Loraine often thought about that. She tried to summon a feeling of shame and disgust when she remembered what they’d done in that cave together, but couldn’t stop herself from feeling a rush of heat.
It had been good. No matter what had come after, she couldn’t make what they’d done feel awful, even if it was. It would always feel like a miracle.
Everything about Philip was like that. She tried to picture his face and feel nothing but hatred. Instead, she felt an unwelcome pulse of longing.
So she tried not to think about him. And when he did infiltrate her mind, she cast him out again. It was one of the reasons she’d looked for work, because it kept her mind so thoroughly occupied.
She’d bounced between art galleries when she’d been moving from state to state, and was currently staying in New York.
The gallery there was especially modern, which pleased her immensely. When she’d asked for a job, they’d been keen to give her one, just like all the other galleries.
Loraine knew why. Having a young woman front and centre was the best way to attract the attention of wealthy gentleman. And it certainly worked.
The owner of the New York gallery even admitted, after a few weeks of Loraine working there, that she’d boosted their sales.
It didn’t especially surprise her. Looks aside, Loraine knew a great deal about art, and she always did her research. She knew every painting in the gallery within a few days.
That included its history, everything there was to know about the author, and the techniques they’d employed.
Loraine loved nothing more than being in the gallery. And, after a while, she didn’t even mind the men who flirted with her.
Having already been faced with Philip’s charisma, she now felt entirely impervious to male charm. None of them held a candle to him.
So, Loraine would be kind to them. She’d smile and quirk a brow when they said something to imply that they’d like to court her, and tell them that the gentleman who was courting her wouldn’t be too happy about that.
They’d be disappointed, but buy a painting to compensate for the blunder. Loraine even made a couple of friends while working at the New York gallery. A couple of women who regularly visited, had wound up speaking to Loraine from time to time.
They asked her questions about the paintings they were interested in. When Loraine made a clever pun on one of the artists’ names, they’d laughed for almost a minute and asked her to join them for lunch.
She’d tried not to seem taken aback, and had agreed.
Since then, Loraine met with them almost every day for tea.
Loraine stayed in New York longer than she’d stayed in the other states, because she enjoyed the gallery so much and because she wanted to stay close to her new friends. She was giddy to have made some, and wanted to tell the world about it.
But there was no one to tell at home. She lived in her little flat alone. She wrote to Mrs. Barrow, but that wasn’t the same as coming home and having someone share in your enthusiasm face-to-face.
“Hello?”
Loraine looked up from the painting she’d been studying. It had just come in, and she was getting ready to hang it. But first, she’d wanted to take a good look at it herself.
The brush strokes were extremely interesting and unique as far as she was concerned. As she looked at it, she tried to imagine what the artist was like.
When her train of thought was interrupted, she looked almost as if she was coming out of a slumber. She blinked up at the gentleman, who was young, but handsome.
“Good day to you, sir,” Loraine said. “Pardon my daydreaming.”
“There is nothing to be pardoned,” he answered. “Might I ask what you were thinking about?”
Loraine gestured to the painting. “I was trying to imagine what the artist must have been like.”
The gentleman had striking blue eyes and low brows, which made him look perpetually thoughtful. He leaned in closer and squinted at the painting. “I imagine he must have been rather glum.”
“Glum?”
“The scene itself is desolate.”
The painting was of a gorge, with a ravine going through it. “I do not think so,” she replied.
He looked at her with a slightly condescending smile. “Just look at the sky,” he said. “Dark purple.”
“True,” Loraine said. “But the dark sky doesn’t mark desolation. You see this beam of sunlight coming through these clouds? That’s hopefulness.”
The gentleman lowered his face closer to the painting, as if he was hoping to catch her out. But alas, she was right, as Loraine knew she was. When he looked back up at her, she was smiling slightly. “Would you like to purchase it, sir?”
Clearly a little bit embarrassed, he nodded. He didn’t even ask her how much. At the end of the day, the owner of the gallery congratulated her again on her sales record.
Everything was as she’d always wanted it to be. She was independent and as free of the world of men as she could be.
But instead of returning home feeling like a conqueror, she just felt lost.
***
Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill
“Any word?”
He asked this question every single week. And every single week, he got the same answer. “No.”
Bradley, Theodore and Philip sat in a tavern in Jersey, where they’d met after another week of searching. They had each split up and gone hunting, using the information in Loraine’s letters as clues. They’d moved from state to state, tracing where she’d been, but all they ever got was bad news.
