Charades and Chivalry (Highfield Hall #2)

Chapter One

London

This was not the first time Julian had laid eyes on the Duchess of Rothbury.

Her Grace had been present at several gatherings this past season, though not always accompanied by the duke, whose health was less than robust. She was his second duchess and not even half his age.

Their marriage, two autumns before, had taken place as soon as the duke’s required mourning period for his first wife had concluded, suggesting the new pairing of pedigree and title had been agreed upon well beforehand.

Speculation naturally followed, but Julian, who abhorred shallow conversation, kept his thoughts to himself despite being aware of the broadly held opinion. It seemed obvious, after all.

Her Grace, being the Earl of Sedbergh’s eldest daughter and a renowned beauty, had secured a coveted title and the benefits along with it.

Meanwhile, the duke, who had already sired two healthy sons during his previous marriage, had obtained a much-coveted feather for his cap, as well as the envy of many of his peers, bachelors and otherwise.

So what? No harm done. Quite the contrary.

Her Grace, whose enchanting beauty was complemented by an exuberant and magnetic personality, had been popular before the marriage.

Since acquiring her title, her popularity had increased.

Within minutes of her arrival at a society event, she would be surrounded by a fawning retinue of male and female admirers, all jostling for attention.

His Grace, whenever present, never showed any sign of jealousy.

If anything, he took pleasure in his wife’s popularity, strutting about as much as his one gouty foot would allow, while puffing out his chest like a cock pigeon.

Julian didn’t fawn. His admiration for the lady was sincere, but elemental.

They had never even been formally introduced.

And, until this utterly unanticipated moment, he’d only ever seen her fully clothed.

Now he stood in awed silence as he gazed upon her near-naked form, which lounged brazenly upon an ornate, red velvet chaise-longue.

His hands rested quietly at his side while his bold gaze touched every visible part of her, lingering here and there to absorb detail.

Her Grace, in turn, appeared to study him with equal audacity.

Her head, partially framed by the crook of her slender right arm, rested upon a gold silk pillow.

A delicate blush of rose graced each defined cheek, contrasting sweetly with the flawless alabaster hue of her lovely complexion.

Her lips, strawberry-red and deliciously plump, displayed the merest suggestion of a pout.

A gold, laurel leaf circlet adorned her hair, which tumbled over her left shoulder in a cascade of glossy chocolate curls, veiling her right breast. The left breast, in erotic contrast, was fully exposed, firm and pale, the alluring dusky tip at its center drawing Julian’s eye.

The lady’s left arm, meanwhile, rested nonchalantly along the curved edge of her body, the bejeweled hand gracefully anchoring the swathe of ivory fabric draped over her hips.

An evocative accessory rather than an attempt at modesty, Julian decided, since a seductive, heart-shaped shadow, at the apex of the lady’s thighs, was easily visible through the diaphanous cloth.

His gaze rested there a moment before continuing its journey, wandering over legs long and shapely, ankles finely turned, and feet, delightfully dainty.

His attention then moved back to the lady’s face, where her flagrant, dark-eyed gaze remained fixed upon him. Come-hither eyes, not quite fully open, their intriguing depths lit by a sultry gleam. Tempting. Challenging.

And incredibly life-like.

“So, brother mine, what do you think? I have a few finishing touches to take care of and, of course, it has to be varnished and framed, but it is otherwise done.”

Julian raked his gaze over the life-size portrait once more and shook his head in admiration. “It’s exquisite, Joe. She is exquisite. You have a remarkable talent. Not sure I should be seeing Her Grace like this, however. Aren’t you obliged to protect her privacy?”

Josiah snorted. “Absolutely, but your discretion is beyond question. Besides, I doubt very much Her Grace would object. The portrait is, apparently, to be hung in full view over the fireplace in her private parlor.”

“Then I must assume His Grace is aware.”

Josiah gave an acknowledging nod. “Fully.”

“In that case, I shall set all gentlemanly considerations aside and continue to admire your artistic talent.” Julian folded his arms and took another long look at the lady’s splendid attributes.

“She truly is beautiful. Of course, you must know my seeing her at any future society events from now on will never be the same. Her clothing, henceforth, will be invisible to me.” Frowning, he took a moment to study the other elements of the portrait.

“And I’m curious to know why she is reclining among the ruins of a Roman temple. ”

“Greek temple, actually, and purely imaginary. It was what she wanted. And yes, Rosalind is very beautiful, with or without clothing.” Josiah heaved an exaggerated sigh as he regarded the portrait.

“Definitely one of my more pleasurable commissions, all done here and very covertly, for obvious reasons.”

