by Jane Charles
Hannah was two and twenty and Tabitha was twenty, yet mother was scared to death that if they did marry, they’d move to the opposite end of England, and she wouldn’t be near enough to interfere with their lives.
Not that Mother considered it interference, she just wanted her family close so she could care for them, which was the other reason Sam preferred Barbados over England. Only one of his sisters had married so far, and she lived only fifteen miles from the family estate, which suited their mother perfectly.
His younger sisters would just need to learn to handle Mother on their own. He had more pressing matters, such as when he could see Lady Jillian again. He couldn’t call on her because no doubt the duke would send him away, but if he could manage to attend the same functions, he might just have another opportunity to dance and speak with her.
Thoughts of Lady Jillian churned in his mind while he blocked out the complaining of his sisters, but then Sam saw her walking towards them on the arm of her brother.
Her eyes met his and all color drained from her face and a flash of panic lit in her eyes.
Despite his assurance, Lady Jillian did not trust that he would hold her confidence. “There is someone I must greet,” he said, practically pulling his sisters along in his wake.
Lady Jillian and Broadridge stopped at their approach, and Sam was quick to make the introductions to his sisters before turning to Lady Jillian. “Might we walk for a moment?”
Looks of surprise flashed upon his sisters’ faces, and a spark of approval lit in Broadridge’s eyes.
Lady Jillian glanced to her brother, almost as if asking permission. He inclined his head. “I’ll keep your sisters occupied, Storm,” Broadridge said as he sent them off.
Samuel turned down a path that led through some bushes, putting as much distance between them and the crowd as they could while still remaining in sight. Once he was assured they could not be overheard, he turned and looked down into her troubled blue eyes. “Are you going to panic every time you see me?”
“Y ou have something that could ruin me.” Jillian fully expected a demand for his silence. Mr. Storm assured her that he would not, but after a full day of thinking on the subject, she assumed he’d changed his mind. Anyone else wouldn’t hesitate to use blackmail in some manner.
“Which I would never do.”
“How can I know you wouldn’t? Your word?” She practically laughed.
He grasped her hands in his. “What can I do to assure you?”
She studied his face and eyes. The sincerity was there, but she was also no fool, and there was only one thing he could do to make her trust him. “After you return home, ship the painting to me so that it can be destroyed.”
He straightened and let her hands drop. “That I will never do.”
“Then we have nothing further to say to one another.” Jillian turned on her heel, intending to march back to her brother.
“And you’ll spend the rest of your life tying your stomach in knots while waiting for the painting to become public.”
She paused at his words. Simply waiting for the other shoe to drop would see her in Bedlam. There must be a way to get the painting away from him. For a moment she contemplated hiring someone to steal it, but then the thief would see the painting, and if she couldn’t trust Mr. Storm, she certainly couldn’t trust a thief.
“Do you want to know why I purchased that painting in the first place?”
Her face heated. If it were one of the risqué ones, she already knew.
He took a step closer, and she glanced up at him over her shoulder.
“I’m not going to lie and say that the goddess reclining on the fainting couch wasn’t what first drew my attention.”
Oh dear, he had one of the last ones painted. When she’d let her guard down and trusted Nico. Blindly trusted.
Mr. Storm stepped in front of her as he spoke. “From the long, shapely leg to the mouthwatering bodice, adorned with a small crescent mark upon the right breast.”
She swallowed, wishing to run, but the huskiness of his tone, and darkening of those green eyes held her in place.
“The body captivated me. Inspired lust, if I may be so bold, but that isn’t the reason I had to have it.”
Not only was her face heating, but her entire body warmed. Shivers ran down her spine as her bodice grew tight. What was it about Samuel Storm, the low timber of his voice and intense emerald eyes that made her want to launch herself into his arms?
“It wasn’t even the beautiful face that I have the honor of gazing upon now.”
He really did think her beautiful?
“I don’t know why you posed or who the artist was. It makes no difference to me because he captured something that has haunted me since.”
“What?”
“Your eyes.”
She blinked at him. Her eyes were blue. No different than anyone else’s blue eyes, which were quite common in England.
“Eyes so full of emotion, a glimpse into the soul.” He took another step toward her, yet Jillian could not move away, caught up in the intensity of his voice. “Innocence, seduction, spirit, vulnerability, rebellion, and sadness all converging.” He smiled. “I’ve spent years wondering which emotion would emerge the strongest.” He brought a hand up and cradled her cheek. “It pains me to learn that it was sadness, above all, that won.”
CHAPTER 7
She simply stared at him, eyes wide with shock and her beguiling mouth parted in surprise. If they weren’t standing in the middle of this blasted park he would kiss her so thoroughly that she’d understand why he was not about to give up that painting and just how badly he wanted her.
He let his hand drop before he slid his palm behind her head and lowered his mouth to hers. “What functions are you attending tonight?”
She blinked as her eyebrows drew together before she shook her head, as if coming out of a trance. Oh, if only he had the power to mesmerize her.
