by Kelly Bowen
Eli felt his jaw slacken. “What?”
“You came back for a reason. What was it? And please, just tell me the truth.”
“My father died. I had to come back.”
“No, you didn’t. You could have stayed dead. You could still stay dead, if you like. Disappear again. Rumors of your return might delay things in the courts for a while longer, but inevitably the outcome will be the same.”
“I owed it to my father.”
“Why?”
Because I disappointed him. Disappointed myself.
“Because I went to war against his wishes,” he said instead. It was, at least, partially true.
“You’d hardly be the first to do that.”
“But at that time, I did it for all the wrong reasons.”
“And what, pray tell, are the right reasons?”
“A man should fight because he truly believes in something.” He’d discovered that too late.
“Ah.” She took a step back. “And this is the real reason you came back, then? To fight for something you believe in?”
Eli opened his mouth and then abruptly closed it. Was it? Or had it been a quagmire of guilt and duty that had finally broken him?
Rose gazed at him for a moment longer before she gathered her skirts and sat down on the stony beach, looking out at the water. Out in the distance, beyond the entrance to the cove, a ship had appeared, and Eli watched as its anchor was dropped.
“Where did you go? After the war?” Rose asked, sounding as though she didn’t care whether or not he answered.
He turned away from the ship. “Nowhere. I simply stayed in Belgium.” At least that answer was easy.
“You expect me to believe you simply wandered out of a surgeon’s tent with that sort of injury and never looked back?” She glanced up at him, skepticism stamped over her delicate features.
He almost touched his ruined face involuntarily before he caught himself and forced his hand to still. “Never made it to a surgeon’s tent.”
Rose seemed to absorb that, her dark eyes studying him in silence for a long moment before she returned her attention to the sea. She didn’t press him further, and for some peculiar reason, Eli didn’t feel nearly as relieved as he ought to. Sooner or later, he was going to have to provide rational, reasonable answers to rational, reasonable questions.
Eli sighed and lowered himself to the beach beside her. “I lived with an elderly widow. She helped me put the remnants of my face back together. When I was strong enough, I helped her put the remnants of her farm back together. War is unspeakably cruel to those who get caught in its path.”
“Oh.” She drew her knees up to her chest and crossed her arms over the tops. “Is she still there?”
“No. She died. Just over two years ago.” Eli picked up a small stone and threw it at the surf. That he had become closer to a complete stranger than he had ever been to his father was not lost on him.
“How did you know that your father had died?” A small line formed between her brows.
Eli’s hand closed around another stone, the edges biting into the pads of his fingers. “My father’s solicitors hired a firm to find me. A last-ditch effort.” He let the stone drop. “And somehow they did.”
The dark-haired young man who had appeared in the isolated farmyard on a big-boned gelding, a rifle strapped to the side of his saddle, hadn’t, on closer inspection, been a man at all, but a woman simply disguised as one. She had introduced herself only as a friend, cited the name of the earl’s solicitor, and passed Eli a bound leather folder. The folder had contained a record of his father’s death as well as a number of copies of documents petitioning the courts to have Eli Dawes, heir to the earldom of Rivers and all its lands and wealth, officially declared dead.
“Your father’s estate has already submitted those documents to the courts, Lord Rivers,” the woman had said quietly.
Eli had been too gutted and shocked to respond to either her address or her words. “How did you find me?” he had blurted like a half-wit instead.
The woman had smiled faintly but ignored his question. “I am told that there is a distant cousin in Ireland who holds legal rights to your title and estate should you choose not to contest your presumed demise. He has been found and contacted, and I have been advised that he is currently on his way to England to settle your father’s affairs and assume control of the estate.” She gathered the reins of her horse and swung herself up into the saddle. “So you can be reassured that the Rivers legacy won’t be relegated into abeyance or simply become extinct, if that makes any difference to you. The courts will drag their feet on declaring you officially dead, but for how long it’s hard to say, given the nature of your presumed demise. Especially once a living heir presents himself. I would suggest that whatever you decide to do, decide it carefully and with the urgency it deserves.”
“That’s it?” Eli had croaked.
“I’m not going to knock you senseless and drag you back to London, Lord Rivers,” she had said with an infuriating calm. “Nor will I disclose that I’ve found you alive and well. From experience, I can tell you that this must be your decision and your decision alone.”
And then she had simply ridden away.
“Dawes?”
Eli was jerked back into the present at the sound of Rose’s voice. She was watching him with concern.
He pushed himself to his feet. The revelation of his father’s death had left an awful, hollow feeling inside his chest, which had been filled instantly with an excruciating regret. That regret had never gone away. Perhaps Eli had thought he’d have more time. Perhaps he had thought that there would be an opportunity later for him to make things right with his father. Except later had come and gone and he had lost his chance.
He’d sat down to write to his father—dozens of times in that first year after Waterloo. Yet he never had, and he didn’t have a good reason why, other than that he had been a coward. Afraid of the reply he might get. Or perhaps more afraid of the one he would never get.
