Chapter Eighteen
Lucas practically jumped from the carriage before it had even come to a full stop in front of Barnett House.
His mind was bursting with ideas, which was a feeling he had not had in years.
He jogged up the front steps, and once inside, he stripped off his jacket, flinging it over to Yates in the foyer and ignoring the man’s inquiry about how the evening had gone with Miss Grey.
Lucas tugged loose his cravat, climbed the stairs of his townhouse two at a time, entered his studio and closed the door.
He went to the table, gathered his paints and brushes in a flurry and did something he hadn’t been able to do in years: He added colour to his brush, went to the canvas and painted.
The strokes were fluid and easy as he set one after another across the surface, revelling in how it felt so perfect.
All he could think of and see in his mind’s eye was her: Miss Ophelia Granger.
He could hear her laugh, smell the sunshine and wildflowers of her skin and feel the weight of her lips against his.
Kiss me.
His body tightened, pulled and swelled at the memory of her arms gliding around his waist, her murmured request and the yielding, trusting nature of her standing in front of him with eyes closed and lips parted as she leant forward.
Should he have made himself known to her right then and there?
Yes.
Had he been able to?
No.
Could any man?
He wasn’t certain. Miss Granger was a beauty.
And his heart…he felt something for her deep and low in his gut that he didn’t want to—and wouldn’t—acknowledge.
His physical attraction to her was heady, there was no denying that, but there was something even better between them.
She knew some of the worst parts of him but did not judge.
Her support and encouragement had not wavered.
And it wasn’t just because he was employing her.
The way she reacted to his gaze, his touch in the carriage after their kiss.
It was more than physical.
There was something neither of them could deny growing between them like a tiny seedling thirsting for air and sun. He knew he should try to smother it, but how could he destroy or deny something so precious and beautiful?
Because you are the Beast.
The ugly voice emerged from within him, unbidden, reminding him once again of his limitations. His arm stilled in the air; a drop of lavender paint dribbling from his brush to the floor.
She was better off with a man like Dolph. A man who was emotionally and physically whole, and who could give her the life she deserved.
He paused, ignoring the darkness dwelling in the corners of his mind at that thought, and revelled in the progress he had already made with his creation of her on the canvas.
Had he ever felt so consumed by a woman?
The answer was clear: He hadn’t. Not even with Rebecca or his first love as a boy with barely a mustache to cover his upper lip.
This was something entirely different and he was as elated as he was terrified as to what it meant.
He continued painting. Soon, Ophelia’s face came into shape looking back at him through those piercing blue eyes of hers, and he stilled.
But what of Dolph? And Miss Grey?
They could be hurt by all of this if he wasn’t careful.
And who was he to assume Miss Granger cared for him at all?
She had only kissed him because she thought he was someone else: Dolph.
But the way she’d kissed him, so open and free and wild without abandon.
She had to have felt something for him during their kiss.
He had felt it through his whole body, a shuddering quake of attraction and emotion.
It was more than lust, wasn’t it? More than a fleeting attraction.
And the tension between them in the carriage afterwards…
His brush stilled in the air again as he took a shaky breath. He feared it might be love.
‘How was your evening with Lord Phoenix?’ Trudy asked.
Ophelia stopped pacing and faced her friend.
Somehow Trudy had opened the door to Ophelia’s chamber without her even hearing it again, but her mind had been elsewhere, spinning in circles over the developments of the evening.
Someone could have entered the house to burgle it, and she probably wouldn’t have been aware of it.
‘Did you just arrive home?’ Ophelia replied, looking up at the clock. It was half past midnight. She had been pacing in her chambers for over half an hour. She pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed her temple. A megrim was coming. One of her own making, this time.
Trudy came into the room, closing the door behind her. ‘No. I stopped for a snack in the kitchen. What has happened? We had a lovely evening at the Gardens. Why are you not bubbling with energy and joy after being with Lord Phoenix?’
‘I had a lovely time, but something unexpected happened,’ she replied wringing her hands. ‘And it is entirely my fault…which is an entirely new complication I hadn’t anticipated.’
‘Sit. Tell me.’
They sat on the miniature sofa nestled under the grand window in Ophelia’s chambers.
Staring out at the stars was a reminder of what she had done.
Once again, recalling that life-changing kiss near the canal under the night sky brought a flush to her skin.
‘You know when I did something foolish at the ball last weekend?’
‘Yeeess,’ Trudy replied extending the syllable of the word, scrunching up her face.
‘Well, this was worse.’
‘What? How?’ Her eyes widened.
‘I decided to try kissing Lord Phoenix to see how I might feel, and I gathered up my nerve to do so near the canal at Vauxhall Gardens. But I…’ she hesitated, her face heating ‘…I kissed the wrong man.’
Trudy’s jaw fell open. ‘You what?’
‘I know, I know. But it was dark, and Lord Worthing and Lord Phoenix look very similar in the dark. I didn’t even think about the possibility of kissing the wrong person.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘In short, I am an idiot.’
At first Trudy said nothing. Then, her body started quaking and laughter tumbled out of her. Full body-wracking cackling so loud that Ophelia had to shush her. ‘You will wake everyone in the household, Trudy. Please,’ Ophelia begged.
Could this night become any worse?
Finally, Trudy stopped laughing and wiped her eyes. ‘You must admit it is funny, Phelia. I cannot believe you accidentally kissed Lord Worthing, your client, rather than your escort for the evening. What are the chances such a thing would happen?’
‘Evidently, the chances are higher than expected,’ Ophelia replied with a sigh.
‘And?’
Ophelia blinked back at her. ‘And what?’
‘Setting aside the horrid lapse in propriety, how was it? The kiss I mean.’
‘Trudy!’ she gasped.
‘You know you would ask me the exact same question if our roles were reversed. Out with it.’ She crossed her arms against her chest. ‘Otherwise, I will laugh so loudly I will wake the entire household.’
‘I cannot believe you are blackmailing me in my hour of need. Honestly.’ Ophelia crossed her arms against her chest, mimicking her friend’s behavior.
Trudy opened her mouth, and Ophelia swiftly covered it with her hand. ‘Much to my dismay, it was truly wondrous. I felt it all the way to my toes and fingertips.’
Trudy’s face lit up, then just as quickly fell. ‘Oh, my,’ she said. ‘That is a problem. What will you do now?’ she asked, her brow wrinkled.
‘I must meet with him, clear the air and reset our business relationship,’ she said with more certainty than she felt.
She didn’t tell her friend that she couldn’t stop thinking about him and wishing he would kiss her again.
Another kiss simply couldn’t happen. He was her client!
Lord Worthing had also made it abundantly clear on more than one occasion that he wanted a marriage of convenience not one where love was involved.
And love was a requirement for her future match, so they would always be at odds on this point.
Having any sort of relationship with him would be a disaster.
It didn’t matter what her lips or her heart or the rest of her wanted.
She and Lord Worthing could never be more than friends.