The Wild Passion of an Eccentric Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Emily Honeyfield

  “I hear that there was much intrigue at the ball,” Kingsley said.

  “Yes, I suppose there was. And much dancing!” Emilia said with great enthusiasm. She had to wonder if it was too much enthusiasm.

  “I daresay, I’ve never been one to look forward to dancing, but I am anticipating the next event.”

  “Is there an event in question?” Kingsley asked, and Simon and Emilia looked at one another sadly, both understanding that they did not have a social calendar as yet.

  “That’s another reason why I’m paying a call,” Emilia said. “I think that we should discuss the next stage of the plan.”

  “That’s a fine idea,” Simon replied with a smile.

  A wave of embarrassment came over Emilia as she realized that she could have very well put all of this in a letter, but her desire to see Simon was so great that she couldn’t stop herself. Besides, should the letter be somehow intercepted, it could cause serious damage to her reputation.

  “Perhaps you could encourage the Duke of Westmoreland to have a ball. That would make an interesting show of things,” Kingsley said, lifting his brow.

  “I fear that would be too much,” Emilia replied.

  “From what I understand of Lord Huntley Pendergast, nothing is too much,” Simon said darkly and nearly under his breath.

  “Perhaps we should attend Lady Susana’s wedding to the prince,” Emilia said, trying to keep the whole matter lighthearted. “The prince of . . .” she realized that Simon had never told her.

  “A prince of one of the principalities of Spain. A rather lowly prince, but a prince, nonetheless.”

  “What is it about women and princes?” Kingsley asked, putting down his spoon and bringing a napkin to his mouth. “It’s their dream-come-true to marry a prince. All these fairy tales.”

  “I agree,” Emilia replied. “I’d much rather marry a dairyman with a good heart than a prince with no heart at all.”

  Emilia watched as both Simon and Kingsley turned to her as though she’d said something extraordinary.

  “Your presence has sparked something strange in me,” Kingsley said, and Emilia’s heart sank. That didn’t bode well. “Seeing you in your natural state and not a mess of coal, would you be so kind as to allow me to sketch you?” Kingsley asked.

  Emilia was in shock. Why did the most renowned artist in Britain want to sketch her?

  “Do you have the time to spare?” Simon asked.

  Emilia looked out the window at the rain and realized that if she were to return home at once, it would be another cold, dark journey. But then, guilt filled Emilia as she realized that this was the second time that she came to Montgomery House without a chaperone. She couldn’t bear to bring Hortensia with her, and what’s more, she wished to be alone in Simon’s company whenever possible. Having Sir Gregory Kingsley sketch her whilst Simon looked on would be much more ideal.

  “I do have the time,” Emilia replied. A smile came to both Simon’s and Kingsley’s faces.

  But did she have the time? Emilia had told her father that she was going to go do some shopping in town. If she returned after the sun had fallen, she’d need to have an excuse for her long absence.

  “Come along, then,” Kingsley said, getting up from his chair and ambling to the door. The pleasant smile wouldn’t leave Simon’s face, but Emilia was feeling a bit apprehensive. She’d never been sketched before in her life, although she had done a lot of sketching herself. Emilia always imagined that it was a rather uncomfortable experience.

  “After you,” Simon said to Emilia as they reached the door. Walking up the endless winding stairs, Emilia could feel Simon’s presence at her back. Or rather, her posterior side. A flush of embarrassment came to her cheeks. Reaching the studio, Kingsley flung open the door, and Emilia heaved a sigh of relief. It was just as she remembered it, with windows on all sides. Although, this time, the tableau outside the window was dark and stormy, and tapers were burning around the studio. The combination of that with all the paints and canvases and Emilia felt like she might possibly be in the most romantic place on Earth.

  “Here we are,” Kingsley said, seating himself on his stool. “Simon, remove this canvas, if you please, and get me a fresh white board.”

  “Yes, sir,” Simon replied, easily stepping into the role of artist’s apprentice.

  “Come sit here, Emilia,” Kingsley said, motioning towards the stool by his side, “but push it over there,” he added. Emilia picked up the stool to move it to where the artist had pointed, but Simon quickly ran up to her.

  “Let me do that,” he said, taking the stool from her hands.

  “I’m not as weak as I look,” Emilia protested.

  “No, I know you to be strong,” Simon replied. “But it pains me to see a woman lift things. Please understand.”

  Emilia could tell that Simon was being humorous, but there was also truth to it. He seemed like the sort of noble, gallant fellow that felt true physical pain watching a woman exert herself when she didn’t need to. “Very well,” Emilia replied.

