by Darcy Burke
She rushed out the door of the library and locked it behind her, then dashed down the street to Giles’ house. She was only going to find him because he lived the closest, she assured herself, although deep in her heart she knew that wasn’t the only reason.
Heedless to the angry shouts of the carriage drivers and riders in the streets, Lucy tore down the street and straight to Giles’ house where she flew up the steps and pounded on his bright red door.
A moment later, the door swung open, revealing not a stodgy, greying butler as she’d expected, but Giles himself.
“I need help,” she exclaimed without preamble.
Giles’ strong hands closed around her upper arms and guided her inside his house. “What’s wrong?” he asked, wiping away a tear on her right cheek she didn’t even know she’d shed.
“Seth,” she cried. “He’s gone.”
Something flickered over Giles’ face that she couldn’t recognize and just as soon as it was gone, his hand was at the small of her back, and guiding her forward. Were she not worried about her son she might have melted at the natural feeling of his touch. Instead, it soothed her in a way she didn’t think was possible at the moment. On her back, his hand moved up and down rhythmically. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. His touch alone was enough to calm her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered at last, steering her into the room his mother said he kept locked. “I thought you knew.”
Before she could ask what he meant her eyes fell on her son’s form as he sat on a stool in front of a canvas.
She was overcome with emotion and ran to him, not sure whether she should hug him or beat him. “What are you doing here?”
“Painting.”
Lucy blinked back her tears and looked to the white canvas he’d gestured to. “Is it a cloud?” she suggested with a sniffle.
“No. I’m not sure what I’ll paint on this one.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “I tried to do an estate with rolling hills and trees with the last one, but it doesn’t look right.”
Lucy squinted at the unrecognizable picture he’d indicated and pursed her lips. “Just how many times have you come here to paint?”
“Two,” Seth admitted with a visible swallow. “I mean this is my second. I came the first time you went with Simon, too.”
“First time,” she mindlessly repeated. Now she knew what he’d done all day when he’d claimed not to feel well and said he didn’t wish to go to the museum with her and Simon. “You’ve been coming here every Monday and Thursday, then?” So much was now making sense in her mind. He always seemed breathless when she returned from her morning errands. He was probably tired from having run back to the library to beat her. She glanced around the room at all of the paintings and drawings. Now the emergence of the sketchbook made sense, too.
“I’m sorry,” Giles said from behind her, his voice so soft and quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “I thought you knew he was coming here.”
She whirled around. “Well, I did not.” Flushing with shame at her outburst, she ran her open palms over her face. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that. You did no wrong.”
Giles’ face remained expressionless. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I should have asked him if you knew.”
“No,” Lucy corrected. “He should have asked before coming instead of lying to me.” She turned toward Seth, her anger with him firmly in place now that she knew he was safe. “Why did you come here anyway?”
“When? The first time?”
Or any time? “You can start with that time.”
“Simon said he planned to take you to a museum and that I probably wouldn’t like to go.”
She could accept that. Given the choice she’d have rather spent the day with Giles, too. “And the other times?”
“Because you were gone. I just thought—” He broke off with a shrug.
“That you’d come prevail upon Lord Norcourt to entertain you?”
Seth blushed. “I wasn’t bothering him.”
Lucy snorted. “I’m sure you weren’t.”
“He wasn’t,” Giles said, shocking her to the toes and stealing her breath.
“Surely you’re just being kind,” she said once she’d recovered.
“No. He’s no bother.”
Lucy searched his face for some hint that he was hiding something, but if he was, he’d mastered a way to hide it. Her eyes traveled down to his white shirt and noticed the top button was undone and his coat, waistcoat, and cravat were all discarded with his cuffs rolled up around his elbows, revealing his strong forearms. He was quite dashing in a strangely disheveled sort of way. She blushed. “Thank you for allowing him to spend time here and being kind about it, but I know you have other things to do and I’ll make sure he doesn’t trouble you again.”
“It’s no trouble,” Giles said, his tone even and calm like it usually was. “He’s welcome to stay—and so are you.”
Lucy’s mouth went dry. Stay? She couldn’t stay. “Oh, I couldn’t,” she stammered. “I mean, I shouldn’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut. She’d do well to stop talking. “I can’t.”
“All right, then you go home and I’ll stay,” Seth said casually.
Frowning, Lucy said, “That won’t be happening.”
“Then stay,” Seth said, a hint of a plea in his voice.
Lucy looked to Giles. He shrugged. Which, was tremendously unhelpful, because it told her absolutely nothing about how he really felt. “We should go home,” Lucy stated firmly.
“You don’t have to.”
Lucy didn’t know who was more surprised by his words, her or Giles whose wide eyes and raised eyebrows gave away that he hadn’t meant to voice them. “It’s all right,” she said. “I appreciate your generosity toward Seth, but we can’t trouble you any further.”
His hand reached out to stop her. “It’s no trouble.” This time his voice was solid and sure. “Stay.”
“Yes, let’s stay.”
She barely heard Seth’s voice as he continued on about learning to paint over the loud thump of her beating heart.
“All right,” she whispered.