“Rosalind?” Julian cocked a brow and regarded his brother. “Yes, well, I suppose propriety is superfluous under such circumstances.”

“To the contrary, propriety is essential under such circumstances. Usually, anyway.” The hint of a smile appeared. “The formalities just naturally disappeared over time.”

Julian ignored the inference. “How long did it take to finish?”

“Almost a year.” Josiah shrugged. “I’d have had it finished sooner, but the sittings with Her Grace often took longer than might be deemed normal.”

“Did they, indeed.” Julian gave in to humor and asked the unnecessary question. “And why, pray tell, was that?”

“Attention to detail.” Josiah assumed a serious expression. “Rosalind had very specific demands that had to be met to her complete satisfaction. Not that she was difficult, mind you. As I said, she was a pleasure. A most willing subject, in fact. I shall miss her. I do miss her.”

Julian grimaced. “You know, one of these days you’re going to find yourself looking down the barrel of some husband’s gun.”

Josiah huffed. “Well, it won’t be Rothbury’s.

Most of the time, he’s got his gouty foot propped up on a footstool.

Besides, it seems he can only manage verbal intercourse, so he makes allowances for his wife’s occasional flirtations and turns a blind eye to them.

” A grin appeared. “Which isn’t difficult, since he can’t see a bloody thing without his spectacles. ”

Julian frowned. “Damn it, Joe, I’m being serious. You tend to play a little too close to the hearth at times. Just be careful you don’t get burned.”

Josiah’s grin dissolved. “I’m always careful,” he replied. “And where women are concerned, I also happen to be very selective. Compared to some of my academy associates, I live like a monk. Truth is, I never set out to seduce Rosalind. If anything, she seduced me.”

“Ah, I see.” Julian nodded. “And I suppose you put up a fight.”

Josiah parted with a laugh. “Not much of one, I’ll grant you. Can you blame me?”

Julian eyed the portrait once more, heaving a sigh as he shook his head. “No, I cannot. So, what else are you working on?”

“Not at liberty to say, I’m afraid. Secret project, and all that.” Josiah threw him a challenging look. “Nothing risky, though, before you start lecturing.”

“Glad to hear it.” Julian gave his brother’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze and cast an eye around the studio, which occupied the entire top floor of his brother’s London apartments.

Sunlight, pouring through two large windows and a skylight, filled the entire, white-washed space, with the exception of a mysterious corner hidden behind a screen of faded, red silk curtains.

Canvases of assorted sizes were stacked along one wall, while a diverse selection of jars containing an equally diverse collection of brushes and other implements occupied several wooden wall shelves.

A large wooden table stood in the middle of the room, its surface a chaotic mosaic of paint spatters that had accumulated over time.

Beside it, two empty easels awaited their next project.

A large mirror, set in an ornate gilt frame, leant against the far wall, adding extra depth and light to the room.

It was more than a workspace, Julian thought.

It was, in fact, a representation of his brother’s character; colorful, abstract, not quite orderly but unquestionably brilliant, and not without a furtive edge of darkness and mystery.

Then his gaze came to rest on the chaise-longue featured in the duchess’s portrait.

“Borrowed,” Josiah said, apparently following along. “The owner is coming to collect it this afternoon.”

Julian smiled an acknowledgment. “So, you’ll definitely be joining the family for dinner tonight?”

“Definitely.” Josiah drew a cross over his heart. “I’ll be there at five o’clock sharp.”

“Then my mission is accomplished, and I shall leave you in peace.” He gave the duchess a final admiring glance and then headed for the door. “Superb work, brother, truly. I’m proud of you.”

“You are?” A hint of surprise edged Josiah’s response.

“Unquestionably.” Julian paused on the threshold and looked back. “We all are, Joe. See you tonight.”

Minutes later, he stepped onto the street, intent on hailing a cab, but paused, his gaze drawn to a remarkably clear sky.

A pleasant change, since the past several days had been damp and miserable.

And for him, at least, this bright day marked the end of another London season.

As usual, his time in the city had been enjoyable and entertaining, but not extraordinary.

As far as marriage prospects went, Julian had yet to meet the woman with whom he’d wish to spend a lifetime.

He was in no particular hurry, however, so it mattered little.

Tomorrow, utilizing both train and horse-drawn carriage, he would begin the journey back to Yorkshire, specifically Highfield Hall and all the responsibilities the estate entailed.

Today, he decided to forgo transport and take advantage of this rather splendid day.

It was not a long walk to the family’s London home.

Half an hour, perhaps. Tapping his hat firmly onto his head, he set out.