  Simon put the stool down and dusted off the seat for good measure. “Your throne, M’Lady,” he said.

  “I thank you.” Emilia seated herself and turned towards Kingsley, who was studying her features. A fresh board was placed upon his easel, and charcoal was handed to him. There was a momentary spark of panic. “May I ask how long this will take?” Emilia said.

  “Not very long at all,” Kingsley replied, already bringing charcoal to the board. “A quarter of an hour.”

  “You work fast,” Emilia replied, remarkably impressed. She found that when she sat down to sketch, she could be there for hours staring at the same face.

  “A beautiful face practically draws itself,” Kingsley said playfully, and Emilia looked to Simon who was ever-so-slightly scowling at his master’s comment.

  “What do you draw first?”

  “We begin with the outer shape of the face and take each curve as it comes. I’m drawn to your brow, the way that it curves perfectly over your eyes, and how those eyes are symmetrical to your nose,” Kingsley said, and Emilia could see that he was drawing each feature as he talked of it. Simon came in behind him to look at the sketch, tilting his head as he did so, and then smiled. Simon looked back and forth between the board and Emilia as Kingsley continued to work. Although it was mildly nerve-racking to have Kingsley examine her, it was positively overwhelming to feel Simon doing the same.

  “Turn more to this side,” Kingsley said, using his charcoal as a pointer. Emilia positioned herself a bit more to the right and was grateful for it. At that angle, Kingsley and Simon were only in her periphery vision. Gazing out the window, the sound of the rain was intoxicating. There was one window slightly cracked open which allowed for the cool, fresh air to escape into the studio. As Emilia felt it difficult to remain so still, she reminded herself to breathe.

  “Remarkable,” she heard Simon say, no doubt in regards to the sketch.

  “I haven’t sketched a profile in quite some time,” Kingsley said.

  “Someday I wish to do only portraiture,” Simon replied.

  “That’s because you have courage.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Simon asked.

  “Portraiture is a perilous thing,” Kingsley explained. “With a scenic painting, you can abide by your imagination if you wish and the landscape won’t complain. With a human face, there are a lot of complaints that can come out of the mouth that you painted with your own two hands.

  “I won’t complain,” Emilia assured him.

  “No, I don’t imagine that you will,” Kingsley replied. There was silence that followed, and Emilia could tell that the sketching had temporarily stopped. Had something gone amiss? “Simon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Some amendments,” Kingsley said. “Would you be so kind as to take off Emilia’s gloves?”

  Simon paused for a brief moment before answering. “Of course, not,” he said, approaching Emi
lia and getting down on one knee. “Are you comfortable with this?” His eyes were remarkably tender.

  “I can do it—” Emilia began to say before Kingsley halted her.

  “Don’t move!” he pled.

  “Of course,” Emilia replied, returning to her original position. “I’m comfortable. Go ahead, Simon,” she said, and felt his large, warm, gentle hands come to hers. He removed her gloves slowly, as though unwrapping a gift. Emilia daren’t look into his eyes for fear that it might be too much. First the right glove and then the left. The sensation of being stripped by Simon was intoxicating.

  “Now, the hair,” Kingsley said, and Simon got up from his knee and positioned his face in front of hers.

  “May I?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Emilia replied, feeling a lump come into her throat. Just then, she felt Simon’s tender hands come to the knot of hair at the top of her head. He began to slowly allow her tresses to fall loose, pin by pin. Before she knew it, Emilia felt the cool breeze going through her wayward mane. Dread filled her as she wondered how she might explain all of this to her father. It would be impossible to re-set her hair in the coach ride home.

  “Now, bring that taper closer to her face,” Kingsley said, and Simon walked over to the nearest candle and brought it closer, setting it upon a side table. “There, now!” Kingsley said with great enthusiasm, as though everything was just right.

  As Emilia sat there, the light flickering upon her face, and her person laid barer, she managed to catch Simon in her peripheral vision, and from what she could tell, he was transfixed. Whilst remaining steady, she thought over every detail and every sensation of Simon unwrapping her hands from her gloves. He had grabbed her hand once before at the Crawford ball, but that paled in comparison to the sensation of his hands upon her forearms, wrists, and fingers.

  She could have sat there all night, having Simon put on and then take off again her gloves. Then, there was the sensation of having his hands in her hair. No man had ever felt her hair before, and she had never let it down in public her entire adult life. Everything was positively thrilling. She did hope that Simon wouldn’t see the flush upon her cheeks, but considering that she was in the presence of artists, there was no doubt that they could see everything.