A grin wider than she’d ever seen split Giles’ face and his hand tightened a fraction. Blushing, he released her. “Do you paint?”
“No.”
“That’s all right.” He walked over to a scuffed up oak bureau that was positioned just a few feet away from where Lucy stood. “I’ll show you.”
An excited shiver skated up Lucy’s spine.
“You never showed me,” she heard Seth say followed immediately by Giles replying, “You’re not a lady.”
Giles could no more believe he’d invited her to stay than he could believe she’d agreed. “Brushes,” he barked. He cleared his throat and retrieved a small metal palate from the drawer. He gripped the material in one hand and snatched an empty cup from the top with the other. “Over here.”
Lucy followed him to the easel he’d positioned in front of the window. It was his favorite. He’d always liked open windows. It had been too dark in the boys’ room at the orphanage. He shuddered and set the brushes and cup down with an indelicate tap.
Grabbing the dry canvas on top of the easel with his right hand, he tapped the fingertips on his left hand on top of the stool. “Sit here.”
Lucy sat and repositioned her skirts while he turned to snatch her a fresh canvas. He caught Seth’s eye, but the amused boy didn’t say anything, just wagged his eyebrows. Giles couldn’t begin to understand why and continued about his business.
“What would you like to paint?”
“I don’t know.” Lucy tucked a tendril of her dark hair behind her ear and looked around the room at all the different portraits he had lining the room. He really should get rid of some of them. “I never thought about it before.” She met his eyes. “Apparently subjects never seem to elude your mind.”
Giles reached for the last unoccupied stool and dragged it over toward her and sat down.
“Sometimes I have more ideas than I could possibly paint in a lifetime.” He reached for her hand and began removing her gloves so she wouldn’t soil them. “Other days my mind is as dry as the bottom of a paint jar that was left out without the cap.” A giggle passed her lips, doing odd things to his insides. He released her hand and cleared his throat. “Have you a fondness for—” he scanned the room to see what he’d painted that she might like— “sunsets or horses, rivers or mountains, farms or buckets—”
“Buckets?” she asked, craning her neck.
He pointed to the far end of the room where a canvas with a watering pail sitting atop a chipped and scratched wooden table was resting against the wall.
“Why a bucket?”
Her voice held no condemnation, so he answered truthfully. “I painted that the day I came back from your house in Shrewsbury. You’d asked me to fetch some water…” He trailed off unable to voice the rest.
“I see.”
Giles busied himself with opening jars of paints before she could see anything else.
“Have you ever painted a human form?” she wondered.
“No. I tried once, but I find it difficult.” He reached for the tan jar and removed the top. “You might do fine though.”
“I doubt it,” she said with a little giggle.
“You’ll only know if you try.” Another lock of her dark hair had fallen across her face. He carefully pushed it behind her ear. “Who would you like to paint? Simon?” he croaked, praying she wouldn’t agree to wasting his materials in such a way.
“No.” She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the left. “I think I’d rather paint you.”
All the air left his lungs in one swift whoosh. Him. She wanted to paint him. Unable to form the words to ask her why, he sat still and watched her go about selecting which brush she thought she might need.
“Are you going to give me instruction, or will I have to ask Seth how to paint with such splendor.”
“Pencil,” he croaked. Clumsily, he reached for the pencil that was near the paints. “Draw it first.”
Lucy took the pencil from him and brought the point to the canvas, a small smile curving her lips as she glided her pencil around to make a perfect oval. “I think I should start with faces before attempting anything more complex.”
Giles didn’t care what she started with—even cacti that resembled unmentionables if that’s what she wanted. He just enjoyed sitting next to her as she did it.
She tapped the end of the pencil against her lips as if she were trying to remember where facial features were located.
“I’m right here, if you need to cheat,” he whispered.
Her cheeks grew a fetching pink and she turned to look at him. He stayed still while she studied his face. “May I?”
Giles bit the inside of his mouth. He had no idea what she was asking, but not wanting to make a fool of himself by asking, nodded.
A second later, she lifted her delicate fingers to his skin. With her fingertips, she traced the contours of his face. His cheekbones, chin and jaw. She turned to the canvas and drew lines inside the oval. They were a little darker than he might have made them, but he couldn’t bring himself to correct her. He’d just have to mention something about using more paint to cover them when she was ready.
She turned back to him and tentatively touched him again. This time she felt his eyebrows and around his eye socket, then down his nose. Who knew being touched thus could excite him so. When she’d finished drawing in the outline of his eyes and nose, she brought her fingers to his lips, inflicting the worst torture imaginable on him as her fingers brushed over them then traced the outside edge. His groin hardened instantly and his lips ached to kiss her fingers—even just ever-so-lightly, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he shifted just enough to hide the way his erection tented his trousers and he trained his eyes on the canvas.
Without touching him again, she drew two flaring swoops down from either side of his chin, which he presumed was to be his neck, then she set the pencil down and reached toward the brushes that were in the water.
“Which am I supposed to use.”
“Any.” He coughed. “Excuse me,” he said, patting his chest. “Any of them will work. But I prefer this one—” he pulled out a brush with a medium-sized tip and handed it to her— “it’s easier to use for a painting such as this.”