“I’m staying in,” she finally answered.
“Might I call on you?”
Her eyes widened with fear and she took a step back. “Goodness, no.”
“Is that because you don’t wish for me to court you?”
“Court?”
He grinned. He’d fully shocked her, which he found delightful indeed. “Yes. Court. I’d like to come to know the lady I’ve been obsessing over for the past three years.”
“You truly wish to court me?” Her brow furrowed and she frowned, as if she didn’t believe him.
“Surely I am not the first gentleman to wish to do so?” Why was she so surprised?
Lady Jillian narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “To what purpose?”
“Why can’t you believe it is simply because I wish to know you better?”
“Because nobody ever has. I’m just a means to an end, and if you expect to gain favor with my father, he will never approve.”
He laughed. “I am well aware that I am far beneath him and you.”
“Him,” she corrected quickly.
Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Not you?”
“No.” Again she answered quickly.
“Yet, I cannot call on you?”
“Father would never allow it.” The sadness he wished to erase flooded her eyes again. “Thank you for assuring me of your trust. I’m glad we had this conversation.” Lady Jillian turned. “Good day, Mr. Storm.”
She hurried away from him as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels, and Sam was fairly certain that if she wasn’t a lady in a public park, she would have run back to her brother.
Lady Jillian was not immune to him, but she hadn’t granted him permission to call on her either.
Of course, she never would. His Grace had her too well trained, or was she simply too afraid of her father to go against his dictate?
Not that Sam would let that minor inconvenience stop him. As he once obsessed over the painting, he now obsessed over the model. He had to have her or at least know her better. Until
then, he’d not be able to move forward or even contemplate returning home. In the end, he may be satisfied with what he learned and be able to hide the painting away. Or he would be taking Lady Jillian back with him to Barbados, whether her father approved or not. And, the only way his future could be determined was if he pursued the lady who haunted his dreams.
J illian forced a smile as she approached her brother and Mr. Storm’s younger sisters. “Please excuse us. I find I must return home.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned toward her brother’s phaeton. She needed to get out of there before Mr. Storm caught up to her.
Tears stung her eyes, but she held them in check, while her pulse raced and her stomach churned. For the first time in her life, a gentlemen really wished to know her. Court her, not her father or the hope of gaining favor from His Grace.
But what if it was all a lie?
What if there was something he wanted and this was all a ruse?
What did she even know about him, other than the queer sensations in the pit of her stomach, the heating of her blood, the desire to know how he kissed?
Everyone wanted something. Could she trust that he simply wanted her?
“What the blazes is wrong with you?” Henry hissed as he helped her up to the seat.
“I just need to return home.”
He hopped into the driver’s seat and took the reins. “It’s more than that. You’re as pale as a ghost and are shaking like a leaf in a storm.”
Her chest was tight and Jillian was finding it difficult to breathe. Anxiety washed through her, and all she wanted to do was find her bed in a dark room.
“Tell me what has you so upset,” Henry demanded as he moved into traffic. “If Storm has insulted or hurt you in any manner, I will see that he pays.”
Jillian turned to him. “You have it all wrong,” she cried.
“Then what is it?”
“He wishes to court me.”
Her brother didn’t react immediately. After a moment his shoulders relaxed, and then he tilted his head as if in contemplation, and then he smiled. “Good for him.”
“He knows Father will never approve.”
“Somehow I don’t believe Storm will let that stop him, and he has my full support.”
CHAPTER 8
Samuel paced behind the settee in the parlor, waiting. After questioning most of the staff, he found a maid who had a sister who worked in the home of the Duke of Eldridge. Meg’s duty today was not to see to the dusting in the downstairs rooms but to find out where Lady Jillian would be tonight. She’d been gone nearly an hour. How long did it take to ask a simple question?
“Can we go to a ball tonight, Mother?” Hannah asked.
The teacup rattled as Mother set it back into the china saucer. “Are you so anxious to marry?”
“I am two and twenty,” Hannah reminded her.
“A child,” her mother dismissed.
“I believe you’d already been married and safely delivered four children by the time you were the same age as Hannah,” Nate pointed out as he entered the room.
“A much different time,” his mother dismissed. “In this modern age, there is no need for ladies to marry fresh out of the school room.”
Samuel hitched a brow. By the age of the crop of debutants this year, it appeared the rest of Society did not hold with Mother’s opinions.
“Besides, I would have my daughters close. There are plenty of bachelors in Northumberland, and they will marry one of them.”
Deborah frowned and slouched in her seat.
“Then why come to London at all?” Nate demanded.
“For a holiday, of course.”
“A holiday spent in a townhouse in Mayfair with an occasional walk in Hyde Park,” Tabitha grumbled. “We can walk at home.”
The butler hurried into the room, his eyes wide. “It’s His Grace.”
That wasn’t exactly how someone was to be announced.
His mother’s tea cup and saucer clattered as she tried to set it on the table.
