Chapter 10
His mind was in a whirl even after he had dropped Ethan off at his estate—a phenomenon that was entirely new to Colin. He could not fathom how a mere slip of a girl managed to get under his skin, causing him to react in ways that were not only novel but highly unpleasant as well.
Colin was still frowning when his carriage pulled up to the front of his estate, only to find another carriage already parked there. Servants rushed to and fro, carrying trunks and valises while a regal lady took command of the situation, her back as straight as if somebody had inserted a poker into her spine.
His grandmother and Evelyn had finally arrived for the Season.
He bounded out of his carriage and walked over to Lady Wellington, who shot him a reproving look when she saw him.
“Where have you been?” she demanded as he pressed a perfunctory kiss to her cheek.
“Out,” he replied vaguely, flashing her his most charming smile. “Some business I needed to take care of.”
His grandmother glared pointedly at him. “Unless you are putting an effort into finding yourself a wife—which I highly doubt—I do not see what could be more important than seeing to it that your younger sister is properly settled for the Season!”
“Well, that was precisely the business that I went to take care of.” He grinned at her.
Colin watched in supreme satisfaction as his grandmother’s eyes widened in shock at the realization of just what he meant, right before they narrowed in suspicion.
“You are getting married?” she asked him. “Why have I not heard of this before?”
He shrugged as he tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. “You have been on my case for weeks, urging me to improve my reputation so as not to hamper Evie’s entry into Society, Grandmother.”
“But you forget that I have known you since you were a babe in swaddling clothes.” She glowered at him. “And I know that temperament of yours. Who is this poor woman so that I might commiserate with her?”
“You will do no such thing!” he gasped in mock surprise. “As to the identity of my betrothed, you shall know soon enough.”
She cast him a sideways glance, her eyes both knowing and curious. Ever since he had taken up residence in Blackthorn Estate, his grandmother had been busy preparing Evelyn for her coming out in the country estate, well away from the prying eyes of the ton.
It was the perfect strategy, they had surmised. They would build up an aura of mystery around Evie—the sister of a duke, who was rumored to have a dowry equal to the ransom of a prince. After all, the Fitzroy family was one of the finest and oldest in England, their wealth a source of envy for many, and ever since Colin had taken over his father’s estate and businesses, he had only managed to expand everything.
There was only one detriment, really—and that was Colin’s own fault. It had been years since he had acted like the dissolute youth that he was, gallivanting around Europe with his friends and earning such nicknames for themselves. Unfortunately, the nicknames had stuck along with their well-earned reputations.
But now, he had taken care of it by seeking Alice Barkley’s hand in marriage for all of thirty days—if he could even last that long. Just the memory of her green eyes searching his, her pink lips curling into the barest trace of a smile, made him feel… things he should not be feeling in the presence of his grandmother.
They had barely walked past the front door when a blur of pink taffeta came barreling at Colin, nearly knocking him to the marble floor. He let out a groan as his sister laughed joyfully.
“Oh, you’re here!” she declared with a mischievous smile. “I was just wondering what you were up to when we found the Blackthorn Estate devoid of its beastly occupant!”
“Lady Evelyn!” her grandmother reprimanded her. “You must learn to address your brother properly, especially now that we have arrived in London.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Evelyn Fitzroy released him and bobbed a mocking curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured demurely.
“Do refrain from doing that,” he told her. “Quite honestly, it makes me shudder.”
“Well, Grandmama says that my curtsy is absolutely perfect.”
“Perfectly horrid, I should say.”
The two siblings bickered all the way to the parlor while the servants passed by them to carry all of Evelyn and Lady Wellington’s belongings to their respective rooms.
“So, how many young ladies have you terrorized before we arrived?” his younger sister teased, pulling at the ribbons tied under her chin. “It would be quite awkward for me to try to get along with everyone if you have behaved appallingly in Grandmama’s absence, you know.”
“I resent that,” Colin retorted with a frown. “Besides, I have put all of that behind me.”
“How so?” Evie leaned in with a curious look on her face. “You have not gone out and fallen in love, have you?”
