“I ventured out into the woods to find somewhere to paint, My Lord,” Beatrice answered, already prepared for this question after Minnie asked it. Lord Ivanry had nodded silently which was unusual for his disorderly nature and surveyed the table. Beatrice followed his gaze, noticing how Lord Ivanry’s eyes fixed on the empty seats on either side of Lord Saumon before they passed to where Lady Ivanry and Lord Randlay were having their latest hourly spat.
“Your grandmother was too preoccupied this morning to notice your absence like I did,” Lord Ivanry said while peeling an orange. “Can you imagine my surprise when I found out that not only were you nowhere to be found, but Mr. Grayson was gone as well?” He kept his tone even, so as not to draw attention, but the implication of it still made Beatrice swallow harshly. She looked to her left for some help from Penelope, but she was otherwise engaged in a conversation with Minnie Saumon.
Gathering her courage, Beatrice replied, “Oh! Well, that is certainly a humorous coincidence, is it not?” The fresh scent of citrus filled Beatrice’s nose as Lord Ivanry bit into his orange which dribbled sticky juices down his fingers. Beatrice could not help but think that he was allowing such a mess to make her uncomfortable and she was right.
“I don’t think it a coincidence, no,” he muttered through mouthfuls of orange pulp. “I think you were out there trying to fulfill your end of our bargain.” His nonchalant expression was replaced with a knowing leer, and Beatrice shrank away from him as much as she could at the crowded dining table.
Whether by luck or chance, Anthony appeared in the room at that very moment, and Beatrice’s eyes immediately went to him. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up, and a flood of memories cascaded over her, bringing a blush to her cheeks. Just as she was imagining the gentle glide of his tongue against hers, Lord Ivanry taunted, “Ah. See, I knew I was right.”
Beatrice’s head whipped to her right to find Lord Ivanry watching her stare at Anthony with measured delight. His apparent happiness was tainted with what Beatrice could only describe as salacious understanding, and she opened her mouth at once to object. “No, you are mistaken, My Lord. I merely went out today to paint something for Miss Saumon.”
“My dear, Miss Beatrice,” his tone was chiding as he reached over to grasp her hand with his sticky one, “let’s not pretend like I don’t know what goes on in women’s heads when they get the opportunity to pursue a handsome man.” Even through her short gloves, Beatrice could feel the orange juice on his fingers and had to stop herself from swatting him away like a fly. “I’m actually glad that you were out there with him,” Lord Ivanry whispered close to her ear, and Beatrice was sure most everyone at the table thought he was just sharing a private joke.
“I was not,” Beatrice murmured with finality, flinching away as delicately as she could, disgust plainly written on her face. “I wish you would stop insisting otherwise, My Lord.” Lord Ivanry sat up, chuckling to himself, and continued eating.
“I’ll say nothing more than this, Miss Beatrice,” he teased, “your eyes are telling me something different than your words, and for your sister’s sake, I hope you can reconcile that indecency soon.” Beatrice wished then that she could scream at her guardian and berate him for putting her in this position, where the “indecency” was entirely his fault, but she kept her composure and glanced down the table at Anthony.
He met her eyes with a small smile, and Beatrice longed to be back out beneath the cloudless morning sky in his arms where no one would bother them.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
After their intimate encounter by the lake, Anthony found himself following Beatrice around like a puppy. Even though he tried not to make it obvious, he was sure that his grandfather was not unaware of how much time they were spending together.
“These remind me of the ones hanging at the assembly hall on Fourth Street!” Miss Beatrice exclaimed, whirling around to get her fill of every masterpiece. They were not alone – Miss Saumon and Mr. DeLancy had come with them to admire the paintings themselves – so Anthony had to contain his desire to cavort along with Beatrice.
Instead, he opted for a measured approach, strolling along beside her like the true gentleman his grandfather taught him to be. “Yes, they are magnificent. Tell me, do you have a favorite?” He watched her with amusement and something akin to joy as she spun around, trying to pick just one.
“That one,” Miss Beatrice finally declared, pointing at an intimate scene of two lovers caressing each other by a pond in the middle of spring. Anthony stood behind her, admiring the way the woman in the painting looked very much like Beatrice herself. His eyes flitted over the lush flowers and the cerulean oils the artist used to paint the water, and then, he glanced down at the young woman and saw the awestruck expression on her face as she studied the art.