  “Have a go at it,” Kingsley said, and from what she could glean, this was the master beckoning the apprentice to sketch alongside him. Now, this was sure to be too over-stimulating! It was one thing to have Kingsley sketching her and Simon watching, but quite another to have them both examining her intensely at the same time.

  Although she could only see Simon in her periphery, she could feel his entire presence. He procured a fresh board and returned to his stool, where he positioned it just so and immediately took to work. There was utter silence in the studio as the two men carried on. From what Emilia could tell, it had already been quarter of an hour, and no doubt, Kingsley had got carried away.

  In many respects, Emilia could understand this. When the lighting was just right, one must take advantage of it, no matter the circumstances. Emilia tried to remain as still as possible but found shocking thoughts coming to mind. Aside from Simon undressing her arms, she began to imagine Simon undressing every other part of her body, one by one.

  It was utterly embarrassing to be sitting there thinking of such things, but Emilia found that she couldn’t help it. There was a foreign sensation of warmth between her legs, and Emilia was afraid that perhaps she had lost her mind. But something about the entire air of the studio that evening was so utterly intoxicating that Emilia could scarce help herself.

  Never had she had thoughts of an intimate nature about Lord Pendergast. In fact, even when she was beginning to fall in love with him, there were few notions of the flesh. How was it that Simon James was having this effect on her? Surely, if she confessed it to a priest, she’d be doused in Holy water.

  The rest of the time sitting there seemed to pass rather quickly and Emilia could hear that Kingsley was getting up from his stool, with Simon doing the same.

  “At ease, soldier,” Kingsley said to her, and Emilia moved for the first time in she didn’t know how long. “Would you help her, Simon?”

  “Gladly,” Simon replied.

  Emilia turned and watched as he approached. He picked up her gloves from a table.

  “Are you going to refasten my hair?” Emilia asked humorously.

  “I fear that I cannot,” Simon replied. “Nor would I wish to.” His statement was suggestive, and Emilia found her whole body warm yet again. “I can, however, reapply your gloves.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “I insist,” Simon replied, and Emilia got to bask in the utter enjoyment of his warm hands upon her arms yet again. Were they alone, she could close her eyes and relish. Off in the corner, Kingsley was washing his hands and had his back turned towards them.

  “I thank you,” Emilia said softly when Simon was done.

  “My pleasure,” Simon said, gazing into her eyes. Once more, Emilia felt the need to look away for fear that it was all too intense. “I thought of what you said downstairs. How we should attend another event. I have just the place.”

  “What is it?” Emilia asked.

  “It’s a much more intimate affair. The Duke of Sheffield is holding a ball, and I’m quite sure Lady Susana will be there.”

  At the very mention of Lady Susana, Emilia felt her heart sink.

  Chapter 10

  The following night, Simon realized that he hadn’t been so happy in quite some time. Escorting Emilia and Rose to the Sheffield ball with chaperone in tow, Simon anticipated that the night was going to be a great success. There was a delighted smile upon Emilia’s face, which pleased him even more.

  The home of the Duke of Sheffield was not as grand as the Crawford estate, but it was still stately and well-appointed. Within, guests flitted about, and Simon found himself relieved that there was not as much pomp. There was dancing in the ballroom, a fine four-piece orchestra, a room for refreshments, and a balcony out back that looked over an expansive garden.

  He no longer had to deal with the haughtiness of Lady Crawford. The Duke of Sheffield was a man that Simon had known for some time, since the duke was a connoisseur of art. Therefore, Simon felt much less on display and more able to enjoy Emilia’s company.

  “I see Sissy!” Rose said with enthusiasm.

  “Who is Sissy?” Emilia asked.

  “A friend,” Rose replied and immediately ran over to where Sissy stood with another gaggle of girls.

  “I’m glad to hear that she has friends,” Emilia said once Rose was gone.

  “Did you think that she didn’t?” Simon asked.

  “I feared so. She stays at home so much.”

  “Well, I’m glad that my presence encourages her to get out into the world more,” Simon said.

  “I am, as well,” Emilia replied, looking up into his eyes. There was such warmth and tenderness there, and it stirred Simon’s heart.

  “Come, there are many people that I wish to introduce you to.” Simon extended his arm so that Emilia might grasp it, and took her for a turn about the room where she was introduced as Simon’s fiancée with great pride in his voice. Everyone seemed delighted by Emilia, and this swelled Simon’s breast with even more pride.

  “You have such charming friends,” Emilia said once they went to get refreshments.

  “It’s a diverse group of friends, both titled and not. You find that in the arts, you can enjoy a rather interesting mix of people. Bon ton or no bon ton.”