River Of Fire (31 page)

He gave her a wry smile. "I've had worse punishments."

The intimate light in his eyes sent warmth cascading through her. Lord, if he wasn't careful, she really might make him go through with it. The thought was wickedly tempting. But she didn't want to lose him as a friend, and nothing would be more fatal to friendship than a marriage he didn't want.

Lightly she said, "Apart from publishing the announcement, do we have to do anything to support our false engagement?"

"Accepting a few invitations might be advisable, but that's all." He stabbed a piece of ham with his fork. "In a few weeks, life will be back to normal."

He might believe that, but she didn't. The events of the previous evening had caused a change in their relationship. She felt an odd mixture of intimacy and wariness and saw the same in him. Only time would tell how significant that change would be.

An hour later, Kenneth looked up guardedly when Sir Anthony came to the office for their morning business session. However, his employer was perfectly calm and made no reference to the scene at breakfast. After taking care of the usual correspondence and household matters, Kenneth silently offered the betrothal announcement he had drafted.

Sir Anthony read the brief, formal paragraph and handed the sheet back. "Fine, only use your title, not just your military rank." His voice became heavily ironic. "I want the world to know that my little girl has made a good match."

Kenneth laid down the notice, feeling acutely uncomfortable. "I'm very sorry for what happened, sir."

"You mean you're sorry you kissed my daughter?"

Sir Anthony asked coolly. "Or sorry that you got caught?"

His employer was definitely looking for blood. Deciding on honesty, Kenneth replied, "I don't really regret kissing her—Rebecca is immensely attractive. But doing so was wrong, and putting her in such an awkward position was contemptible."

"What are your intentions concerning her?" When Kenneth hesitated, the older man said irritably, "Come, Captain, surely I have a right to know."

"I don't deny that, sir." Thinking that he would rather face an army court-martial, Kenneth said carefully, "Before last night, I had no intentions. I have no right to take a wife when the estate I inherited is on the verge of bankruptcy."

"Rebecca is already in possession of a comfortable fortune. On my death, she will be a substantial heiress."

Kenneth felt a prickle of anger. "Are you trying to persuade me to marry her for her money? Because if you are, it's damned insulting to both Rebecca and me. She doesn't need a fortune for a man to want her, and I will not be bought."

Looking pleased, Sir Anthony said, "Keep your feathers down, Captain. No insult is intended. I am merely pointing out that if you want to marry her, it's foolish to let your pride stand in the way. Her fortune could set your estate to rights."

"It appears that you want to promote this match. Why?" Kenneth asked bluntly. "As I said at breakfast, I'm no great catch. I'm a secretary, for God's sake. There are any number of men who are wealthier, better educated, and better looking."

"Perhaps, but you're the only man Rebecca has shown any interest in since that damned poet," Sir Anthony said dryly. "That's a substantial qualification."

"But you know nothing about me. I merely appeared one day and asked for work. You have no evidence about my character."

"I don't need a sheaf of references to know what you are. A man's character is written in his face." Sir Anthony picked up a quill pen, drawing the vane through his long fingers. "I won't be here forever. My daughter has led an unusually sheltered life. She needs a husband who is kind and honest and capable. He must also appreciate art and respect her talent. Such men are not easy to find. You would do very well—
if
you care for her as a husband should."

For sheer humiliation, there was nothing to match being held in high esteem by the man he had been hired to destroy. All Kenneth could think to say was, "Rebecca would not agree that she needs a husband. She will do her own choosing, I think."

Sir Anthony gave him a gimlet stare. "You are not inexperienced with women. If you decide to exert yourself, I'm sure you could be very… persuasive."

" 'Persuasive,' " Kenneth repeated, incredulous. "Are you hinting that I should try to seduce your daughter into marriage?"

"A harsh way of putting it, but essentially correct," the older man said calmly. "I would be sorry to see a good match thwarted because of her stubbornness and your pride."

Kenneth took a deep breath. "Are all interviews between fathers and potential sons-in-law this harrowing?"

The other man chuckled. "I wouldn't know, since I eloped myself. When Helen and I returned from Gretna Green, her father informed me that her fortune would be put in trust for her children so I'd never get my greedy hands on it. I think he was disappointed that I didn't mind." His expression sobered. "A good soldier is a blend of honor and pragmatism. A man is nothing without honor—but it is often better to act from pragmatism. Rebecca is not a seventeen-year-old virgin. There is no need for you to behave as if she is."

With that paralyzing comment, Sir Anthony got to his feet and went to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. "I am being frank because I believe you care for my daughter. But if you hurt her, by God, I
will
take a horsewhip to you, even if you are twice my size and half my age."

