Chapter Six
“ L ady Brilliance,” Vincent began, wishing he’d eaten his own shoe rather than insult her.
Suddenly, her laughter burst forth, bringing him instant relief. In fact, she laughed so hard she dropped her paintbrush onto the grass and covered her face. He feared she would convulse with the heartiness of her humor.
Finally, she lifted her head and gave herself a little shake.
“That, my lord, is the sun,” she managed to say. “Truly, I thought it the best part of my dreadful creation. Make no mistake, I am fully aware that I have less-than-no talent for oils. Or watercolors, for that matter. I would have been insulted had you tried to flatter me and make a silk purse from my sow’s ear of a painting.”
“If you tell everyone it is an orange, then it shall be a triumph,” he suggested.
Should he tell her that she now had even more paint upon her face? It didn’t diminish her beauty at all, but females were fussy about such things.
“But what of these terrible roses?” She retrieved her brush and used it to point at one of the ugly blooms.
“Sadly, there is nothing you can say about those that will make them appear any better.”
The painting master chose that moment to come over.
“I hear merriment from this quarter, usually the happy sounds of tri —”
He broke off when he got a good look at Lady Brilliance’s painting. “Triumph,” he finished flatly, glancing at Vincent who shrugged.
“It is magnificent,” the master added. “Like a primitive cry of rosy passion.”
Lady Brilliance was chuckling again, and Vincent couldn’t contain a snicker. It earned him a warning glance from the painting master.
“Any attempt must be encouraged,” he said. “Besides, the orange is well done. The large citrus looks positively juicy.”
The laughter that burst out of them both seemed to offend the instructor, for he immediately strode away to another guest.
“I think I would like to try my hand at fishing,” Lady Brilliance said. “If it’s not too late.”
With that, she dipped her brush into the black daub of paint on her palette and in a shaky hand scrawled the word “Brilliance.” It took up the entire lower right corner and even curled up the side.
He would have sworn a child had painted it. How delightful!
Sighing mightily, she rose to her feet, set her palette on the stool behind her, and wiped her hands on a dry rag that did little to clean them. To his amazement, she turned her back and drew on a pair of lightweight summer gloves, directly over the paint stains.
“I can hardly do any worse at the stream,” she said.
Brilliance was thrilled that Lord Hewitt had sought her out. They were back upon a solidly friendly footing, and she was hopeful by the end of the day, they might share another passionate kiss.
Perhaps in the throes of a primitive passion , as the painting master had said.
“Do you need to change?” he asked, offering her his arm.
She hadn’t considered doing so. Purity would, of course, admonish her for not putting on a less diaphanous gown for going to the stream’s edge.
“I am not bothered,” Brilliance told him. “Unless I offend you for not doing so.”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “I simply recall that ladies like to put on a new gown for every occasion.”
“We often do, don’t we?” Flirting outrageously, she leaned on his arm, knowing her breasts were squashed against him. “I shall tell you a secret. Changing our dress is primarily a way to show off our wardrobe to the other ladies. I don’t think the men even notice whether we are in blue or pink or cream, silk or satin or cotton.”
He nodded, his gray-green gaze dipping to her neckline briefly before locking on her own eyes once more. Brilliance found herself fishing for a compliment more eagerly than she intended to fish in Lady Twitchard’s stream.
“For instance, have you noticed what I am wearing today versus yesterday?”
He coughed and again his glance flickered over her. “Yesterday evening, when we first met,” Lord Hewitt said, “you were wearing a pale pink gown. Today, you look lovely in that shade of sunshine.”
“Shade of sunshine?” she repeated. “You are a poet, my lord. This pastel yellow makes me happy.”
“What about last evening’s rosy pink?” he asked.
“That color makes me happy, too.”
“I ought to tell you, then,” Lord Hewitt began, sounding a little hesitant, “since my hints about changing your gown did not work, you have paint here” — he touched her cheek, making her flinch — “and here” — he touched her nose, which made her smile — “and even above your eyebrows. Also, if you examine your hands.”
Brilliance sighed. “What about my bonnet?”
“A little,” he said. “Barely any.”
“Drat! And I tried to be so careful, too. By chance, would you have a spare handkerchief you might not mind sacrificing?”
