by Bree Wolf
Gritting her teeth, Winifred determinedly pushed that thought away. There was no need for her to see him outside of social events. After all, she had a future husband to find. Someone who suited her beyond the spur of the moment. Someone she could share her life with. Someone who understood her.
And that someone was certainly not Trent Henwood, Earl of Chadwick.
At least, she told herself so.
***
Sitting in the conservatory Griffin had added to their London townhouse for the sole reason of his sister’s desire to paint, Winifred was engrossed in the glowing orchid slowly taking form on the canvas before her.
Her eyes shifted to the side, gazing at the live plant, trying to catch the way the afternoon light streamed in through the glass walls around her and set it aglow, giving it an otherwordly touch. The golden light almost seemed to dance on the snow-white petals, and Winifred sighed at the peaceful scene before her.
After the rather tumultuous beginning of the year, Winifred had spent the past few days locked away in a world of colours and light where the outcome of a painting was controlled by her skill alone. Nothing more. There were no contradicting emotions.
No misunderstood meanings.
No uncertainties.
“Ah, there you are.”
Looking over her shoulder, she found her brother standing in the doorway, dressed to go out. “I’ve been here every day for the past few days,” she reminded him, her brows raised in challenge. “If that fact has escaped your attention until now, I feel compelled to question your ability to assist me in choosing a suitable husband for you seem far from observant.”
Grinning, Griffin approached. “Are you daring me to quit, dear Sister?”
Winifred swallowed, keeping a careful smile fixed on her face.
“Are you afraid I will choose poorly? Or are you reconsidering the requirements you placed on this endeavour?”
Setting down her paintbrush to have a reason to avert her gaze momentarily, Winifred rose from the stool. Then she took a step toward her brother. “Have you ever known me to change my mind?” she asked, her voice betraying a strength she did not feel.
“Not lightly.”
“And I shall not do so now.” Turning her gaze back to the window, Winifred felt her hands begin to tremble. Did she have doubts? She did not dare entertain that thought. For if she did and it turned out that it was true, what would she do then? What about her carefully forged plans? What would she do without them?
“I shall be out for the rest of the afternoon,” Griffin said, his footsteps retreating toward the door before they stopped, and he took a few steps back. “By the way, your painting is beautiful. However, I must say I’ve seen similar ones all my life. Why do you never paint people?”
With her gaze fixed on the canvas, Winifred shrugged. “They’re too complicated. There is no one way to paint someone. No right way. I never know what to include and what not, how to…” Again, she shrugged, unable to put into words how people tended to confuse her. “They’re not rational.”
Griffin grinned. “I know. That’s the beauty of it.” Then his footsteps retreated once more. “Oh, I almost forgot. Trent will be over shortly; however, I won’t be able to receive him.”
As her heart hammered in her chest, Winifred turned toward her brother.
“You don’t mind entertaining him, do you?”
“Me?” Winifred stammered, her hands gripping the paintbrush a bit too tightly. “Why can’t you cancel on him?”
“Because he’s already on his way.”
“Then cancel your other plans.” Her voice sounded almost pleading to her own ears.
Watching her, Griffin took a step closer, his brows drawn down. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t enjoy his company.” A question lit up his eyes.
“How can I?” Winifred huffed, shaking her head at her brother. “He always teases me. He’s insufferable.”
Griffin chuckled, “I know. I like him, too.” Then he turned to leave.
“What is so important that you cannot stay?” Winifred demanded, returning to the actual subject at hand.
“You.”
“What?”
Stopping in the door frame, Griffin smiled. “I’m meeting a few eligible bachelors at White’s.”
Winifred’s mouth dropped open. “You are? Why?”
Griffin sighed, “How can I judge their character if I don’t know them?”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.” And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone to face the one man who had always managed to turn her world upside down.
Trying to distract herself, Winifred turned her gaze back onto the canvas. However, the orchid failed to capture her attention. Despite Griffin’s good intentions, she could not help but curse him for forcing this obligation on her. She could not simply send Trent away, or could she? Would that be in bad manners? After all, it was not she who had made plans with him. It had been her brother.
Feeling anger thudding through her veins, Winifred set down the image of the orchid she had been working on and retrieved a blank canvas. For a long moment, she stared at the white surface as it sat upon the easel, waiting to be filled with colour.
Snatching up her paintbrush, Winifred followed her intuition and quickly sketched her brother’s face. Then she began to fill his image with life, giving his eyes a touch of mischief and his lips a curl of amusement. Before long, his portrait−although far from finished−had the same air of high-handedness about it which her brother always showed when doing what he thought right, ignoring others in the process.
It was a true likeness, one that captured his essence, and for the first time, Winifred felt satisfied with a portrait. Maybe once she had completed this one, she ought to try and paint others. Maybe it would help her understand people better.
All their layers.
All their−
“You truly have a talent.”
Startled by Trent’s voice only a few inches behind her, Winifred spun around, her paintbrush raised as though in defence, and before she knew what was happening the tip of her brush touched his face.