"Understood. But I suggest you avoid talking like this to Rebecca," Kenneth said dryly. "She would probably respond by moving out and telling us both to go to perdition."

"You understand her very well." Smiling faintly, Sir Anthony left.

Kenneth exhaled roughly and rubbed his temples. He didn't actually have a headache, but he felt as if he ought to. Artists really were mad. It was the only explanation.

Yet in his heart he knew that if he weren't at Seaton House under false pretenses, he would be very tempted by Sir Anthony's suggestion that he seduce Rebecca.

As the morning progressed, Rebecca was unnerved to receive several notes offering best wishes on her upcoming nuptials. The blasted betrothal was taking on a life of its own.

Then Lavinia dropped by and invited herself into Rebecca's studio. Rebecca looked up from her falling woman painting with a scowl. "I hope you're pleased with yourself. If you hadn't interfered, I would be safely ruined by now, with no more nonsense about rebuilding my reputation."

Lavinia laughed and settled onto the sofa with a flounce of skirts. "Sheath your claws, darling. You were glad enough to be rescued at the time. I thought you would fall into a dead faint when you were discovered." She gave the silky Persian carpet draped over the sofa an appreciative caress. "You really should have chosen a more private place to make a meal of Kenneth."

Face scarlet, Rebecca covered her canvas and lifted the Gray Ghost from a chair so she could sit down. Cuddling the cat on her lap, she said, "It wasn't exactly a matter of choice. It just happened. And I wasn't making a meal of him."

"No?" Lavinia said skeptically. "That was not a polite little kiss. It was a full-blooded, ready-to-rip-clothes-off kind of kiss, and I speak as one who knows."

"Lavinia!" Rebecca bent her head and concentrated on petting the cat. "You're embarrassing me."

Taking pity, Lavinia said more moderately, "Ofcourse you can break the betrothal later, but think carefully before you act. You could do a great deal worse than Kenneth for a husband. Not only is he madly attractive, but a viscount, and he really fancies you. You're a credit to your sex. Few women could have accomplished so much in a single evening." She gave a gurgle of laughter. "And if you marry him, Hermione will become a dowager viscountess. She'll be enraged."

Rebecca glanced up. "You know Lady Kimball?"

"Yes, and a nasty bit of work she is. I noticed that it was after she cornered Kenneth that the two of you bolted from the ballroom. She must have been her usual dreadful self."

"Worse than dreadful. Wicked." Thinking that Kenneth would want to know, Rebecca continued, "What was her marriage like? Did she make Lord Kimball miserable?"

Lavinia considered. "I don't believe so. Hermione has a keen sense of which side her bread is buttered on, which meant keeping her husband happy and being discreet about her adulteries." She cocked her head. "How did your father take the news of your betrothal?"

"Not well," Rebecca admitted. "He started ranting that Kenneth must marry me."

"In that case, I'll say no more on the subject." Lavinia got gracefully to her feet. "There's nothing like being told to do something for one's own good to put one off doing it." With a smile and a flutter of her fingers, she left.

Rebecca returned to her painting, but had trouble concentrating. Instead, she found herself chewing on the end of a brush and wondering just how much Kenneth fancied her.

By the time Kenneth arrived for his midafternoon sitting, Rebecca had her unruly thoughts under control. It helped that he made no reference to their mutual dilemma. He simply scooped up the Gray Ghost and took his usual position on the sofa with the cat beside him. "How is the picture coining?" he asked.

"Quite well. All of the basic shapes, colors, and shadows are in place, so I can begin to lay in the details. In another week or two, you'll be a free man." She would miss these sessions, but they would still have the painting lessons. She lifted her palette. "Give me your wicked pirate expression."

"I'll never get used to this." He closed his eyes, men reopened them and looked at her with dark intensity. The effect was not so much dangerous as compelling. Profoundly masculine. It was an expression that would make Lavinia swoon on the spot.

Rebecca took a deep breath, then began detailing the corsair's face. She would show the pirate's haunted regret on the dark reflected profile, but that was for another session. Today she would concentrate on the jaded man who could love or kill with equal ease. Now that Kenneth was her friend, it was harder for her to see that menacing side of him.

She laid a narrow shadow along his cheek, then drew the pale line of the scar over it with one delicate stroke. That mark gave silent testimony to a perilous life. More difficult was capturing the lucent clarity of his gray eyes. World-weary eyes that had seen everything, and trusted nothing. White highlights for the chancy sparkle. Charcoal rims made them piercing, as they were in real life.