“I have an idea,” she blurted out. “Since you spend so much time at your desk, I’d like to paint you there.”
“Behind the desk?”
“No. In front of it.” She pointed where she wanted him to stand in front of the massive pearwood desk. “Lean back against the desk and place a hand on either side of you for support.” She took one of his hands and showed him. His hand was much larger than hers, the fingers long, tapered, and strong. He wore no gloves and she’d left hers in her room. No sense wearing them when she painted. The simple act of touching his hands was intimate and made her cheeks flush.
He leaned back, his hands on either side as she’d requested. She looked up and met his gaze. They were close…too close. For a heart-stopping moment she read longing in his eyes—pure and undisguised.
She froze. He wasn’t as guiltless or unaffected as she’d thought. Her heart pounded in her chest, beating so hard and loud that she feared he could hear.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Cross your feet at the ankles.”
She walked to the center of the room, turned, and looked at him. The firelight from the coal brazier accented the burnished copper in his brown locks and made his eyes appear a deep hazel. She suspected a bevy of desperate painters would fight for the opportunity to paint Lord Vale’s face. Her own fingers twitched with the need to sketch and paint.
“Perfect,” she found herself saying. “Not stuffy or earlish at all.”
“I’m not leaning on a Corinthian column or sitting stiffly on an uncomfortable stool, or petting a hunting dog or sitting astride an Arabian. I like it.”
She moved to one of the armchairs, flipped open her sketchbook, and picked up her charcoal. “I need to draw you first to get all the details just right before I paint.”
His lips twitched. “Just as I thought. You do know what you’re doing.”
She gave him her sternest glare. “This is my first official portrait, my lord.”
His voice was smooth, but insistent. “It’s Brandon, remember?”
“I remember,” she said. There was something lazily seductive in his look. She tried to relax and return to her sketch, but he held her eyes. Her fingers clutched the charcoal.
“I look forward to the sittings, Amelia.”
Sweet heaven. She did, too.
Chapter Seven
Early the following morning, Amelia gathered her sketchbook and charcoal and headed out across the lawn. It promised to be a beautiful day with a blue sky and a cool breeze. She breathed the fresh air deeply into her lungs. Brandon.
The name was as intimate as his pose in his study. A brisk morning walk was what she needed to clear her head of the image of him dressed in shirtsleeves and breeches as he leaned against the desk.
She was halfway past Rosehill’s prized flowering rose bushes when she heard her name.
“Amelia!”
She whirled to see Lord Vale behind her. He was astride a black stallion and dressed in a dark coat and Hessians. He rode close and halted before her. Their gazes meshed, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.
He leaped off the horse and gathered the reins in one hand. “Shouldn’t you still be abed?”
“Pardon?”
“You were up late last night sketching in my study. All the ladies are still sleeping.”
“You were up late, too,” she pointed out.
“I’m used to keeping late hours and rising early. Are you?”
The truth was she wasn’t. When they’d owned the shop, they rose early, but they retired early as well. There was always work to be done whether it was dusting the counter or the dozens of frames and bric-a-brac items. As working women, there was rarely an idle moment.
Afterward, when she’d moved to a Mayfair townhouse with Chloe, they didn’t need to rise early, but Amelia had kept to her schedule. She knew it would change once they left the country and returned to London and began attending balls that went far into the night.
She glanced at the sky. “It’s a beautiful day. Artists must seize the moment.”
He eyed the sketchbook under her arm. “I would think you’d be tired of drawing.”
She shook her head. “No. I worked every day when we owned the shop. I switch subjects. It keeps my mind fresh. I never tire of it.”
“What’s your inspiration this morning?”
“The tenant farmers. I can’t imagine them lying about until the afternoon.”
He looked surprised. “You want to sketch Rosehill’s tenant farmers?”
“I do. I’m fascinated by all types of working people, and I’ve never had an opportunity to see those that live in the country and farm the land. I’m curious. Are their lives any different?”
“I expect it depends on the demands of the landholder. Some can be cruel, others more generous,” he said.
“What type are you?”
A spark of amusement lit his eyes. “I’m on my way to inspect the land. Shall we ride together?”
It was early enough that her sisters and other occupants of the house would remain in bed for a while. No one would see them. She nodded. “I’d like that.”
He led her to the stables and instructed a groom to ready a speckled mare and pack Amelia’s sketchbook and charcoal in a saddlebag. Brandon’s large hands encircled her waist as he lifted her onto a sidesaddle. Her fingers briefly brushed the strong tendons in the back of his neck, and she swallowed tightly at the tingle of excitement inside her.
They rode side-by-side as they left the well-tended lawns and soon came to fields of crops. He raised a forefinger and pointed. “All the land you see belongs to Rosehill.”
She cupped her hand over her eyebrows to shield the sun from her eyes. “I suspected Rosehill was large from our drive here, but I didn’t realize the estate was so vast.”
“Fifteen thousand acres.”
Her mouth gaped as she turned to him. “Fifteen thousand acres!” She couldn’t fathom one person owning that much land.
“Almost all of it has been in the family for generations. My grandfather purchased an additional parcel of land, a little over five hundred acres, in his lifetime to add to the estate.”
