Chapter 17 #2
I heard Mr. Campbell step closer, and my heart picked up speed.
I lifted my brush, quickly dipping it into my black paint, which had dried slightly in the sun.
I added more water and painted a few veins on the orange wings, though I knew the piece was beyond saving. It looked even worse than before.
“Does your elder brother still look after the bees?” The question invited even more resentment inside my chest.
I dared to look up at his face. “No. He had them removed from the property after he inherited. He wanted to do the same with the ducks, but I begged him to keep them.”
Mr. Campbell’s brows shot up. “You said you hated ducks.”
“Did I?” My face tingled with heat as I recalled the moment at Sydney Gardens when I had commented on the vile creatures swimming in the pond. I had been so determined to hide who I truly was that I had felt the need to be the opposite.
“You did.” Mr. Campbell took a step closer. Startled as I was, I lifted my brush from the canvas too quickly, turning toward him. Black paint splattered across the front of his cravat.
I gasped, my heart sinking. I covered my mouth in shock. “I am so very sorry.”
Mr. Campbell’s jaw lowered in disbelief, though a smile still lingered in his eyes.
Was he actually upset? I couldn’t be certain.
His gaze dropped slowly to the splatter of paint, and when he met my gaze again, I realized a few speckles had also landed on the right side of his face below his cheekbone.
I wanted to wipe it away, but suddenly lacked the courage.
My heart pounded. I had touched his arm in the drawing room in an attempt to flirt, but this would feel different. It was far more intimate to touch his face. I recalled the moment he had wiped the ice cream from my chin. My face burned at the thought. He had done it, so why shouldn’t I?
I glanced over his shoulder at Aunt Julia.
Oh, yes. That was why.
But as my eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she came into clearer view.
Her head rested on her hand on the arm of the bench, her eyes closed, mouth agape.
Mr. Campbell followed my gaze, and when he noticed what I had, a smile crept over his lips.
“I’m surprised she can sleep in such dangerous company. ”
I laughed under my breath, suddenly feeling the need to be quiet. I didn’t want to wake her…though the situation would be much more proper if I did. “They won’t bother her.”
“I wasn’t referring to the bees.” He gave me and my paintbrush a pointed look.
I gasped. “It was an accident! I have no doubt one of your competent servants can wash out the stains.” My gaze traveled to his cheek again, where the splatters of dark paint looked like a trail of freckles.
“You do have some on your face,” I muttered.
Before I could lose my nerve, I lifted my fingers and wiped at the splatter on his cheek.
One at a time, I smeared away each droplet.
My face was hot, but I didn’t dare look at his eyes to see his reaction.
I made my way to the edge of his face but stopped at his ear.
There was a large freckle there, just off-center on his earlobe.
I had nearly tried to wipe it away, but it was real.
It was perfectly round. How had I not noticed it before?
Perhaps I hadn’t been looking closely enough.
I lowered my hand, finally daring to look at his eyes.
There was a quiet awe in his gaze that I had never seen before.
It set my heart pounding. Slowly, the look intensified, until it was no longer quiet.
It was loud, obvious, and caused my stomach to swoop with sudden longing.
Once again, I saw my own feelings reflected in his eyes, staring back at me. I could no longer hide from them.
His gaze lowered to my lips. He leaned closer.
His chest rose with a deep breath, and I found myself staring at his mouth just as unabashedly.
I felt untamed for even thinking of kissing him, but I knew he shared the same thought.
Though society liked to pretend otherwise, I was certain people stole a kiss or two during their courtships.
Especially if their chaperones were asleep.
Until that moment, I had contained my thoughts of Mr. Campbell in a small box.
He was my means to an end, my source of escape from ruin, and the small glimmer of hope that I might save my brother.
In that box, he was stoic, vexing, and I was not to become attached to him.
I had gone to great lengths to keep myself from thinking of him while we were apart, and I had certainly never permitted myself to dream of kissing him.
But now, my thoughts carried me away to the idea of tugging him close by the front of his waistcoat, feeling his arms around me and his lips on mine. Longing for such an experience overwhelmed my senses.
Ever so slightly, I leaned forward.
It must not have been enough, because Mr. Campbell slipped one hand around the back of my neck, his fingers curling into my hair. The soft pressure of his hand moved me closer, until my lips hovered just inches from his. A shiver raced across my spine, spreading down the length of my arms.
His eyes connected with mine before returning to my mouth. He seemed to be waiting for permission of some sort, but I had no idea how to give it. My heart thudded fast as he lowered his head toward mine. My eyelids fluttered closed as I felt his breath against my lips.