“You can’t hide here in Dover forever.” Rose had risen as well and was standing beside him. “You’re going to have to go to London to claim what is yours.”
“I’m not hiding,” he snapped.
“Says the man who let everyone believe he was dead because he isn’t as pretty as he once was.”
Eli felt the air rush from his lungs. “How dare you.” He could barely form the words.
“I dare a lot of things these days, Dawes.” Rose met his gaze, unflinching and unapologetic. “You might want to try the same. It’s quite liberating.”
He took a step toward her, forcing her to look up at him. He tried to gather his thoughts, tried to control the emotion that was raging through him.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” She didn’t give an inch.
“No,” he snarled. “You’re not.”
“Prove it.” Her dark eyes were steady.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
“No, you don’t. But I would suggest that you have quite a bit to prove to yourself.” Her chin came up. “Sit for a portrait.”
“What?”
“In my class tomorrow morning. Be my model.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Eli was staring at her, unable to even comprehend what she was asking.
Rose’s lips curled slightly, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Not at all, though such comments make me question the reason for your reluctance.”
“Insolence does not become you.”
“So I was right.”
“You were not.”
“Look at you,” Rose snapped. “Look how you’re standing even now, your scars turned away as if you still think I will…What? Cover my eyes? Run away?”
“People have.”
“Then good riddance to them.”
“You have no idea what it’s like to be shunned and ridiculed because of your appearance.” He was shouting, and he couldn’t stop himself. Fury ha
d taken hold, and he couldn’t seem to shake it.
Her mouth dropped open. “I have no…” She stopped, blinking rapidly. “I have no idea?”
“Has anyone ever called you a gargoyle? Ogre? Demon?”
She looked as if she was going to say something and then changed her mind. “No,” she said slowly, a peculiar expression on her face. “No, I don’t suppose they have.”
“Then you know nothing. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“You know what, Dawes, do as you wish. Hide, don’t hide, lie, don’t lie.” She made a noise of frustration and turned away from him. “I never should have come down here.”
Eli let her get two steps away before he lunged forward and caught her arm. “Wait.”
She stopped, not looking at him but not trying to pull away from him either.
“Rose.” He tugged on her wrist until she finally faced him. “Wait.”
“What, Dawes?” She sounded resigned.
“I…” God, he had no idea what he was trying to say. All he knew was that he didn’t want her to leave. Not like this. Not because he couldn’t face his own truths. He took her hand gently in his. “I didn’t mean to yell. It won’t happen again.”
He saw her lips thin. “Dammit, Dawes, I won’t shrivel into a quaking, weeping puddle because you raised your voice at me.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“You know, it was Clara who encouraged me to seek you out,” she said suddenly.
Eli watched her, waiting for her to continue, unsure where she was going with this.
“My sister thought that I should make sure things were settled between us. That it would help me if I made it clear to you that I am not the woman you remember from the past. That I’ve recognized that things happen in life that have the power to make you either smaller or bigger. I’d like to think that in at least some ways, I’ve chosen bigger. So do your worst, Eli Dawes, because I can handle it all.”
He stared down at her, her hand still clasped in his. He hadn’t yet seemed to catch his breath, and his pulse was pounding in his ears, drowning out even the sounds of the surf. She was all defiance and beauty, steel and courage. So he did his worst.
And kissed her.
It was brief, a butterfly-light brush of his lips over hers. Eli felt her fingers tighten in his, felt the slight exhalation of her surprise against his skin. He raised his head and released her hand, afraid that if he didn’t distance himself from her, he would pull her to him and never let go. He turned away from her then, acute regret and overwhelming desire warring with each other until they devolved into a confusion that was unrecognizable to him.
When he turned back, Rose was gone.
Chapter 9
Rose closed her eyes and set the charcoal down, realizing she had lost track of the minutes she had been standing in front of the easel.
When she had challenged the earl to do his worst yesterday, she had thought that perhaps he would yell at her again. Say something rude. Or maybe stomp down the beach in anger. She’d never thought he would kiss her. And from his expression, he hadn’t either.
As far as kisses went, it hadn’t been much of one, just a gentle, soft touch of his lips to hers that had lasted no more than a heartbeat. But it had left her disoriented. Left her awake all night, tossing and turning, wondering why she wasn’t furious. Wondering why, instead, the idea of kissing him again was…consuming. She’d punched her pillow and stared at the darkened ceiling. For God’s sake, kissing a woman was probably a spontaneous reaction for Eli Dawes whenever he found himself at loose ends. Like a nervous tic or inappropriate laughter.
Dawes had kissed legions of women, and Rose had never envied them for it before. Never even imagined or fantasized what it would be like. But now, it was all she could think of. She must be either weak or desperate. Maybe both.
Rose had finally dragged herself out of bed at dawn, irritable and restless. She never should have listened to Clara. She never should have gone down to that beach. She simply should have avoided the earl, left well enough alone, and let him think whatever the hell he wanted to think of her. Because in an effort to prevent their subsequent interactions from being awkward and tense, she had somehow managed to ensure that every meeting from now on would be more awkward and tense than anything she could ever have imagined.