“I went to the gallery,” Philip said. He was staring down into his drink with heavy, defeated eyes. “They said that they didn’t know where she went next, but that she mentioned New York. And that she left over three weeks ago.”
They’d been searching for weeks, but neither Theodore nor Bradley had expressed any desire to give up. They’d been the truest of friends, and Philip would never forget that.
“She’s worked at a lot of galleries now,” Theodore remarked.
“Four,” Philip confirmed.
“Then she’s bound to be at a gallery in New York,” Bradley assured him. “We’ll find her.” He said this every week, to try and comfort Philip. It almost worked.
“We always find the gallery, but by the time we do she’s always moved on.” He was beginning to think that she knew they were coming for her. That she was running. But in her letters to Mrs. Barrow, she hadn’t expressed any urgency to flee, or even mentioned Philip.
So if she wasn’t running, perhaps she was chasing something. That was very much like Loraine. Chasing a high. Seeing the world. Most people wallowed when their heart was broken, but not her.
This thought made him smile. But then he wondered if her heart was broken at all, and felt the grip of sadness ensnare him again. It had seemed like she’d moved on so quickly, that he wondered if she even thought of him.
Maybe Mrs. Barrow and Lady Esther had been wrong. Maybe Loraine had them fooled, just like she’d had Philip fooled. Maybe she didn’t care about him at all, and they’d just been trying to comfort him.
But why would Mrs. Barrow send him on this fool’s errand if Loraine didn’t feel something?
“I’ll head to New York in the morning,” Philip said.
“We’ll pack tonight,” Theodore answered, but Philip shook his head at him.
“No,” Philip said. “You’re not coming. Neither of you are.”
Theodore and Bradley looked like he’d just smacked them. They started shaking their heads in unison. “Don’t be mad,” Theodore blurted.
“What do you mean we’re not coming? Where are we going?” Bradley asked, looking increasingly upset.
“You’re going home,” Philip said. “It has been weeks. It’s time you got back to your own lives.”
“While you keep searching?” Theodore pressed.
“Alone?” Bradley added.
Philip offered them
each a soft, slightly sad smile. “I can’t stop searching, but I won’t let you put your lives on hold any longer.”
They argued with him for a while, and Theodore even lost his temper, slamming his beer down onto the bar. There were raised voices and outright refusals. But, in time, they each conceded.
“I don’t like this,” Theodore reminded him.
“Yes, you’ve made that clear,” Philip answered, smiling. He clapped Theodore on the back and looked at Bradley. “I want you both to know how much I appreciate what you’ve done. I’ll make it up to you one day.”
This softened them. Philip felt Theodore’s shoulders slacken.
They lifted their glasses and toasted to friendship. At the end of the night, they bid each other farewell. It was a surprisingly emotional goodbye. One that left him feeling raw and dejected.
There was a part of him that wondered if he should have kept them close, for his own sanity. But he couldn’t continue to do that. They were all so tired, and Theodore and Bradley had no reason to suffer. They’d supported him long enough.
Then why was saying goodbye to them so hard?
The following day, he left for New York. Alone.
In truth, though he’d decided to continue his search, Philip had lost hope. He didn’t think he would find Loraine. Not anymore. America was too vast, and she moved on too quickly for him to keep up with her.
Even in the moments that he did have hope of finding her, it would suddenly occur to him how unlikely it was that she’d even see him. And with him feeling so low, he even doubted his ability to persuade her otherwise.
Chapter 38
Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill
Upon arriving in New York, Philip quickly discovered the sheer number of art galleries. He started in the center, because he knew that Loraine would choose to be there if she could.
But that only narrowed it down slightly. He visited sixteen galleries in the first week, with no success.
When he went to the seventeenth gallery, he was about ready to give up and go home. What if she wasn’t working in a gallery this time? What if she’d moved on within a week of arriving in New York?
The day was hot, but the gallery was cool. The only silver lining to this entire mess was that he’d never visited so many galleries before. At first, he didn’t think he had much of a taste for art. He didn’t know a great deal about it, beyond what he could admire through sight alone.
But since beginning his hunt for Loraine, he’d visited so many that he’d developed a fondness for them. When he visited a new gallery and found that she wasn’t there, he was always so overcome by disappointment and defeat.
Feelings that inspired increased attentiveness to the works of art surrounding him. They seemed to pluck at his emotions, deepening them and making them sing.
He’d always spend at least an hour in each gallery, just looking at the paintings.
He’d imagine that Loraine had been there and looked at them too. And tried to conceive of what she might have thought of while looking at them.