“Indeed, yes,” he said, bringing one out of his coat pocket as quick as a whip. It had an elegant blue H embroidered on one corner.
“I shall spit on it, but then you must do the wiping, my lord.”
This was not the impression Brilliance had wished to make, needing to be cleaned up like a toddler. Nevertheless, she spat twice onto the cloth and handed it back to him. A little gingerly, he wiped her cheek and then, with more effort, scrubbed at it. In this same way, they cleaned the rest of her face.
“My bonnet will have to wait,” she said, handing him the soiled handkerchief, which he stared at a moment before shoving back into his pocket.
Finally, they were on the path to the stream, just the two of them, and knowing how clever he was and how she had ruined her painting and managed to get covered in paint, she desperately wanted to say something interesting.
“My father is in Parliament, too. Is yours?”
“He was, and infamously so. Twenty years ago, he had a torrid affair with the wife of the then Prime Minister. It became public. They fought a duel, but luckily no one was injured. Except for my father’s political career. It was dead.”
“Your mother must have been very cross.”
“She was, but my father passed away seven years ago, and she has happily remarried.”
Brilliance considered that. “Your career as a member of Parliament shall seem quite stellar in comparison.”
“That is a good way to look at it,” he agreed. “I can hardly do worse, and anything I do that is better than trying to shoot the Prime Minister will put me in good standing amongst my peers.”
“Tory or Whig?” she asked.
“I say,” he declared. “That seems rather personal.”
“Not for two people who have kissed. Surely.” Her words made him look around them in case there were any eavesdroppers. Finding none, he simply nodded.
Brilliance smiled to herself. Men were strange when it came to politics and finances. Moreover, she didn’t particularly understand the difference in the political parties nor care which way he leaned. Thus, she changed the subject.
“I very much like roasted chicken,” she confessed. “I adore peas and potatoes but am not fond of mushrooms.”
During the silence that followed, she hoped he would reciprocate with likes and dislikes of his own so they could better get to know one another.
When he didn’t offer up anything, she asked, “What about you, my lord?”
“What about me?” he asked.
“How are we to grow more used to each other and progress to an agreeable understanding if we don’t learn more about one another?”
He faltered in his step, and she had to relinquish her hold on his arm when he stopped walking altogether.
“Progress to an agreeable understanding?” he said doubtfully.
Brilliance had an inkling she might be rushing ahead of the gentleman. But the kiss! While she could already imagine loving him and setting up a home together, even bearing his children, she realized he might still be considering a long courtship.
Regardless, at that instant, they were alone betwixt the manor and the stream. Thus, in a copse of birch, with the only sound being the guests up ahead, sounding jovial in their fishing endeavors, she faced him.
Her mother would be appalled that her youngest daughter was flagrantly flaunting the proper behavior of a single female at a house party. And normally, with Lord Patterson or any of the other male guests, she would never dream of walking alone. But this was their hostess’s cousin, so he already had a measure of endorsement.
What’s more, Lord Hewitt played hauntingly perfect music, which spoke of a deep and spiritual nature as well as a fine mind. Besides, he had pushed her out of his room to safety when he could as easily have compromised her beyond any redemption.
They were all good reasons as to why she looked up at him and said, “Kiss me.”
Behind his spectacles, his eyes widened. “My lady.” He looked around them as if fearing witnesses.
Gracious! He was unexpectedly shocked. She hoped he didn’t think her loose.
“I assure you, my lord, I have never asked the same of any man.”
“You asked me similarly last night.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I find you intriguing, fascinating, and attractive beyond measure. I confess when you are near, I feel as though I would like to kiss you more than anything.”
His eyes grew rounder.
“Young ladies of your class do not speak in such a manner,” he said.
Brilliance couldn’t help the long sigh. “I believe you are correct. I am unusual, to be sure. But for the life of me, I cannot seem to retrain my nature to be ... false.”
“False?”
“Isn’t it false to pretend disinterest? What about if I paid equal attention to the other male guests, hoping to make you jealous? I know I wouldn’t like it one jot if I saw you paying special attention to the other female guests.”
“I see what you mean by false, yet some would say you might want to be a little more reserved, to exhibit a measure of restraint.”
“Some have definitely said that,” Brilliance conceded. “Mostly my family. But why?”