“I thought you never painted people,” she said, dipping the bristles into the orange paint.
“I don’t.” He reached for the palate and the white paint. “You’d better mix these or I might look like a deformed carrot.”
She giggled and took the white paint from him. “Do I just pour it?”
“You could, but—” he snatched a large paintbrush from the water— “I prefer to just take a scoop from each color. He dipped his larger brush into the white paint and scooped a blob onto the palate, then did the same with the orange, putting that blob on top of the white one, then swirling them around.
“Thank you.” She took the palate from him and dipped her brush into the mixed colors, then brought her brush to the canvas. “Urp,” she squealed, moving her brush hurriedly down the canvas to keep up with the large drip that had slid off the end. “I told you I wasn’t good at this,” she said on a sigh.
“Nonsense.” Giles took the brush from her and smoothed out her strokes. “Less paint.” He dipped her brush into the mixture, then wiped a little off the side and handed it back to her.
Lucy brought the brush back to the top of where the coloring was on the canvas and started brushing this way and that way, right and left.
Giles covered her hand with his. “This way,” he whispered against her hair, leaning forward and helping guide her hand smooth and slow along the canvas.
If Lucy’s skin heated another degree she just might disintegrate into a pile of ashes. Thankfully, Giles seemed oblivious to her body’s heated reaction to him as he repositioned himself behind her and helped guide her hand’s brushstroke. He moved their hands down to the pool of paint and refilled her brush before guiding her hand back to the canvas and helping her move it.
“That’s it.” He abruptly let go of her hand, leaving Lucy to feel bereft at the loss of his warmth and a fool for feeling that way. “I’ll be right back. Keep doing that. It looks good.”
Behind her, she heard him and Seth exchange a few words about dragons or some such creature. She shuddered. Dragons made her think of that museum she’d visited with Simon. She stilled her brush. Simon. He’d come to see her the day before at the library to ask if she’d be willing to go to Covent Gardens with him. She’d declined. Politely, of course. She truly did need to spend the day working on her sewing, she’d even intended to repair the holes that were in knees of three of Seth’s five pair of trousers. She lowered her lashes and put more paint on her brush. Truly, she shouldn’t enjoy being in his company this much. He was just being polite to her, she reminded herself as she finished filling in his face.
“Ready to do the eyes?” Giles asked, resuming his seat next to her.
Lucy reached for a thinner brush and twisted her lips. The jar of green resembled a lime’s peel. Certainly not a hue that would do justice to his emerald eyes. “Is this the only green you have?”
“I had another, but it’s covering that canvas.” He gestured to Seth’s rolling hillside mixed with dense forest. “Perhaps you can find a thick blob that’s still drying from last week to use,” he suggested, grinning.
“Traitor,” Seth called in mock indignation. “First you help her, then you let her steal from my masterpiece.”
“Cool your heels,” Giles soothed. “That paint is so thick there’d be no way she’d get any off now.” He handed her both the white and the brown. “Mix that green with either of these until you get the color you’d like.”
“Hmm.” Lucy’s bold fingers reached up toward his face and brushed back the hair that had fallen into his eyes. Of course she already knew he had eyes the most beautif
ul shade of green she’d ever seen a gentleman have, but she couldn’t very well pass up this opportunity to study them, could she? They were an unusual shade of green, almost both light and dark at the same time. Overall, they appeared dark, but a light shade of dark. She frowned. That really wasn’t an adequate way to describe them. She’d seen light green eyes before, so light they almost looked hazel in some light or blue in others. Seth had eyes that color. So had his father. She swallowed. Giles’ were different. They were darker. But not so dark that it’d be easy to confuse them for brown at a distance. They were very distinctively green. Like an emerald.
She pursed her lips together, debating how she’d manage to mix such a color. First, brown and green, then she’d add white, she thought. She should turn back to the colors, but she couldn’t. Not yet. She started. Why not? Unease came over her. She was attracted to him.
Pulling her hands away, she turned back to the paint. Of course she already knew she was attracted to him. But now there was no way she could deny it. Taking a deep breath, she mixed the colors in a fruitless effort to make the color of the eyes that held her captive today and likely always would, then began painting. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she’d allow herself this one day to enjoy his presence and nearness and hoped it’d be enough to last a lifetime.
Giles idly picked at the hangnail on his thumb with his index finger. He could sit and watch Lucy paint all day. He practically already had and he enjoyed every blissful moment of seeing her delicate profile, complete with a slight smile that pulled at the corner of her lips. That smile, as small as it might be, was enough to make a man fall to his knees, try to move mountains, or do anything else she might ask of him.
Including wave off his butler no less than three times before he could announce that the midday meal had been served. Which is exactly what Giles had done.
As three o’clock neared, Lucy’s painting was almost complete. Well, almost as complete as it could be. She’d mastered his image perfectly. Perfectly, that is, to him. He didn’t think it was possible to care less that the image she’d painted teetered on the edge of being frightening—especially to those of a young age. He was far too distracted by the bright smile that filled her face and the tingling and burning sensation it set off inside him.