In the seventeenth gallery, his eyes went straight to a painting of a steed, with its white mane whipping out behind it. Philip approached it slowly. At first glance, it looked like there were only three colors in the entire painting. But the closer he looked, the more he saw.
The shades were nuanced and, he quickly realized, made up of a thousand different colors. The steed itself was glorious. It was mid-gallop, with its head reared back. It made him think of the races he’d had with Loraine, when she’d trounced him effortlessly. He smiled to himself a little, and even considered purchasing it.
Philip looked up, hoping to spot an attendant so that he could inquire about the price. “Can I help you, sir?” A gentleman asked, when he caught Philip looking around. He was very sleek, and was wearing a tight suit. He had a silver streak in his hair and bright hazel eyes.
“Yes,” Philip said. “I wonder if you can tell me about this painting.”
“I could tell you a little,” he answered, with a slow nod. “But you would be best off speaking to our sales assistant. She is remarkably knowledgeable.” As he said this, the man smiled brightly and lifted his hand, gesturing for a woman to come join them.
Philip waited politely, until the woman appeared by his side. “Hello, sir. How can I-”
She stopped mid-breath, and Philip turned his face to look at her. And just like that, he felt like a child again. Heat rushed to his cheeks, his lips parted and his heart slammed to a momentary stop.
Loraine.
She recovered before he did, because her employer was staring at her, looking rather perplexed. “Is everything alright, Miss Beauchamp?”
“Of course, Alfie.” She glanced at Philip as she said this, but wouldn’t look at him directly. “Which painting were you interested in, sir?”
Philip blinked at her, then looked at the gentleman who’d come over to help him. He was hovering over them, smiling. “This one,” Philip said. His voice sounded raspy.
Loraine looked at the steed and nodded.
“Well, the painting came in from Paris yesterday, where the artist is resident. He’s a born Frenchman.”
Loraine told him everything there was to know about the painting. From the artist’s character and disposition, to his style and the inspiration behind it. Alfie, her employer, had been right… her knowledge was remarkable.
But that wasn’t the only thing that was remarkable about her. While Philip looked shoddy, having lost weight and grown a bit of stubble, Loraine looked just as she always had. Immaculate.
It was clear that New York suited her. She looked sleek and modern, and there was something formidable about her presence. She was independent. She was strong. And she knew it.
“Do you have any questions, sir?”
Philip had been staring at her. He was silent, and shook his head, looking dazed.
“Isn’t she remarkable?” Alfie gushed, when she finished. The man was grinning like a fool, and he had flushed cheeks. He was looking at Loraine like she was an angel who’d just manifested in front of him.
“She is,” Philip murmured.
Loraine smiled, but he could see that it was fake. “If you don’t have any questions, sir, I’ll help one of the other customers.”
God, he wished he could think of a question. But she’d stunned him, and he could hardly remember his own name. “Go ahead, Miss Beauchamp. Thank you for your assistance,” Alfie said. “So, would you like to purchase it?”
Loraine walked away, without even looking back at him.
Philip stared after her, dumbly.
“Sir?”
He blinked and looked at Alfie. “Might I think about it?” He said.
“Certainly!”
Philip nodded and left in a hurry. Outside, he turned the corner and pressed his back against the nearest wall. He was breathing heavily, staring up at the sun.
He’d found her. And he felt like his heart was going to burst from the mere sight of her.
And yet, having found her, he had no idea what to say. After all this time searching, he’d never once considered how debilitating it would be to see her again. It was painful and wonderful. It stole his words from him.
He expelled a shaky breath and closed his eyes.
It was clear that she didn’t want to see him. That she was keen to pretend that she didn’t know him, but that wouldn’t stop Philip. He’d expected her to be reluctant to see him. What he hadn’t expected was to feel so out of his depth.
Philip decided that he would wait in a café near the gallery until it closed. Then, when she left, he’d corner her and force her to speak to him. In the café, he tried to think of what he would say to her, but couldn’t make a concrete decision.
He thought of a thousand different things he’d like to say, and another thousand different ways of saying them. When the sun was setting and the gallery closed, he still hadn’t made a decision.
But it was too late to
go back now. He was already walking towards her.
***
Miss Loraine Beauchamp
When she saw him, she thought her heart had given way. He looked different. So different that she hadn’t recognized him at first. He had lost weight, though he was by no means fragile. His body was still wide in the shoulders, tapering down into slim hips.
Seducing The Vengeful Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 27