by Amelia Grey
“That’s my dear.”
Her grandmother was right. She couldn’t allow herself to worry about the bishop. Her grandmother trusted him completely. Angelina had to do that, too. For a little longer anyway.
The end of the Season was fast approaching.
Chapter 23
I’ll smother thee with kisses.
Venus and Adonis 18
Angelina sat up straight, took off her spectacles, and rolled her shoulders several times as she flexed her fingers. She sat in her painting room off the kitchen hunched over a fan. She’d received word from Bishop Worsley yesterday morning that the duchess wanted a black silk fan painted with nothing but a white peacock with his tail feathers open. That was no surprise to Angelina, but she had waited to start it until she’d heard from Worsley. The duchess probably had no idea how tedious it was to paint that tail. It had taken her most of the day.
He’d also written that he was still in negotiations with Mr. Eyston and would call on her and Lady Railbridge in the next few days. Angelina found that she was constantly either tamping down her excitement over actually selling her fans or worrying about whether she could make enough money to help her father before it was too late. If Bishop Worsley didn’t come over soon, she would be very close to doing what her grandmother had accused her of—wringing her hands.
It had rained for three days so she hadn’t been able to go out into the garden to paint, which made the laborious job a little more enjoyable. She loved feeling the fresh air on her face and hearing the sounds of nature when she was outside: birds chirping, bees buzzing by, and her dogs barking at passing carriages.
She’d chosen this room at the back of the house as her painting space for several reasons. It was well away from the drawing room where her father and grandmother often spent time. She loved them but their chatter could be a nuisance when she was concentrating on small details. There was a large window, which was a must. The hazy yellow glow of a lamp could never take the place of daylight when painting. It was where Rascal and Mr. Pete slept at night, and Sam when it was too cold for him to be outside where he preferred. Since the room was considered Angelina’s and her pets’ domain, not even Mrs. Bickmore ventured into it very often.
There was little furniture in the room: the desk and chair where she worked, an old settee that needed to be reupholstered, and a table to hold a teapot and cup. She looked over at the window. The floral-printed draperies were held back by dark-pink ribbons. In the sill sat the pot of violets Lord Thornwick had brought her. She smiled every time she looked at it. The brown leaves and wilted blooms had fallen off and now there were signs of new growth.
There was no clock in the room but Angelina assumed it was a little past midafternoon. She had worked since early morning. Her eyes were dry and her shoulders achy, but she had to keep painting. Every piece she could sell would bring her father that much closer to being free of his debt. And that would give her the freedom to choose her own husband.
Sam, Rascal, and Mr. Pete roused from their napping and started barking. “Stay,” she said quickly before they could take off running toward the front of the house. Mr. Pete paid her no mind and raced out the door with his nails clicking on the hardwood floors as he went. “Quiet, Sam, Rascal, quiet.”
The dogs looked at her, squirming and making dog noises as if to tell her there was something going on in another part of the house they needed to investigate along with Mr. Pete. “Sit,” she said, and the dogs obeyed but continued to grumble. “It doesn’t matter what you hear, the door, another dog, or the wind. You are staying put. If someone is at the door, Mrs. Bickmore will handle it, not you. And don’t worry about Mr. Pete. He’s still a puppy. It’s my fault I haven’t worked harder to train him, but I will as soon as I don’t have to paint every day,” she said, doing a little grumbling of her own.
The dogs eventually lay back down near the fireplace. Angelina replaced her spectacles on the bridge of her nose and picked up the lid and her brush. A garden scene was one of the easiest things for her to paint, but she would love to know if she needed to paint more or if scenes of the park were more popular—or her favorite, which was a handsome gentleman kissing the hand of a beautiful young lady.
“Good afternoon, Angelina.”
Angelina was so deep in thought that when she heard Lord Thornwick’s voice, it startled her. Rascal and Sam jumped up and barked. She rose and settled the dogs again before turning her attention to the handsome earl. He looked so dashing dressed in his dark trousers, buff-colored waistcoat, and camel-colored coat, but what melted her heart was seeing him holding Mr. Pete in his arms. She felt a sudden urge to rush into Lord Thornwick’s arms and welcome him with a kiss.
Instead, she drew her eyebrows together in irritation at the thought of being so happy to see him.
She said to the rogue, “I’m sure I told Mrs. Bickmore that she must always announce you.”
The corner of one side of his mouth lifted with a smile. “It didn’t do any good.”
“Obviously.”
“Apparently this puppy is not free to roam in the house unattended,” he said, rubbing his open palm down Mr. Pete’s spine.
“None of the dogs are.”
“Mrs. Bickmore was trying to chase him. She was only too happy for me to catch him for her and bring him to you.” He put Mr. Pete down and then patted Sam and Rascal, who’d both come over to sniff him and say hello.
“I’m sure,” Angelina mumbled and looked down at her paint-stained apron and the old, simple gray day dress she wore beneath. Part of her hair was tied back with a black scarf and the rest of it she quickly brushed away from her face, knowing there was nothing else she could do to make herself more presentable.