“Which His Grace?” Samuel asked calmly, assuming it was Danby but fearing it was Eldridge come to warn him away from Lady Jillian. Not that he intended on obeying any duke, but Sam would suffer through a visit, then do as he wished.
“Me!” The Duke of Danby strode through the doorway.
His mother appeared as if she might have an apoplexy at any moment by the terror on her face.
“To what do we owe this visit, Your Grace,” Nate asked.
“Would you care for tea, Your Grace?” Hannah asked, the only female in the room who retained her composure.
“No, thank you.” He turned his attention, better described as a glare, on Samuel’s mother.
She sank back against the cushions.
“You, Madam, will cease hiding in this house as if the world is full of monsters.”
He shook his cane at her. She pulled even further back as terror filled her eyes.
“You’ve not presented your daughters anywhere since you scurried from the Heathfield al fresco. They will attend the Bentley ball this evening even if I have to come here and drag them there myself.” He narrowed his eyes on her. “You do not want me to be forced to do so.”
“Of course not, Your Grace,” his mother stammered out, and Samuel bit back a grin.
Then Danby turned on him, waving that blasted cane in his direction. “And you will attend me this evening.”
“Me?” Sam had other plans, and they did not include his great uncle. “What of Nathaniel?”
“I have other plans for him.” Danby poked Sam in the chest with his cane. “Dress for a ball, and I will retrieve you tonight.” The duke glared back at his mother. “It will also allow me to make sure your mother is doing as ordered.” Danby then turned to Nate and pulled a pouch from the inside of his suit coat. “Deliver this to Kirkland House. My donation to the good work they do.” He turned and marched from the room, leaving them all in stunned silence.
As the front door clicked, his mother burst into tears.
A s was expected, Jillian stood next to her father in the ballroom of the Earl of Bentley, saying nothing and holding herself in reserve as her father greeted one person after another while her mind wandered, as it did more and more of late.
She’d had a day to come to terms with the words of Mr. Storm. After much thought, she decided to trust that he would never reveal her secret. She had to trust someone at some time in her life, and even though she only met the gentleman a few days ago, she decided to trust him.
There was no reason for it, of course. She’d known others much longer and wouldn’t confide what she had for breakfast to them, let alone that she’d posed for scandalous portraits to be painted. Yet Henry believed she could trust him.
Maybe it was because she wanted to believe that there was a gentleman who simply wanted her for her. The very idea thrilled Jillian to her bones. She’d tried to think of reasons why Mr. Storm would wish to gain her father’s favor, but nothing came to mind. He was already wealthy and landed, even if he didn’t have a title. So, he must truly wish to know her, odd as that was to believe.
Not that any of it mattered. Father would never allow her to look in his direction, let alone speak his name or consider walking with him. But at least she had the comfort of knowing that she’d been wanted. Something she had never thought to experience.
Father stiffened by her side, and she glanced to where he was looking. The formidable Duke of Danby was striding toward them with Mr. Samuel Storm by his side. Why would His Grace wish to speak with her father? The two men hated each other.
Danby stopped in front of them. “Eldridge,” he greeted.
“Danby,” her father grumbled then sent a look of disgust to Mr. Storm.
Why were they here? Had Mr. Storm asked Danby to intervene on his behalf? Goodness, this would not go well.
“My great-nephew, Mr. Samuel Storm.”
Jillian’s eyes widened. Storm was related to D
anby? He never mentioned the connection, not that it would matter to her father any more than it mattered to her.
“My younger sister’s grandson,” he explained.
Then Danby glared at Mr. Storm. “Well, take Lady Jillian for a turn about the room or something. Eldridge and I have matters to discuss.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. What was she supposed to do?
“Lady Jillian.” Mr. Storm offered his elbow.
Jillian’s pulse pounded, fear of her father if she took his arm and the excitement of being with Mr. Storm warred inside her.
Then, as if an imp prodded her, Jillian threw caution to the wind and slipped her hand into the crook of Mr. Storm’s arm and allowed him to lead her away from the two imposing dukes.
“I promise, I did not put my great-uncle up to this. I had no idea what his intentions were when he demanded I attend him this evening.”
“I can’t find it in myself to mind.” And she didn’t. In fact, she was thrilled to her toes. Her father was most likely fuming, but he hadn’t kept her from walking off with Mr. Storm either.
She glanced back at the two dukes. Both frowned as they spoke to each other. She could practically feel the tension from here.
“Forget them,” Mr. Storm said just as the chords of a waltz began. “Might I have the honor of this dance?”
“It’s already promised to Lord Lowery.”
The corner of his mouth tipped. “He is not here and I am. Dance with me?”
She couldn’t help but return his smile. “Yes.”
“Ah, there it is.”
“What?”
“A bit of rebellion in those lovely blue eyes. It’s much better than before.”
Jillian was feeling rebellious. She wanted to dance with Mr. Storm. She wanted to dance the night away in his arms, not the unpleasant Lord Lowery, whom her father has determined would be a good match for her.