Chapter Six #2
She glanced at him curiously, eyes narrowed, forehead creased, and head tilted in a delightfully inquisitive fashion before she shook her head and smiled. A gentle smile that spread across her soft lips and sent his heart pounding like it was trying to punch its way through his chest.
But she said nothing, turning back to the still life of fruit and flowers they were viewing.
“You said you missed Venice,” he said, hoping to spark a conversation and gather a few more details of her life. “Have you visited there often?”
“I…” She paused, glancing up at him. “I lived there for a time.”
Her gaze shifted away from his and she moved to another painting, pausing before it with a smile.
“This one is one of my favorites,” she said, looking at a sunny landscape with a church and rainbow in the distance with evident pleasure. “It always brings me joy.”
He recognized the change of subject but short of pinning her place and torturing the information from her, he couldn’t force her to answer his questions more fully. And he could be gentleman enough to move on. No matter how greatly his curiosity was killing him.
“It is quite lovely,” he said, though he wasn’t looking at the picture.
“I agre—”
“Why did you run from me at our last meeting?” he asked, unable to stop the question from erupting. Apparently his gentlemanly restraint only stretched so far. “And you have avoided me since.”
She glanced up at him with wide, startled eyes.
“I…” She looked back at the painting. “I must apologize, my lord. I hope I did not offend you. I suppose I have been embarrassed. The incident with the horse…it reminded me of something. I’m afraid I let my emotions get the better of me and felt the need to excuse myself. ”
“With impressive speed,” he said, trying to bring the smile back to her lips.
“Yes.” She did smile, but it had little amusement in it.
That just wouldn’t do.
He turned back to the painting and quietly perused it with her for a few seconds. Then he leaned a bit closer to her, giving their conversation an air of conspiracy.
“Have you ever been told that you shouldn’t touch a painting with your bare hands?” he asked.
She blinked a few times at the sudden change of conversation, but she followed along good-naturedly. “I don’t believe so.”
“It seems the oils from one’s skin can mix with the paint and smear it if one is not careful.”
“Oh, my, that is—”
“Touch it.” He jerked his head at the painting.
Her shocked gaze jolted to him. “What?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
He leaned in a little closer. “Aren’t you curious?” He gave her a conspiratorial half-grin that had her biting her bottom lip, her teeth sinking into the plump flesh so sweetly it made him bite back a groan.
“Perhaps. Do you always break the rules simply out of curiosity?” she asked.
“Frequently. I find it immensely freeing.”
She raised a gloved hand to her mouth, her eyes shining with amusement. Much better than the melancholy that resided there only a few moments ago.
“Very well.” He pulled his glove off and glanced about. “Is anyone watching us?”
Her eyes darted about, and she snorted softly. “Yes, quite a few people.”
“Hmm.” He angled his body so that the painting was blocked from the view of at least the people behind him. “Ready?”
“My lord,” she said laughing, “you mustn’t.”
He reached a finger out to touch the painting and—
“Lord Lockhaven,” a man’s voice said.
Edward pivoted on his feet, clasping his hands behind his back so he could greet the Earl of Chesmorton whilst shoving his hand back in his glove. A more difficult task than he would have thought as he discovered when the earl left with a nod, and Edward turned back around and held up his hand.
“Well, that doesn’t seem right,” he said, looking down at where four fingers were tucked inside the glove, though none in their correct places, and his pinky was bare to the world.
Mrs. MacLaren’s laughter rang out in earnest, a delightfully hearty belly laugh that he would pay a hefty sum to hear every day. His heart soared at the sound.
He might not know everything about her just yet. But he had made her laugh, which, surprisingly, filled him with more satisfaction than anything he had done in a very long time. And he had discovered some information, scant though it was.
She’d been married. At least once, possibly twice.
He had a suspicion she had lost someone close to her in a horse or carriage accident.
She spoke French. She’d lived in Venice, therefore likely also spoke Italian.
She enjoyed art. And the color blue, judging by how often she wore it.
A woman who was very well-traveled and well-cultured.
Kind. Gracious. Elegant. Intelligent. Curious enough to break a few rules, though hesitant to do so. And heart-stoppingly beautiful.
It was more than he’d known about her a few weeks ago. It was enough.
For today.
“Allow me to call upon you tomorrow,” he said.
Her smile dimmed slightly, and he inwardly cursed himself for his hasty request. He’d meant to wait until she’d grown more comfortable around him before he asked again.
Skittish creature that she seemed to be.
But being in her presence did something to his senses.
He simply wasn’t himself. Was it the air of mystery about her?
Those piercing blue eyes framed by their dark lashes?
Or simply the fact that he enjoyed conversing with her far more than anyone else he’d met in the last…
well, ever. Hell, he enjoyed standing in total silence with her more than he enjoyed conversing with anyone else.
He didn’t know what it was about her. But he was desperate to find out. Something that would be far easier away from the prying eyes of the ton. The semi-privacy of a salon was hardly ideal either, but a far sight better than this crowded hall.
“I…um…” Her eyes darted around, looking at everything and everyone but him. “I…”
She backed up a step, right into a pedestal that held a bust of some statesman or other.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as the thing tottered on its perch.
He leapt forward, arms outstretched just in time to catch it before it fell completely.
There was quite a bit of commotion as the crowd bustled in closer, trying to get a look at what was going on. Thankfully, several other gentlemen stepped forward to help him replace the surprisingly heavy chunk of marble. In just a few minutes, they had everything set to rights.
But when he turned, it was to find Mrs. MacLaren had vanished.