Page 35 of Wicked By Design
He put a hand to his heart and winced. “Miss Halfpenny, you wound me. You make me sound like a hungry cat toying with a mouse.”
“If the cap fits, my lord,” she said with a shrug, and then paled as he escorted her into the parlour, which was crammed full of people. “Oh, my,” she said faintly, her steps suddenly dragging.
Justin regarded her with concern. “Now, now, little mouse. Don’t scurry under the skirting just yet. Take a deep breath. Put your chin up. Yes, that’s the way.”
She walked with him to the edge of the room, and he knew she used his body as a shield to hide behind but did not call her out.
Miss Foxworthy, looking ravishing in a gown of celestial blue, moved before the canvas and darted a relieved glance at Miss Halfpenny before addressing the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my lords, your graces, I thank you for giving me this splendid opportunity to show my work. As I believe you know, I have been working for some months on a portrait of a dear friend of mine, Miss Clara Halfpenny—”
Justin murmured a word of assurance as she tried to sink farther into the shadows.
“—that work is now complete, and so, I give you. Miss Clara Halfpenny.”
Miss Foxworthy tugged at the silk, which slid away with a soft shushing sound, and the room fell entirely silent.
Justin was aware of Miss Halfpenny breathing hard beside him, but he could find no other words of reassurance, for the painting had captured his attention. It was quite… quite exquisite. Startling, actually. He could not quite put his finger on what it was, except that perhaps there were no apologies made. The sitter viewed those who might stand in judgement of her, whether they be the highest in society or the lowliest, and she met their gaze frankly. ‘Make what you will of me,’ the portrait and the sitter both seemed to say, ‘I’m here to stay.’
The silence rang out for the longest time, and then Justin heard clapping. It seemed to catch like a fire taking hold, and soon the entire room rang with the sound of applause.
“I… I need….”
Justin turned as Miss Halfpenny released his arm and fled.
“Miss Halfpenny,” he called, and hurried after her.
“It’s remarkable,” Celia said, gazing at the portrait in wonder. “My mind believes I could reach out and stroke the little dog and feel the fabric of her gown under my hand. I do not believe I have ever seen its equal.”
Damian nodded, strangely touched by the portrait. One grew so used to seeing society beauties dressed in lavish silks and wearing jewels, advertising their wares and their power, and this… this was quite different. It was almost stark in its simplicity, yet the richness of the painting that captured the worn cotton, the fine quality of Miss Halfpenny’s skin, was enchanting.
“Perhaps I shall ask her to paint you. Would you like that as a betrothal gift?”
“Heavens, no,” Celia replied frankly. “One wonders what Miss Foxworthy may reveal. Besides, I am not so vain as to wish for such a thing for myself. However, if you wished it, I should not object.”
She shot him a look tinged with challenge, which he ignored, preferring instead to tease her. “Celia, my dear, precisely how many dark secrets do you have to uncover?”
She pursed her lips and met his gaze. “You’ll never know,” she replied with a provoking little smile.
He wanted to laugh, wanted to tell her he would discover everything. The thought was dangerously appealing.
He reminded himself they could not have a marriage in anything other than name. No children. For he could not risk coming home one day and discovering—
His gut twisted, an unwelcome memory bursting to life.
Blood. So much blood, and poor Gideon—
No.
“Well, shall we take refreshments? I believe there is champagne. I’m gasping,” he said quickly, forcing himself to think about the here and now. The trick was to keep his mind busy, or at worst, drunk. So long as the wretched thing was occupied, he did not have to think about anything he did not wish to.
Chapter 7
The Line in Between
The Mermaid, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 15th September 1816
“Deon.” Damian stared through the door he had just opened to find his brother, his hand raised to knock. But then again, he was only surprised he’d not come earlier to demand why Damian hadn’t visited Celia once during the past week.