She was reminded once again of his responsibility to his family and to everyone who depended on him for their livelihood. The earldom brought great benefits and luxury, but burden as well.
They continued onward toward the tenant farms. The land was beautiful in the early morning light. The fresh grass was sprinkled with delicate wildflowers of every color. Birds chirped and insects buzzed. They passed pastures of grazing horses, sheep with their lambs, and acres of orchards, where pear, peach, and apple trees were beginning to flower and would produce sweet fruit later in the summer and during the fall.
He stopped beside an apple tree and rested a hand on the trunk.
“I used to climb these trees as a boy. My nursemaid would scream for me to get down. I loved tormenting her.”
Her lips curved in a smile. She could picture him as a precocious child standing on one of the tree limbs, then moving swiftly as he climbed farther and farther up. “You must have given your mother and nursemaid a head of gray hair.”
A shadow crossed his features. “Never my mother. My parents hated each other. The earl was always at his clubs and disliked the country. The countess preferred entertaining and avoided her children.”
Amelia’s smile faded. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Don’t be. Our needs were seen to.”
Still, his childhood must have been desolate without love and affection. She could tell that he loved his sisters, Helen and Caroline, by the way he treated them. Had he always cared for them in an effort to make up for his parents’ failures?
They continued riding for several more minutes until they reached a grassy hill. “We’re here,” he said, drawing her attention to an area beyond the hill.
Amelia spotted the thatched roofs of the tenants’ cottages. As they came closer she saw childre
n running and playing with a ball. A scruffy dog barked and joined the game. The children loped forward, shouting and waving in greeting.
“Lord Vale!”
Brandon reached down and ruffled the hair of a red-haired, freckle-faced lad. “Where’s your father, Daniel?”
“He’s inside, my lord.”
“Will you fetch him for me?”
The child nodded and flashed a gap-toothed smile, then ran toward one of the cottages and called out his father’s name.
Brandon helped Amelia dismount from her horse just as families came out of the dwellings to greet them. To her astonishment, Brandon knew all their names and recalled a personal detail about each man, woman, and child. The birth of a babe, the death of a distant relative, and the dates of upcoming weddings and baptisms, were all discussed between master and tenants.
Lord Vale must regularly patrol his property and it was clear that he took a keen interest in the people working the land. Looking into the eyes of these hardworking families, she saw their respect and admiration for their master.
“You know them all?” she asked.
“It took me a while after inheriting the title, but yes, I know them all.”
Several wives approached and bobbed curtsies. They chatted excitedly about the upcoming village fair.
“Everyone is invited to attend,” Brandon explained. “The tenants of both my estate as well as Huntingdon’s attend. It’s the one day a year everyone can be seen mingling together.”
A burly farmer with calloused hands, a bronzed complexion, and red hair approached. Amelia realized he was Daniel’s father. The farmer began discussing the fallow fields that Amelia and Brandon had passed, and he suggested rye and barley be planted on the land set aside for next spring.
Brandon agreed and recommended potatoes, carrots, and cabbage be planted as well. When the men started to converse about the livestock, Amelia wandered off to sit in the shade beneath a large tree and flipped open her sketchbook. Her older drawings of London poverty were grim. In comparison, the tenant families and their children appeared well fed and content. She began to sketch the cottages and the people. She paid particular attention to the children scurrying about and the women who’d gathered near one of the cottages and talked as they hung freshly laundered clothing on a line to dry.
After Brandon finished with his tenants, he joined her by the tree. “The sketch is remarkably good. You’ve captured the children playing, the men and women working, and even the dog.”
“It’s much more peaceful and pleasant than I’d thought.”
“How so?”
“Everyone has their place,” she explained. “It’s not the overcrowded city streets, and lacks the constant noise of brewers’ carts, hacks, and the cries of hawkers selling their wares, and the ever present stench of too many bodies packed in too close a space.”
“True, but don’t be fooled. These people toil hard each day.” He held out his hand, and she allowed him to help her to her feet. “Are you ready to go back?”
She nodded and they began to ride back to the manor. Amelia enjoyed the breeze, the warmth of the sun on her cheeks, and the fragrant scent of wildflowers.
“Let’s stop a moment,” he said.
She followed him into the forest where it was cooler and the sunlight was sparse under the canopy of trees. A stream bubbled welcomingly, and he led the horses to the water to drink.
“It’s lovely here,” she said, as she stretched her legs.
“This is part of the additional land that was purchased by my grandfather years ago. The stream was my favorite spot as a child, and I spent hours here skipping stones. Past the trees are more tenant cottages.”
Once again, she was amazed by the enormity of the estate. They both depended upon each other—landowner and tenant living in harmony.
“So what do you think of your tour?”
She tilted her head to the side and regarded him. “I think Rosehill’s tenants are fortunate because you are a good landowner. I suspect there are others who are more concerned with the profit from the land than the well-being of their tenants. You are not that type of man and have more honor.”
He stilled. For a heart-stopping moment she feared she shouldn’t have spoken her thoughts. The fresh morning air grew heavier, warm, and thick with awareness. She licked her lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his eyes darkened.
Goodness. He looked like he was going to kiss her.
