Chapter 14

CHAPTER14

When the sun streamed through the curtains, that dark orange light disturbed Anthony’s sleep. He rolled over, finding himself still in his trousers that were uncomfortably tight. Then in his sleepy state, he remembered exactly where he was and what had occurred.

His eyes shot open wider, and he turned his head to look at Susanna beside him. She was fast asleep, her cheek resting on the cushion and her hair so mad that the pillow was barely visible at all. Anthony smiled at the sight, his mind somewhat intoxicated by the sight of her bare shoulder peeking out from the cover of the sheets.

Slowly, he began to slide off the bed, trying his best not to disturb her. When her soft snuffled breathing continued, he hastened to the other side of the room, climbing over the clothes they had removed from each other in a hurry. Anthony smiled when he saw the disarray his shirt and waistcoat had been left in with his cravat curled up in a ball on top of a dresser. The valet would certainly be disappointed to see the clothes so messy, yet Anthony didn’t care.

He reached for a drawer in his dresser and pulled out a sketchbook with pencils then he returned to his side of the bed and sat down gently. Flicking through the pages, he found the leaf where he had drawn Susanna in her garden a few days before.

There was something both comical about the drawing and sensual. Susanna had her gown caught on a rose bush yet was reaching precariously over another in the effort to prune a deadhead. The curve of her body and the reaching of her fingers were the sensual thing that called him toward her in the drawing.

Turning the pages to a clean leaf, he shifted his focus to Susanna now on the bed and began to draw. Slowly, she came to life on the page in her peaceful slumber with her eyelashes fluttering occasionally, suggesting she was dreaming in that sleep.

When her eyes shot open, and she sat bolt upright, Anthony dropped his pencil and reached for her.

“Susanna, it was just a dream,” he whispered softly. Susanna looked around the room with the bedsheet still clutched across her chest before her eyes landed on him, and a calmness settled over her.

“It was a nightmare,” she breathed out the words.

“All over now.” He curled an arm around her bare waist and pulled her toward him, loving the sight of the smile that curled her lips as they rested back together on the pillows. “Not a thing to worry about in this world.” With the words, he moved his lips to her cheeks, placing kisses there before he found her lips.

It was a gentle kiss, like their first, with the soft and slow movement of their lips. It made the hairs rise on the back of Anthony’s neck, longing for more though he satisfied himself by concentrating on the feeling of the bare skin of her waist in the crook of his arm.

“It was an awful nightmare. I dreamt I was being watched as I came here last night. Then a shadow came forward as I waited in the garden, but it wasn’t you. It was some kind of monster, and then he…” Susanna trailed off. Anthony lifted his head, the better to see her. “It doesn’t matter.” Susanna brought a smile to her lips. “Just a dream.”

“Indeed.” Anthony shifted a little, revealing the sketchbook on his lap. Susanna tilted her head down toward it, caressing the picture with a finger.

“You have a habit of drawing me at present.”

“I have a feeling you are my favorite model. By far the best.” Anthony sighed with contentment as he thought back to their passion from the night before.

He had wanted so badly to show her pleasure and excitement. The memory of how she had convulsed, clutching to the chaise longue, and moaning his name was everything to him. It made his eyes wander down her sheet-covered body, thinking what more they could do together.

Strangely, he didn’t once think of all the rules they had broken.

“Something tells me you are no longer thinking of sketching.” Susanna’s words were coupled with a gentle tap to Anthony’s chin, urging him to look up again. He chuckled as his eyes met hers.

“I was thinking of what we shared last night. Cannot you tell from the smile on my face?”

“I am glad I came here.”

“As am I.” Anthony moved his lips to hers for another slow and sensual kiss. This one affected him even more than the last, making a tremble pass up his spine and his hands loosen from the sketchbook, reaching for her instead.

“Hmm!” Susanna pulled back from the kiss with a laugh. “You cannot keep kissing me like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have to go soon. I have to go home before Agnes realizes I am gone.”

“A few more minutes.” Anthony moved his kisses back to her lips again. When she sank into his hold, he thought for a minute she would stay then her hand passed down the middle of his bare chest, and it made all his nerves stand on end.

She cannot stay. Or my body may want her completely!

“Ah, I wish you could stay,” Anthony said with a sigh as they both sat back from one another. “I hope this will not be the last I see you like this though.”

“Of course, you will see me again like this.” Susanna climbed out of the bed, and the sheet slipped from her body. Anthony groaned audibly, wanting her back in the bed with him. “After all, you have to finish that painting of me still, do you not?”

“Something tells me I’ll be quite distracted when painting it.”