She was even more stunning than the painting, and with a quick turn of his head to make sure they were not being watched, Anthony bent over to whisper in her ear, “You are far more exquisite than her, Beatrice, though I dare say I look very much like the gentleman there.” The young lady giggled at his joke and leaned back against him after similarly ensuring that Miss Saumon and Mr. DeLancy were occupied.
“It is an oddly familiar picture, no?” Beatrice inquired playfully. “I should think that someone was watching us that day and decided to paint what they saw.” Anthony brought a hand up to rest upon her upper arm, reveling in the way the flesh immediately prickled with gooseflesh, and softly replied,
“I hope not. It may be presumptuous of me to say this, Beatrice, but I wish to be the only man who knows what you look like in the throes of pleasure.” He cherished the breathless gasp she let out at that admission and added, “Perhaps soon, you will teach me how to create such works as these, and I will forever immortalize your glossy lips and flushed cheeks and wanton–”
He was interrupted by Mr. DeLancy clearing his throat from the other side of the room. Apparently, while Anthony had been tantalizing Beatrice, Mr. DeLancy had glanced over and spotted their lack of awareness, casually shielding his betrothed from the scene while alerting Anthony. Anthony turned his head, and when Mr. DeLancy sent him a look that warned him to be careful, he straightened.
He smiled gingerly and resumed speaking at a normal volume about more inane topics to Beatrice. “It amazes me how these painters can create such vividity from so few colors. What do you do to make yours so bright, Miss Beatrice?”
Though he had stopped flirting with her in dulcet tones, Beatrice still appeared to be flustered by his attention, and she blushed while answering, “I like to place lighter colors next to darker ones which highlight their differences and compliment the piece as a whole.” She looked up at him, her hazel eyes shimmering with unspoken want, and continued bashfully, “But my art could never be as good as these. I simply paint as a hobby while these people paint as a passion.”
Beatrice gestured widely around the room, and Anthony followed the movement, gazing at the multitude of paintings hanging on the cream-colored walls in bronze frames.
Anthony pursed his lips in thought. “No, I do not think that is true, Miss Beatrice. Yours might be less practiced than these here, but they are of no less value. Someday I shall have to take you and your family to Paris so that you may see what people consider art in other places.”
He watched her brow furrow and then rise in excitement as she asked, “You have been to Paris, Mr. Grayson? Was it as wonderous as all the books make it seem?”
Anthony nodded and smiled, “I was there to visit averyclose friend of mine, and we went to the Louvre one afternoon – it is a place I think you would very much like, Miss Beatrice. It is an entire building dedicated to art.” She beamed up at him, fascinated by his tales of a place she had only heard about. Anthony entertained her with more stories until Mr. DeLancy and Miss Saumon rejoined them, suggesting that they return to the rest of the party.
“She seems extremely taken with the art,” Mr. DeLancy implied quietly as he and Anthony walked ahead of the young ladies, who were tittering like birds among themselves.
“Yes,” Anthony replied, also speaking in a sort of code so as not to let Beatrice know of his wager with Mr. Laughton. “Every day she grows more and more interested in it, but I fear that the “art” may not be worthy of her affections.” When Solomon stared at him quizzically, Anthony elaborated with hushed clarity, “Over these last few days, we have become close, I believe, and it does not feel right to trick her in this way, especially since I have fixed my attention solely upon her, so it should not matter to me that I would forgo my rakish ways if I lost to Mr. Laughton.”
To his credit, Mr. DeLancy listened to Anthony’s babbling patiently even though he could not fully decipher it. “I think, my friend,” he said at last, “you ought to think about what would be best for you and for her. Would it be better to continue the charade and win the wager before dropping the lady entirely? Or do you wish to make yourself a real suitor for her and let Mr. Laughton have his triumph?”
Anthony looked over his shoulder to make sure Miss Beatrice and Miss Saumon were still engaged in a conversation of their own. He breathed a sigh of relief to see that they were and met Mr. DeLancy’s serious gaze once more. “Those are good questions to find the answers to, Solomon,” Anthony said, nervously clasping his hands behind his back, “but what if the lady will not have me? Then I would lose not only my reputation but the very person I gave it up for.”
Mr. DeLancy smiled fondly and assured his friend, “That is a risk you must take if you truly care for her, Anthony. I myself was not entirely sure of Miss Saumon’s affections though she hounded me with them until she told me she loved me.” Anthony hummed, remembering when Mr. DeLancy had called upon him at the Randlay Estate out of breath and bright-eyed as he told Anthony that Miss Saumon loved him.