“Woolgathering, dearie?” Theo’s voice yanked Rose from her hopeless musings, making her realize that she had been standing dumbly in front of the easel without even the charcoal to give her a legitimate purpose.
“Something like that,” Rose muttered, stepping away and moving on to the next workstation she had set up. There were a dozen easels, each with a blank canvas, each with a small table beside that held an assortment of art supplies.
“Something you’d like to share?” The elderly woman wandered into the studio, a heavily embroidered robe pulled snug around her rotund body, her silver hair streaming loosely down her back. She held a bouquet of cut roses in her hand.
Rose shook her head, trying her best to appear serene. The last thing she was about to do was confess that Eli Dawes had kissed her on a beach yesterday and she had simply stood there and let it happen. She wondered if, after everything that had unfolded in the last few days, her judgment had been compromised. If her reaction had simply been a product of a misplaced sense of compassion. She had seen the unhappiness and regret that was eating at him—understood it, even. A different man had stood before her on that beach, but who he had become was rather murky.
“Rose?”
She jerked again, realizing that she hadn’t answered the question.
“No, it’s nothing of import,” she said, forcing a smile at Lady Theodosia.
“If you say so, dearie,” the woman said, making it clear she didn’t believe it for a minute.
“Why don’t you go and make yourself comfortable up on the dais?” Rose asked, anxious to change the subject to anything that did not involve Lady Theo’s nephew.
Theo’s eyes lit up as she climbed the low step up to the settee. “About that. I know we usually do Titian’s Venus of Urbino, but I was wondering if perhaps today we might recreate Botticelli.”
“The Birth of Venus?”
“Yes.”
Rose considered it and then shook her head. “You would be required to stand for too long.”
“But it’s so much more dramatic.”
“So is you fainting flat on your face after standing motionless for two hours. I’d rather avoid it, if it’s all the same to you.”
“I won’t faint.”
“What about Titian’s Venus with a Mirror?” Rose was drumming her fingers on her thigh. “You could sit for that. And for our purposes, I confess, it’s rather perfect in what it represents,” she said, warming to the idea. “The critique of vanity, as it were.” Rose spun and retrieved a gilded mirror about the length of her arm from the corner of the studio. “We could use this.”
“Hmm.” Theo pursed her lips in thought. “I rather like that idea as well.”
“Excellent.” Rose smiled. “But before you disrobe, I’ll make sure—”
“Aunt?”
Rose whirled to find the earl standing in the doorway, staring not at her but at Theo, who had set the roses aside and was arranging the crimson satin over the settee. Immediately Rose’s pulse picked up speed, and a strange prickle of anticipation crackled through her.
“Eli. Good morning, dear.” Lady Theodosia’s face creased into a welcoming smile. “I hope you found the dower house comfortable and the staff amenable last night?”
“Yes, yes,” Dawes answered with clear distraction. His mouth had fallen open slightly, his expression one of dismay. Abruptly he averted his eyes and turned his back to the room and its occupants but made no motion to leave. “What are you doing, Aunt?” he demanded. “And why aren’t you dressed?”
“I’m getting ready for class, dear.”
“In your nightclothes?” He sounded appalled.
&
nbsp; Theo only laughed, and Dawes tentatively looked back, alarm written across his face.
Rose hurried across the studio. “A word, Lord Rivers?” She slipped by him out the door, pulling it shut behind them. She glanced up and down the hallway but, to her relief, found no one.
“What the hell is my aunt doing wandering around Avondale in her nightclothes?” Eli whispered, sounding aggrieved. “Is she…not well?” He gestured to his head.
Rose managed to suppress the laughter that threatened only by sheer will.
“You think this is funny?” Dawes hissed at her.
Apparently she hadn’t been as successful as she had thought. “Your aunt is quite fine. More than fine. Brilliant, actually.”
“Then what is she doing? Her hair hasn’t even been attended to, for God’s sake.”
“We are studying Titian this morning and attempting to reproduce his attention to light and depth and his unparalleled handling of color. Lady Theodosia is my Venus today,” Rose said, glad for the distraction that this conversation was providing. If she’d had to stand this close to him without purpose, she’d probably be staring at his mouth. Wondering if he would try to kiss her again. And wondering if she would let him again.
“Stop talking in riddles,” Eli snapped. “I’m tired, and I’ve not the patience for it.”
“Didn’t sleep well?” Rose asked, and wanted those words back instantly. What did she think she was doing?
He stared down at her, and she could see the rise and fall of his chest. His gaze lingered on her face and then her mouth for a moment too long. Heat suddenly pooled low in her belly, and breathing became a chore.
“My aunt,” he repeated in clipped tones. “You will explain to me why she is in your studio dressed like a courtesan.”
“Your aunt,” Rose managed to force out, “is my model.”
“Model,” Eli repeated.
“Yes. I believe I mentioned the class yesterday.” Before you kissed me. She looked down, afraid that last thought would be written all over her face. “She will be recreating Titian’s Venus with a Mirror. Probably my most favorite of all his works, for what it represents.”