Shrinking back, she stared at the brown smudge on Trent’s cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Then she swallowed, and her gaze met his, taking note of the hint of surprise as well as the tickling amusement that painted a teasing smile on his face. “Have I not told you not to sneak up on a lady?” she snapped. “You’re truly impossible!”
Laughing, he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping at the paint. “Oh, I’m impossible? You’re the one to disfigure me, and I’m impossible?”
Winifred rolled her eyes, watching him spread the small smudge all over his cheek. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic!” Then she stepped forward, “Give me this!” snatching the handkerchief from his hand. “You’re making it worse.”
He had the audacity to chuckle. “Why do I make you so nervous?”
Forcing her voice not to tremble, Winifred snapped, “You’re not. You’re mistaking annoyance for nervousness.” Then she stepped back, and after dipping an edge of the handkerchief in a little fresh water she had set aside to clean her brushes, Winifred grabbed his chin rather roughly, turning his head sideways. “Now hold still or I swear I shall spread the paint all over your face.”
Again, he chuckled as though nothing had ever been more amusing.
Chapter Six − Passion
Enthralled, Trent watched her as she began to wipe the paint off his cheek.
Her fingers held his chin tightly, and yet, they seemed to tremble ever so slightly as though the sudden contact had taken her off guard as much as him. Enjoying the feel of her touch as well as the warmth of her skin, Trent noticed her swallow when she caught him watching her, and he could not help but think that she felt something, too.
A woman unaffected did not look as she did, or did she?
Her eyes flicked back and forth between his own and the smudge on
his face, and her cheeks seemed to darken with colour as though the emotions coursing through her at that moment ran deep. Still, despite her declaration to the contrary, she seemed nervous as though overwhelmed by their close contact.
“There,” she finally said, releasing his chin and stepping back. “Now you look presentable again.” Handing him back his handkerchief, she turned back to her painting, her gaze never quite meeting his.
Although Trent could not help but regret that the paint smudge had not been bigger and therefore more difficult to remove, he did not dare act on the impulse that coursed through his veins, urging him to reach for her and pull her into his arms. What would she do? Slap him? Scream?
No, before he did something so bold, he had to be certain of how she felt, of how she would react.
Looking over her shoulder, he tried to find something to say. “Since when do you paint people?”
“Since today.”
Surprised, he took a step closer, feeling her stiffen as she straightened her back, the muscles in her jaw tense as she kept her gaze focused on the painting before them. “What brought on this change?” he asked, then chuckled. “Your brother I would presume, judging from the annoyingly superior look in his eyes.”
At his words, he felt her relax slightly and a matching smile drew up the corners of her lips.
“What did he do?” Trent asked. “What made you paint him like this?”
The smile vanished from her face; however, she did not say a word.
“Have you ever painted me?” Trent prompted, wondering what her answer would have been if only she had shared it with him. Did it have something to do with him?
Turning her head, she looked at him, a slight frown drawing down her brows and a teasing curl coming to her lips. “Is your memory impaired somehow? Have you recently suffered a blow to the head?” When he frowned, she added, “Can you not recall what I just told you?”
Trent laughed, “I suppose I wasn’t paying attention.”
Rolling her eyes at him, she turned back to the painting. “To tell you the truth, few things you do surprise me.”
He grinned, leaning in closer. “Would you care to elaborate?”
She inhaled a deep breath before stepping away and reaching for her paintbrush. “I’m afraid commenting on that would only make you more insufferable.”
Again, he laughed, “Where’s your brother?”
She stiffened but kept her gaze on the painting. “Out at White’s. He asked me to make his apologies.”
Confused for a split second, Trent nodded as he realised the significance of Griffin’s absence. Judging from her evasiveness and how uncomfortable she felt in his presence, her brother was most likely working on their little project and trying to find her a suitable husband. Was there a deeper reason why she did not want him to know? Or was he simply imagining it?
Unable to help himself, he asked once more, “What do you look for in a husband?”
At his question, her hand tightened on the brush before she turned to look at him, her eyes narrowed, a warning resting in them. “Did I not tell you that this does not concern you?” She swallowed. “I’d much appreciate it if you would take your leave.”
Trent swallowed, determined not to allow her to push him away. “Not until you answer me.”
“Why?” she demanded, her eyes widening as they searched his face. “Why do you want to know? To tease me some more?”
“Do you not like it?” he asked, grinning, wondering how he had made it through the past five years without teasing her…without…her.
Again, her eyes narrowed. “Why would I? It’s highly irritating.” She stopped, and her gaze held his for a moment. “Do you?”
Closing the distance between them, Trent held her gaze, noticing the way she forced herself not to take a step back. “Very much so,” he whispered, his breath touching her lips, making her shiver. “Now tell me, Fred, what is it you wish for in a husband?”