Colin smirked at that. It would seem that his younger sister held the same fantasies as every other young lady. While marriages amongst the ton were not particularly ideal, it was his greatest hope that his younger sister would find a most suitable match—a gentleman who would genuinely care for her and not mistreat her at all.
In any case, he had prepared a clause in her dowry that should protect her and the assets she would be bringing into the marriage. He would not have Evie entering into a marriage at a disadvantage like his mother had been.
“What if I tell you that I am now currently betrothed?” he told her.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Highly unlikely,” she said with a delicate snort.
“Well, I am.”
His younger sister gaped at him, her jaw falling slack. “To whom?”
He smiled mysteriously at her. “Well, it is a secret for now. We plan to announce our betrothal at Lady Salisbury’s ball tomorrow night. Perhaps if you came along, you will find out with the rest of the ton.”
“Well, about that…” she murmured. “Perhaps we can delay my coming out. Maybe we can delay it for another year or?—”
“You know we cannot afford that,” Colin told her flatly. “We have already delayed longer than what is optimal. For now, it should be to your advantage, giving you an aura of mystery amongst the other debutantes. If we delay it anymore, people will start to talk.”
Evie fell silent, and Colin knew that she was well aware of what the implications were if people did start talking. It would not be good—gossips rarely spoke highly of anyone.
“Your brother is right, you know.” Lady Wellington reached out to her granddaughter and gave her small hand a reassuring squeeze. “Besides, I am quite curious as to who this fortunate young lady is. After all, it does take something special to steal the Duke of Thorns’s heart.”
“It is Blackthorn, Grandmother,” he corrected her with an incensed look.
“Well, it suits you perfectly well,” Lady Wellington replied breezily. “You have persisted in covering your heart with prickly thorns to keep everyone out.”
Evelyn burst into giggles at their grandmother’s words, but Colin did not find it particularly amusing. His grandmother knew more than anyone why he kept talks of matrimony at arm’s length. She, of all people, should have understood.
He stood up unceremoniously with a dark expression on his face. “I have matters of import to attend to. If anybody needs me, I shall be at my study.”
He did not even bother to close the door gently on his way out, slamming it behind him as he stomped back up to his personal haven.
Once he closed the door behind him, he shrugged off his coat and tugged impatiently at his cravat, tossing the lot into a nearby chair. He pushed his sleeves up his forearms as he glared at the empty canvas before him.
Flames, clambering up from the floor… licking at fragile human flesh…
His eyes widened as he reached for his palette and brushes, mixing colors here and there. Broad strokes came first to set the stage. Next, he went in with his finer brushes, adding more detail to the scene in his mind. Shadows playing over naked flesh, bright eyes staring back at him from a sea of flames.
Time seemed to fall away as his brushes swept across the canvas, blending light and shadows wherever they went. He painted as if his very existence depended on the scene he would bring to life, as he often did when he was consumed by inspiration—or emotion.
Hours later, he stood back to admire his work—only to suck in a deep breath, his eyes going wide with surprise.
There, painted on the canvas, was Alice—her nubile figure entwined with silken sheets of a bright, fiery red. Her limbs were splayed most invitingly, her lips partly open.
Most of all, her eyes stared out from the canvas and straight into his soul.
What the hell have I done!?
Colin threw the brushes and the palette to the floor in disgust, cursing himself and the distraction he had allowed Alice Barkley to become.
If he was not careful, she was going to consume him—in the same way the madness had consumed his father before him, and Colin had sworn that he would never allow that to happen.
But still, the Alice he had painted stared out to him, and heaven help him, he could not help but reach for her. He knew that she was merely wrought of dyes and pigments and his fevered imaginings even as he gently ran a finger over her painted lips.
It was like Pygmalion falling in love with his own creation—only this time, Colin was well aware of how the painting paled considerably before the real woman.
He cursed himself as he dropped his hand from the painting.
Tomorrow night, he would be presenting her as his betrothed at Lady Salisbury’s ball. Already, the thought of it sent a seductive thrill running down his spine.
Thirty days. I just need to survive the next thirty days.
It was going to be a hell of a month.