Her heart pounded against her rib cage. She should have stepped back in protest. Instead she stood still as he lowered his head inch by inch until his lips grazed hers, once, twice, before fully claiming her mouth. Cradling her face with his hand, he touched her nowhere else. Yet she was aware of his heat inches away. His kiss was as tender and light as a summer breeze, and she sighed in delight. He shifted, and she felt the tip of his tongue trace her full bottom lip, then slide inside her mouth. She gasped as he leisurely tasted her with skillful mastery.
Emboldened, she touched her tongue to his and shivered at the contact.
Her hands, which had fisted her gown at her sides, lifted to slide up his forearms and grasp his shoulders. She longed to remove the layers of broadcloth and linen and feel his flesh. In all her dreams, she never thought a kiss could be this delightful, this scandalously arousing.
She knew the rush of pleasure was dangerous, but she was powerless to stop it. Rather than push him away, her fingers dug into his shoulders and she swayed closer. He growled deep in his throat and pulled her fully against him. Her soft curves molded against his hard chest, and her nipples hardened beneath the fabric of her gown. She was fully aware of the hardness of his thigh brushing against hers, and the tantalizing heat of his body.
Her breath caught; her eyelids fluttered closed. The harsh uneven rhythm of her breathing echoed in her ears. She resisted the temptation to arch into him. Slowly his hand moved downward until he cupped her breast, and his thumb grazed across her hardened nipple. Pleasure spiraled from her breast and settled into a hidden, pulsing core between her legs. The sensations were shocking.
She came to her senses and pressed against him.
He released her and took a deep breath. His eyes were dark with unmistakable desire. “I promised myself I wouldn’t touch you,” he said hoarsely.
Backing away, she raised trembling fingers to her lips. “Why did you then?”
His stare was bold and sizzling. “My manners seem to go up in smoke when I’m near you.”
The sound of his hoarse voice made her knees quiver. She desperately needed to put distance between them before she made a complete fool of herself.
She took another step back. “Our arrangement won’t work if—”
“No. You can trust me.”
Trust him? It was the second time he’d said those words to her. She didn’t know if she could trust herself around him. What on earth had possessed her to allow his kiss?
“Please take me back, my lord.”
He looked like he was going to correct her from using his title, but stayed silent, and offered his arm instead. She was afraid to touch him, afraid her traitorous body would tremble and show how deeply she was affected by his kiss. She placed the tips of her fingers on his sleeve as he led her and the horses away from the copse of trees onto the main path back to the house. She was careful not to brush his shoulders as he helped her upon the sidesaddle, yet she still felt the undeniable pull of attraction as he encircled her waist and lifted her.
They rode in silence. She didn’t dare mention the kiss, and she breathed in and out to try to ease her nerves. She attempted to focus on the sunshine, the blue sky, the shimmering fields…anything but the man riding beside her. It was no use. All she could think about was the velvet warmth of his lips and his large hand on her breast.
How much farther was the house?
At last the white stone mansion came into view, and a groom came out to take the horses. Rather than escort her to the door, Brandon led Amelia t
o the twin gazebos in the gardens. “We should return separately. I’ll wait a while after you enter the house before I return,” he said.
She understood. Everyone should still be in their bedchambers, but he didn’t want to take a chance that they would be seen together. She turned to go, when he called out.
“Wait! You’ll come tonight?” he said.
She glanced back. “I gave my word.”
A fleeting expression of relief crossed his face before the corners of his mouth curved into a smile.
Did he think she’d renege on their arrangement so easily?
“Good. You needn’t worry. I possess control,” he said.
She didn’t answer, but headed for the house. Once inside, she hurried to her room and locked the door. Sitting at her nightstand, she looked into the mirror. A tumult of confused emotions raced through her. She touched her lips and remembered the feel and taste of his kiss. Her body trembled, not from fear, but from something far more dangerous.
Desire.
She’d stood in the shelter of the trees with him, and she’d known he would kiss her. Instead of censuring him, desire had washed over her in an overwhelming wave. She’d heard about women who’d succumbed to passion. She’d always thought them foolish. But now she understood just how dangerous an attractive man could be to a woman.
If she were to go ahead with their arrangement, she would need to be very careful.
…
After Amelia entered the house, Brandon returned to the stables. He dismissed the groom and cared for the horses himself. His thoughts were filled with the taste and feel of Amelia.
Christ. What had he been thinking to kiss her? He needed her to paint the Aelbert Cuyp copy so he could sell the original. He needed her to paint his portrait for Rosehill’s art gallery. He had sufficient trouble in his life without adding another complication—the innocent sister-in-law of his best friend—no matter how tempting the lady. But the problem was he couldn’t stop thinking of her.
In all his thirty years, he’d been with many women, but never had a simple kiss affected him so strongly. And when she’d touched her tongue with his, the pleasure was as pure and explosive as the soldering heat that joins metals. His control, which he’d always prided himself upon, had slipped in a heartbeat. He’d wanted to crush her softness against him and ravage her on the soft grass by the stream. If she hadn’t pushed him away, he would have done just that.
Real Earls Break the Rules (Infamous Somertons) Page 6