Page 19 of Memories Made At Midnight

Eight

Still Sussex Square-Kempton

A QUARTER OF TWO THAT SAME DAY

Beatrice permitted herself to study Cassius Westbrook as he worked. Midnight brows drawn together in concentration, he glanced up every few minutes, skimming that riveting gaze over her like a cobalt caress, before focusing intently on the easel once more.

It shouldn’t surprise her he had once been betrothed.

A man possessing his good looks was bound to attract women like ants to honey. From the arctic coolness that had washed over his features and frozen his tone, he’d not forgiven his former betrothed for her betrayal.

He must’ve loved the woman desperately.

Sympathy engulfed Beatrice for his suffering, though why she should feel empathy for a man she scarcely knew baffled her. She supposed her ability to care for animals in distress had extended to him. A natural reaction toward any suffering creature, to be sure.

Still, she couldn’t help wondering what that kind of all-consuming love felt like. To give it and to receive it? Having lacked being loved most of her life, she had nothing to compare the powerful sentiment to.

That Cassius yet suffered for giving his heart to an unworthy wretch, only reaffirmed Beatrice’s determination not to yield to such imprudence. She would direct her affections to her pets and receive unconditional love in return.

No man would ever have the opportunity to betray her as her father had Mama.

“Did you s-study art in Italy?”

Drat her unquenchable curiosity and her stutter.

Lord Cassius must’ve been in Italy to study and train. Even Beatrice understood how unusual that was for a duke’s son.

He paused in scritching the pencil across the canvas for a half-second before shrugging. “I did. For several years.”

“But you left after your broken betrothal?” Her dashed tongue refused to be muzzled, but at least she’d managed a sentence without stuttering.

“I was summoned home by my grandmother. But I had decided it was time to leave in any event.” He kicked his mouth upward on one side, giving him a boyish appearance that in no way diminished his roguish good looks. “One does not dismiss a summons from Grandmama, particularly at Christmastide, and especially when she hints at dire circumstances.”

Beatrice had never known her grandparents.

“I’m sorry.” And she was.

However, having never loved anyone romantically, she couldn’t fathom the depths of his pain. But neither had she suffered a broken wing, a brutal beating, starvation, or her leg caught in a snare, but that didn’t prevent her from sympathizing with her pets.

A shuttered expression came over Lord Cassius’s features, and he returned to his work.

Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about his former betrothed.

It was none of Beatrice’s business in any event, and she ought not to have probed. Resigned to her curiosity remaining unsatiated, she continued her silent assessment of the man who’d intrigued her this past week.

She permitted herself the luxury of examining him at her leisure.

He certainly pleased the eye.

He ought to have his likeness painted.

Today he wore unremarkable black trousers tucked into well-worn boots. He’d removed his dusky blue jacket before donning his paint-smattered smock, giving her a glimpse of finely molded shoulders, chest, and back. His simply knotted neckcloth and blue and black striped waistcoat suggested quality but not ostentatiousness.

“Are you an identical twin?”

There went her thoughts again, making their way to her tongue and out into the air without a by-your-leave.

He gave a brief nod.