Suddenly frustrated, she said, “Didn’t you stop to think that it might not be convenient for you to drop by my house unannounced?”
“I can’t say it crossed my mind.”
“Do you ever plan to let me know in advance when you are going to come for a visit?” she said, feeling more than a little annoyed that he seemed to enjoy catching her with paint all over her hands and her apron while he looked absolutely splendid.
“I just returned to London and you were the first person I wanted to see.” He moved in closer to her. “I missed you.”
“I find it difficult to believe that’s true.”
His gaze stayed on her face. “It is. And it matters not to me if you have paint on your hands or your apron.” He smiled. “I like looking at you. Like now. It’s the first time I’ve seen you with spectacles on.”
“Oh,” she whispered and quickly removed them and laid them on her worktable.
“You don’t have to take them off for me. I rather like them. I think they make you look scholarly.”
“Nonsense,” she huffed, trying to wipe a smear of white paint off her hand. It wouldn’t budge so she gave up.
He looked down at the fan. “Painting again. A white peacock. It’s lovely.”
“Thank you,” she said, looking around for her dome to cover it. Finding it on the floor by her chair, she placed it over the fan and then said, “It’s all finished but the drying.” She looked up at him and had to admit to herself that she was glad to see him—but he didn’t need to know that. “Now, tell me why you are here.”
“I told you.” His gaze fluttered up and down her face. “I wanted to see you.”
That’s all? He wanted to see her. Why did comments like that from him always make her stomach feel like it was a sanctuary for butterflies?
Her heart started pounding in her chest and she started remembering how intimate their kisses were the last time she’d seen him. Forcing those thoughts away, she said, “Where have you been?”
“The Duke of Drakestone and I went to visit a friend up north, and on the way back I stopped by Thornwick to check on the rebuilding of the house.”
“I didn’t know if you were gone or if I was just missing you at the parties.”
A curious spark
le lit his eyes. “Would you have liked for me to tell you my plans?”
“What? No. No, I certainly would not,” she said, feeling a little flustered. “It matters not to me where you go or when.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“You do a lot of painting,” he said.
“I enjoy it.” Or I used to before it became work, she thought.
“You know most of the portraits in Thornwick were destroyed in the fire, but some of them were only damaged. Perhaps you can help me find someone who would be willing to take them and copy them to a new canvas. I mean, I know nothing about painting and you could look at an artist’s work and let me know if you think the person would be capable of doing a good job for me.”
“I—I suppose I would be willing to help you find someone who could repaint or repair the portraits for you.”
“Thank you,” he said softly. “I appreciate that.”
Lord Thornwick reached down and picked up one of her hands and looked at it as he said, “The Maltese is missing from the pack.”
His hand was warm, strong, and clean. Hers was small and streaked with paint. “She’s with Granna.”
“It’s Thursday. Is your grandmother visiting her friend this afternoon?”
He remembered that I mentioned that.
Her breaths quickened. “Yes,” she said and looked down at her hand in his.
He lifted her hand to his mouth, placed his lips on the heel of her palm, and licked across a small swath of green paint. With hooded eyes he looked at her and asked, “And where is your father?”
Angelina’s heart started pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “I don’t know.”
He gently rubbed the wet paint with his thumb until it disappeared from her hand. “But he’s not at home?”
“No.”
She tried to stop her body from reacting to what he was doing. She tried to stop her mind from racing to thoughts that shouldn’t be there. Both her body and her mind betrayed her.
He licked a spot of blue paint on the knuckle of her middle finger and rubbed it, too. His hands were gentle and careful not to press too hard on her skin.
“Good.”
“Why do you ask?” she said, but she felt sure she knew.
“It’s useful information.” He looked down at Rascal, who didn’t bother to acknowledge him, and then to Sam whose short ears perked up. “If you hear anyone coming down the corridor, bark.”
Her heartbeat sped up. “Why did you say that to them?”
“Because I’ve missed you and I’m dying to kiss you again.”
The determination on his face could only be called predatory, heated. Primal. A shiver of anticipation and excitement raced through her. Her breaths became short gasps.
She backed up a little. “You are not supposed to kiss me the way you do.”
“I know.” He kept advancing on her. “But you do enjoy it, don’t you?”
She wanted to say no but couldn’t.
“You can stop me anytime you want to. Just tell me no and I’ll back away.”
And then she knew she couldn’t say no. Because the truth was, she wanted him to kiss her again. He drew her into his arms and up to his chest and claimed her lips for his own. As if it were the most natural thing for her to do, Angelina leaned into him and parted her lips. Harrison accepted her invitation and invaded her mouth with his tongue, alternating between short darting thrusts and long exploring strokes. His lips pressed hers long and hard, with deep feeling that stole her breath and left her senses reeling and wanting more.
She slipped her arms beneath the warmth of his coat and around his firm waist, pulling herself closer to him. She slid her hands up his ribs, past his broad back, wanting to feel the power in his shoulders.
Harrison ran his hands skillfully up and down the front of her apron, pressing them over her breasts, quickly awakening searing desire inside her. He gently squeezed and massaged her through her clothing. With his thumb and forefinger he searched for and found her nipples. He kneaded them seductively. His caresses were meant to entice her, stir her senses. and make her want more … and they did.
