Page 20 of Memories Made At Midnight

“Darius and I used to swap places, and even our parents were none the wiser.”

Glancing over the easel, he met her gaze and a tiny little current of something thrilling zipped along her veins.

“Did you miss not having siblings, Miss Fairfax?”

His question jerked Beatrice’s attention from his long-lean legs to his contoured face.

He’d kept up a constant litany as he worked, which rather surprised her. She would have thought an artist needed silence to complete his best work.

“I didn’t know anything else.” In point of fact, Beatrice had been horribly lonely. The servants were kind, but except for Millborn who was assigned to watch her, they had other tasks to see to.

“What about you, Lord Cassius? Have you other brothers or sisters b-besides your twin?”

He chuckled, a pleasant and resonating rumble in his broad chest.

Uncle Cedric expressed humor so seldom—and when he did, it was usually snide and at her expense—she found herself mesmerized by the simple sound.

For surely that was what caused her deepening interest in Cassius Westbrook—how very different he was from her dour uncle.

What else could it be?

“Indeed, I do.” Affection creased the outer corners of his eyes. “Five older brothers and one younger sister. Two of my older brothers are half-brothers, and my sister is unlike any other woman you’ve ever met.” He met her gaze, a twinkle in his. “I think you’d like her. She also loves dogs, and shoots and rides better than most men.”

“How wonderful.” Beatrice twitched her nose back and forth.

“Is there a reason you’re imitating a rabbit, Miss Fairfax?”

Again, an undercurrent of humor belied his somber expression.

“Might I scratch my nose?”

“Of course.” Grinning, Lord Cassius nodded and circled the pencil in the air. “I’m not an ogre. If you need to get up and stretch, get a drink, scratch your nose, or have a bite to eat, just let me know. I’d prefer a contented subject. Any discomfort will manifest in your bearing and features.”

Beatrice longed to stretch her muscles, use the necessary, and a bite to eat would be welcome too. She’d remember to bring a snack next time. Nonetheless, something held her in place.

No, not something.

Someone.

Him.

Prior to this, no man had caught her attention, let alone one that looked as if he’d stepped straight from heaven. Normally, she didn’t indulge in girlish musings and infatuations.

But then, she’d never met the likes of Lord Cassius Westbrook.

It wasn’t just his stunning masculine good looks, either.

She liked him.

Yes, he was serious, perhaps some might call him solemn, but humor frequently shone in his eyes and quirked his mouth. But it was his kindness and gentleness that beckoned her. She thought he might be as nice as he appeared—a rare and unusual quality amongst the peerage.

Even younger sons of nobles, particularly privileged dukes’ sons, believed themselves above everyone else. No one could measure up to their inflated opinions of themselves.

She’d witnessed that first-hand with Uncle Cedric.

Lord, the man was a pompous arse.

Beatrice hadn’t detected a hint of snobbery about Lord Cassius, not even when he’d introduced himself as the Duke of Latham’s son. She hadn’t heard of the duke, but then again, she didn’t travel in fashionable circles—not even in this resort township favored by aristocrats.