of her worries. “Ah, that explains it. All right. Just give me a moment to change. I’ll meet you in the entry hall in ten minutes.”

Ducking into her chambers, Beatrice rang for her maid before hurrying to the little escritoire tucked beneath the window. Opening the wide, shallow drawer, she unearthed the drawing she had spent the last few nights working on. She smoothed it out, inspecting the carefully rendered cartoon. This time there was no mistaking Godfrey. She had originally intended to create a completely different fortune hunter character, but after the horrid stunt at the musicale, he deserved to be called out and chastised for the scoundrel he was.

The swift clip of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor—her maid was coming. Placing the letter atop the drawing, she rolled them together and tied them in a slender ribbon. A walk to Monsieur Allard’s would be the perfect opportunity to hand them over. For all anyone had to know, it was simply a list of supplies she wished to have ordered.

Five minutes later, Jane and Beatrice stepped out into the sunshine and headed west. The air held a definite chill, but with the sunshine warming their faces, it was rather refreshing.

Jane sighed, deep and blissful. “Oh my, but it feels like heaven out here. I don’t think I realized quite how cooped up I was feeling.”

“I know what you mean. I will be quite relieved when Mama gives up and lets us return to Aylesbury. I know you and Richard love the city, but I must confess that it is not nearly so captivating as I once imagined.”

“Oh, I am very much looking forward to spending Christmas at Hertford Hall. The city is home, but I’ve heard so much about it from all of you, especially Evie. But I wonder,” she said, linking her arm through Beatrice’s as they crossed the street, “if you are very certain there isn’t something you will miss.”

“Something? If you mean your scrumptious baked goods, yes, I shall be lost without them. Of course, until you feel better, I must do without anyhow.”

Jane cut her gaze to Bea, a single delicate brow lifted. “Perhaps I should have said someone. And no, I am not referring to Richard or myself.”

Colin’s face immediately popped into her head, and Beatrice bit her lip against the silly smile that threatened. She looked down at the pavement, watching the swish of her skirts as she walked. “There is, actually.”

“I knew it!” Jane gave her arm a little squeeze, grinning broadly. “A woman in love can always spot another.”

“Love?” Beatrice squeaked. Was that the emotion that fairly exploded in her chest anytime she thought of him? Was love what made her heart race when she heard that incredible accent of his, or set eyes on the painting she was working on? She suddenly desperately wished Evie weren’t so far away.

She hadn’t even realized she stopped walking until Jane tugged her to the side, pulling her out of the way of pedestrians behind them. She blinked up at her sister-in-law, trying to get a handle on the rioting emotions that seemed to rob her of the ability to think rationally. “I don’t know if it’s
love
, per se. I mean, I do quite, quite like him. . . .” She trailed off, putting a gloved hand to her middle. Even as she said the words, she knew that they weren’t nearly strong enough to describe the feelings she had whenever he was near.

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that you’ve been so different these past few weeks. And to hear you talk about Sir Colin, truly, you positively glow.”

Lovely. Now she was some sort of incandescent lovesick fool.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Bea. For heaven’s sake, love is a
good
thing. Especially when a couple is as compatible as Sir Colin and you. It makes things so much easier.”

Beatrice shook her head and started forward, pulling Jane along with her. “Can we please not talk about this? Colin and I haven’t even discussed courting.”

“‘Colin,’ is it?” Jane’s knowing look was altogether too much. “And I’ll grant your wish, provided you answer one last question.”

Cutting a suspicious look at her sister-in-law, Beatrice said, “What question is that?”

“Has he kissed you?”

“Jane!”

Two men walking past started at Beatrice’s exclamation, but Jane simply smiled impassively at them until they went on their way. As if this moment could be any more mortifying.

“I’m fairly certain that is a yes, but I won’t press.”

They walked in silence for a few more blocks. The residential homes gave way to businesses, and the traffic around them increased. The wagon carts, horse hooves, and shouting costermongers did little to drown out the noise in her own head as she went over and over the word “love” in her mind. And the wonderful, wicked, incredible kisses she had shared with Colin.

“Yes.”

Jane looked at her, confusion knitting her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, I kissed him.”

Of the two of them, Jane was the one who blushed at this. “I’m quite certain it is my duty as an old married woman to scold you. However,” she said, her almond-shaped eyes crinkling at the corners, “clearly I am not one to talk. Was it wonderful?”

A wave of butterflies took flight in her belly as Beatrice lingered on the memory of their kisses. “There is not a superlative in the English language that could properly describe its wonderfulness.”

“That, my dear, is quite possibly the sweetest thing I have ever heard . . . and exactly how it should be.”