Angelina loved the way he was making her feel. A whispered sound of pleasure floated past her lips. Her body was responding eagerly to his touch.
“Now do you believe I missed you? That I had to see you and kiss you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. At the back of her mind she heard an odd sound from the dogs, but Lord Thornwick’s touch had her beyond thinking about anything except for how he was making her feel. Her mouth clung eagerly to his rough and demanding kisses. She slid her hands down to the firm muscle of his buttocks. She filled her hands with him.
The earl trembled and she smiled beneath his lips as he moaned and caught her bottom in his hands, too, lifting her up to his hardness.
“Feel how much I want you,” he said between kisses.
“I do,” she whispered.
Angelina melted against him, yielding to his strength as he pressed against her again and again. She heard the dogs continue to growl but pushed away the sounds in favor of the pleasure of the earl’s touch.
“Now tell me you missed me, Angelina. Tell me you were waiting for me to return and kiss you like this.”
She was about to say yes when she heard a warning growl from Sam. The dogs were no longer playing with one another. Something was going on between them. Sam could hurt Rascal or Mr. Pete within seconds. She pulled away from Lord Thornwick and twisted her head around to look behind her. All three dogs were holding a single piece of white cloth in their teeth, trying to pull it away from the others.
Breathlessly she pushed completely out of Harrison’s arms and turned toward the dogs. “Sam, Rascal, Mr. Pete, what do you three troublemakers have there?”
They paid her no mind, but continued growling.
As if sensing that they were about to lose what they held, Sam snapped at Mr. Pete. The puppy yelped.
“Sam! Sit. Bad dog! Rascal, sit.” Rascal and Sam obeyed immediately. Mr. Pete, thinking he had the item all to himself, was about to run away with it when Harrison caught him up in his arms and tore the cloth from his mouth.
“What were you three fighting over?” he asked and held up the item: a lady’s stays.
“Ah!” Angelina gasped and jerked them from Harrison’s hands, then hid the garment behind her back. Flames of heated embarrassment burned her neck and cheeks. All she wanted was for the floor to open and swallow her.
“It’s too late to hide it now, Angelina. I’ve already seen it. And I might add I’ve seen stays before. Though maybe not ones with so much lace on them.”
To Lord Thornwick’s credit, after his remark he pressed his lips together tightly to keep from laughing out loud. It did little to soothe her. She saw a wicked glint of humor in his eyes and his shoulders shaking with mirth. It had to be Mr. Pete who had wandered away and pilfered the stays from the laundry basket.
“Come on, all three of you are going outside,” Angelina said. “Now!”
She fled from the room and sent the dogs out the back door and into the misting rain. She didn’t want to go back and face Lord Thornwick, but she had to deny her mortification and just do it. On her way back to Lord Thornwick she stopped and stuffed the corset into a cabinet. Later she would put it in its proper place.
She put on a brave face and walked back into the room, hoping to appear as if nothing had happened. The earl was standing in front of the window looking at the violets he’d given her.
“All they needed was some morning light and the right amount of watering,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t make any further reference to her unmentionables.
He turned and gave her a tender smile. “I knew you would know what to do.”
“You can take them back home now. I’ve nursed them back to health for you. The new growth should produce blooms in a few days.”
He frowned. “These aren’t mine,” he said.
“I bought them for you.”
She looked puzzled. “You bought half-dead violets for me?”
He nodded. “What would you do with flowers that needed no loving attention?”
“So you thought because I like to take care of wounded dogs, I would like wounded flowers, too.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “Was I wrong?”
She smiled, too. “No, Lord Thornwick, thank you.”
“It’s Harrison.” He leaned back against the window frame and crossed one foot over the other. “You must call me Harrison when we are alone. Especially now that I’ve seen—”
“Don’t,” she said firmly and held up her hand.
He laughed and it was so genuine and so wonderful that she started laughing, too. She might end up ruing the day her father said she could keep Mr. Pete.
“So after all we have been through together now, what is my name?”
She supposed it was a bit ridiculous for her to continue to call him Lord Thornwick after their passionate kisses. “Harrison,” she said. “But only when we are alone.”
“Accepted,” he said and walked closer to her. “Tell me, has Captain Maxwell kissed you yet?”
Does he know I wanted the captain to kiss me?
“What? No,” she said, feeling heat rise in her face again. “I’ve told you. Unlike you, he is a gentleman, an officer, a man of honor who follows the rules of Society.”
His eyes seemed to pierce hers as if he were trying to see into her soul and test her honesty. “But he is still a man.”
“He is a man and a very fine man,” she defended, feeling her hackles rise.
“If he desired you as much as I do, he would not let manners, rules, or anything else stop him from kissing you.”
“That is not true. He respects me.”
“I respect you greatly, Angelina. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I desire you more.”
She backed away from him. “I don’t want to talk about Captain Maxwell with you.”
“Fair enough. I don’t want to talk about him, either. But I do have a suggestion for you. If he won’t kiss you, you need to kiss him.”