He was certainly taking his time.
Impatience bloomed inside me, and I nearly reached up to take his face in my hands.
But then a deep snort sounded from across the lawn.
I jumped back with a start, my heart in my throat. From her place on the bench, Aunt Julia sat up, dazed, but wide awake.
My face was on fire. I realized I still held my paintbrush, so I hurried my attention back to my canvas. I didn’t dare look at Mr. Campbell, but I saw him move back to his station from the corner of my eye.
My pulse took at least a full minute to slow.
What on earth could I say to him now? We both knew what had almost occurred between us.
With Aunt Julia now watching my every move, I tried to act nonchalant as I added to my painting, though my stomach still fluttered with the remnants of the longing I had felt.
I should never have been so vulnerable with Mr. Campbell.
Now that he knew who I truly was, he had far too much access to my heart.
Was that such a terrible thing? The question forced its way into my mind.
I hoped to marry him, after all. It would be much easier to marry someone I had feelings for.
But much more difficult to lose someone I had feelings for.
The fear that he was still not as serious about our courtship as he seemed came over me, and my hand shook as I tried to fix the wings on my butterfly.
“I’m glad your brother allowed you to keep your ducks.” Mr. Campbell’s voice was low, returning effortlessly to the subject we had previously abandoned.
I looked up, surprised at how calm he appeared. Was he not experiencing the same turmoil I was? I had forgotten the subject of our conversation before he had nearly kissed me. I gathered my wits about me. “He had no choice. I would have died for them.”
Mr. Campbell laughed, and I managed to relax. It would be much easier to pretend the last few minutes had not occurred. “Do they have names?” he asked.
“What do you think?”
“Yes.”
I grinned. “Charlotte, Matilda, Jane, and Fanny.”
Mr. Campbell dipped his brush in his paints again, setting to work on his canvas as he spoke. “Do you have a favorite?”
“Oh, I could never choose.” I shook my head fast. “I love them all very dearly.”
I thought he would tease me for it, but his amusement was contained to his eyes as he focused on his canvas. “I find it endearing that you love so many small creatures. I quite enjoy learning these things about you. Please do not hide who you are any longer.”
“Only if you promise the same,” I said with a soft smile. “I should like to know you as you truly are, not for what you possess.” I meant it. Deep in my chest, I felt a confirmation of my words. I wanted to know him—everything about him. I had obviously been quite wrong in my first assessment.
Mr. Campbell’s eyes met mine above his canvas before flickering away. Was he feeling shy? I couldn’t read the expression before it was gone. “I promise.”
Silence fell between us, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as I would have thought.
I focused on finishing my butterfly, and Mr. Campbell continued with whatever it was that he was painting.
I added a blue sky and a bit of grass to the background, but all it did was make the butterfly look like a wilting flower.
I sighed before wandering toward Mr. Campbell’s canvas. When he finally revealed his painting, I gasped in delight.
It was a somewhat misshapen white duck with an orange bill, floating peacefully on a pond. “You are an artist! That looks precisely like Fanny.”
“I should hope not.” He studied his own work. “If she is truly this disproportionate, you might consider having her health assessed by a gamekeeper.”
I laughed. “It’s still much better than my painting.”
Mr. Campbell smiled at my reaction, but he seemed a little more somber than before, and not inclined to conversation. Had I said something to upset him? I couldn’t imagine what it was. I certainly didn’t want to overstay my welcome, and after so much time in the sun, I was sticky with perspiration.
Mr. Campbell seemed to be experiencing the same thing. He wiped at the beads of sweat on his brow. Perspiration had soaked through the sleeves of his shirt as well. I smiled. I quite liked seeing his imperfections. It made him much more approachable.
“Here,” he said, lifting his painting from the easel. “For you.”
I stifled a laugh. “Are you hoping for my beautiful butterfly in exchange?”
“Of course.”
I pressed my lips together as I took his painting of the duck. “Thank you. I will treasure it.”
He brushed past, lifting my butterfly painting in both hands. He held it up with a smile. “I shall hang it on my wall in a place I’ll pass by often.”
I laughed. “Please don’t think of me when you see it. It is atrocious.”
“I don’t require any prompting to think of you.” The warmth in his eyes made my heart stutter, so I looked down at the grass.
Aunt Julia came to my aid without even knowing, finishing her walk across the garden to examine both our paintings.
Her stunned reaction to my butterfly eased the tension I felt, and fresh laughter bubbled out of my chest. Mr. Campbell laughed too, and I already missed the sound by the time Aunt Julia and I began our walk back to Milsom Street.