“Because you are as likely to get hurt as not. What if I were a cad, a rogue hoping to take advantage of you?”
“Are you?” She knew the answer.
“No. But what if I simply have no interest in you while you have laid your heart bare?”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?” he asked.
“Do you have no interest?”
After a brief hesitation, he said, “No.”
“Oh.” Brilliance felt a wave of disappointment, then thought perhaps she was misunderstanding him. “No, as in you do not have ‘no interest’ in me, or no, you have no interest in me?”
He stared at her, frowning. “Even if I have an interest in you, I am precluded by decency and good manners from telling you on the second day of our knowing one another. It is simply prudent to hold oneself and one’s feelings private.”
“Prudent?”she echoed. “I detest prudence. It is like stuffing a lacy handkerchief in one’s mouth.”
Lord Hewitt rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“You are a singular female to be sure.”
Then he wrapped his fingers around each of her shoulders, held her firmly in place so she couldn’t step closer, and lowered his mouth to hers.
“Mm,” she sighed, feeling like a cat in the sunshine. She’d been wondering if the kiss was exactly as she’d recalled — delightful and exciting. It was! Lord Hewitt smelled manly, although Brilliance wasn’t certain what the fragrance was. And his lips were perfectly firm against her own, making her feel ... desirous of something more.
Squirming under his restraint, she wanted to press her body against his, but he was stopping her every attempt. Nevertheless, she would enjoy herself. Parting her lips, she relaxed and tilted her head as he had done in his bedroom.
As she’d hoped, he slanted his head in the other direction, and their kiss deepened.
In the next instant, his hands moved from her shoulders to her back. Lord Hewitt drew her close and pressed her curves to his hard planes. In a twinkling, she had her fingers entwined in his hair at the back of his neck.
When his tongue touched hers, she could not hold back the moan of pleasure. Apparently, the sound brought his attention back to where they were. Releasing her swiftly, he stepped back, although she would have liked to explore the scintillating sensations a while longer.
When she opened her eyes, not realizing she’d closed them, Brilliance saw his glasses were crooked and his hair mussed. Had she done that? What’s more, he now had a little paint over his right eyebrow where her bonnet had rubbed.
“Never mind,” Brilliance said, reaching up to smooth his hair for him. And then she spat on the thumb of her glove and used it to scrub at his forehead.
Through it all, he remained motionless, although his gray-green eyes tracked her every move.
Satisfied there was no trace, she asked, “Do you like roasted chicken?”
For an instant, he continued to stare at her as if he thought her a mad woman. Then he straightened his glasses and offered her his arm once more.
“I do,” he said as they began to walk the path again. “And peas and potatoes.”
A warmth spread through her. How perfectly they were matched until he added, “But I also enjoy mushrooms sauteed in butter with salt and pepper over a piece of toast. A most satisfying meal.”
She shuddered. “I can overlook that.”
“I am not certain I understand —”
The trees parted, and there was the fishing group.
“Look, there is Colonel Twitchard and the others.” At once, it was obvious she was the only female who had ventured to the stream.
The male guests fluttered around her eagerly, especially Lord Patterson, who drew her away from Lord Hewitt to help her prepare her rod.
“The fish are biting,” he said with enthusiasm.
She went with him to the stream’s edge, glancing back to see Lord Hewitt already in conversation with their host, Colonel Twitchard.
“I am delighted you joined us. I am sure you will have great luck at this,” Lord Patterson said, oozing flummery. “Why, the fish will be fighting one another to bite your hook.”
Brilliance frowned. “I think you are speaking nonsense. Surely the fish cannot see who is holding the rod. And why would they be any happier to die at my hands than at yours?”
He fell silent, looking like a disciplined dog, and guilt pinched her. Yet she couldn’t abide too much of the fawning flattery that men thought women wished to hear. Refusing to apologize for her reasonable question, she let it hang in the air between them and lowered her baited hook into the stream.
Brilliance hoped he would leave her in peace to contemplate the ideal morning she’d already had — or at least, the ideal encounter in the trees. It had turned around all the unpleasantness of the conservatory and the dismal failure of her painting, although she had never much cared about her inability as an artist.
In fact, she had plenty of other inabilities, and she had no doubt that many would be on display before the week was out.