Swallowing, she held his gaze, determination shining in her eyes. “If you must know, I am hoping for a husband who does not tease me.”
“Would that not be a dull life?” he teased as though by reflex, unable not to.
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “It would be peaceful.”
He frowned. “Peaceful or boring?”
Annoyed, she glared at him. “You’re too much like my brother. You cannot take anything seriously.” Shaking her head, she shrugged. “Why would you understand? You couldn’t. But I…I want my life to be different. I want things to make sense.” She inhaled a deep breath. “Griffin should not have told you.”
“Why did you ask him for help? Why ask him to find you a husband?” Watching her face, Trent was not certain if he wanted to know. However, if he wanted to win her heart−and her hand−then he needed to know what she hoped for.
Sighing, she raised tired eyes to him. How often had she needed to explain herself? Trent wondered. “Because he knows me best. He knows who I am and what I need to be happy. Now that my parents are…” She swallowed, and he could see that their loss still haunted her. “He is the only one who can find me a suitable husband. Someone who’s compatible with me.”
Trent drew in a slow breath. “Griffin mentioned something like that.”
“Then why did you ask me?” Winifred snapped, her gaze suddenly ablaze with anger. “Is this a new way to tease me? To annoy me?”
Not taking her bait, he held her gaze for a long moment, allowing the ensuing silence to soften her anger. “What about love and passion?”
As she inhaled a sharp breath, her eyelids began to flutter as though trying to hide her, to erase him from her vision. No doubt she remembered their dance at the New Year’s ball, the way he had held her, touched her, whispered to her. Had that been her first taste of passion?
“Those…those aspects are of no importance,” she stammered before she remembered to raise her chin and face him with those dark brown eyes full of quiet determination. “They are short-lived and no secure foundation for a life-long commitment.”
Trent smiled. “Are you certain? Have you ever felt them?” Reaching out a hand, he brushed a stray lock from her face, gently tucking it behind her ear.
At his touch, she flinched. Still, for the barest of seconds, her eyes closed, and he could swear it was only her determination that made her take a step back.
“Why are you retreating from me?” he asked, his voice teasing, the look in his eyes far from it.
“I’m not.”
“Then stand still.” Holding her gaze, he once more closed the small distance between them. Her pulse in the side of her neck hammered wildly as he reached out to touch her hand. Gently, he brushed the tips of his fingers over her bare skin. At the ball, a layer of fabric had separated them as she had worn gloves. Now, however, the warmth of her skin called to him, and he entwined his fingers through hers, holding her hand in his.
As her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing, Trent began to feel light-headed. Her gaze held his without wavering, and yet, there was still resistance in the way she stood before him.
“You should leave,” she said, her voice almost pleading.
Why could she not simply admit that she felt something for him? “Why?”
“My brother is not here.”
A teasing smile curled up the corners of his mouth. “I cannot say I mind for I enjoy spending time with you.” His hand tightened on hers, and she drew in a sharp breath. “I’ve missed you.”
Blinking, she stared at him as though she did not believe her ears. “It’s been a long time.”
He nodded.
“I meant to…I mean.” She swallowed. “When my parents died, I was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow. I couldn’t…”
Trent frowned. “What are you trying to say?”
She drew in a slow breath. “I never stopped to remember that you lost them, too. And then Griffin and I left and you…” She squeezed his hand. “You remained here all by yourself. I
should have thought to…”
“To what?” he prompted, deeply affected by the way she had thought of him. Had he been on her mind every once in a while over the past five years? He could only hope so.
“To ask you to join us.” For a moment, her eyes closed before a deep sadness and honest regret showed in them. “Ever since you first came to Atherton House with Griffin, you’ve been a part of our family. You belong with us…and then we forgot about you.” Tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes as she looked at him, her gaze pleading with him to forgive her.
Trying to swallow the lump that had settled in his throat, Trent tried to sort through the renewed feelings of loss that assailed him. “Even if, I couldn’t have come. I had responsi−”
“But I should have thought to ask!”
“Griffin did.”
Her eyes widened. “He did?”
Trent nodded. “He asked me to come, and I wanted to, but after my father’s death, there was too much I needed to handle. I simply couldn’t.”
Nodding, she held his gaze, her dark brown eyes full of emotion that he felt tempted to pull her into his arms. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, once more squeezing his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know. As am I.”
Silence stretched between them as they gazed at one another, remembering the life they had shared and the loss that had torn them apart. In a way, at their core, they were still the same, and yet, time had passed, changing something they could not quite grasp.
Swallowing, she pulled her hand from his…and reluctantly, he released her. “You should go,” she said for the second time that day, the hint of a smile coming to her face as her eyes lit up with child-like mischief. “Even if my brother has no sense of propriety, I do. You should not be here when he is not.”
Noting the change in the air as though the dark cloud had moved on, revealing the sun, Trent grinned at her. “You seem determined to get rid of me, dear Fred. Are you afraid I have untoward intentions?” Winking at her, he stepped closer.