* * *

Anthony had not stopped smiling since Susanna had left that morning. Having shut himself away in his painting studio along with the painting he had taken from its hiding place in order to work on it, he was happier than he had known himself to be for some time.

When paint dropped on the floor, he found he wasn’t in a hurry to clean it up, and when he added new colors to the portrait, perhaps not the classic color palette but something vivid and infinitely mor evocative, he became entranced by his creation, dedicating himself to it.

As Anthony worked, he found himself humming. It was the tune of the first song he and Susanna had danced to. Just as Susanna had hummed it that day in that garden when he had come to see her, he was hypnotized by it, singing it repeatedly in his head.

What happens now?

The thought cut through as he worked on her face, paying particular attention to the shape and the color of Susanna’s eyes. Despite the fact they were dark eyes, he added a hint of white to each iris. It made the eyes gleam off the canvas, reminding him of the way Susanna had looked at him the night before when he had pleasured her.

This cannot end. I cannot lose her from my life.

The thought made Anthony quite determined as he stepped back from the canvas to admire the progress that he had made. He couldn’t deny that since meeting Susanna, he had become a changed man. Just as he had asked her to teach him how to relax a little, how not to be too particular with propriety or routine, she had taught him to do that by showing him a different way to live entirely.

“I cannot lose her,” Anthony whispered aloud, smiling at the painting before him. He felt this growing determination inside of him. He didn’t care what the scandal sheets said or what those he had called friends in the past said, he was going to find a way to keep Susanna in his life, and he wouldn’t keep her on the sidelines as if she were some sort of mistress.

I care for her so much more than that!

“Your Grace? Your Grace!” a panicked voice emanated from the gallery beyond the closed door.

“One minute,” Anthony called back, panicking when he realized what painting was on view in his easel. He would not embarrass Susanna by letting others see this painting. Hurriedly, he found a painting sheet and threw it over the easel, hiding her from view, then he hurried to the door.

“Your Grace!” the voice was followed by a hasty knock at the door.

“What is it?” Anthony asked, pulling the door open to find himself face to face with his butler. The butler was breathless as if he had been running and a little red in the cheeks.

“There is a carriage on the drive, Your Grace.”

“Very well… Since when does this news put such fright into us?” Anthony laughed. Stepping back into the studio, he moved to find his tailcoat and pulled it on over his shoulders. “Do you recognize the carriage? Do we know who our visitor is to be?”

“That is just it, Your Grace.” The butler stepped forward and lowered his voice. “It is the Dowager Duchess’s carriage.”

Anthony nearly knocked over his nearest brush pots in surprise.

No. It cannot be.

He stood as still as a statue, thinking hard as to whether he could have missed a letter. His mother always obeyed routine and habit. She never called unless she sent a letter in advance, forewarning him of her visit.

“Have there been any letters from her?” Anthony asked slowly, shaking himself out of his frozen position.

“None, Your Grace.”

“No. I thought not.” Anthony stepped back and hurried to the window of the studio. Flinging open the curtains, he peered out to the garden. He had a poor view of the drive from this position, but he could just about see a glimpse of the distant end where a carriage travelled across the pebbled path.

It is my mother’s carriage!

“This doesn’t make sense,” Anthony muttered, hurrying back into the center of his room. “Well, we best see a chamber is made up for her. The stable must be ready to receive her carriage too. If she waits too long to see a stable boy, well, you know how she is.”

“Yes, of course, Your Grace. At once.” The butler hurried off, practically running in his effort to see to the tasks.

Anthony didn’t blame the butler for rushing so, for he was just the same. Pushing his tailcoat sleeves up, he plunged his hands into a bowl of water, trying desperately to wash off some of the flecks of paint that had fallen on his skin. He had to scratch at some of the flecks, making his skin red in the effort to be clean.

As he worked, in the distant recesses of the house he could hear people hurrying. Evidently after the butler’s orders had been given to prepare a chamber, the maids had hopped to the task, for a coal scuttle was dropped, and a woman’s cry ordered for sheets to be brought up at once.

They were usually very prepared for the Dowager Duchess’ visits. She gave plenty of notice and wanted things perfect. Flowers would be placed in her room in a vase beside her bed, always with three blooms, no more, no less. Some slippers would be under the bed too with the toes just pointing out, and her favorite sheets would be on the bed.

What could have prompted such a surprise visit? My mother is not fond of surprises.

Anthony could remember once his mother telling him that surprises were for people who wished merely to shock an audience to create a reaction. It was why she had laughed at such an idea of a surprise birthday dinner when it was once suggested for his father before he had passed.

Once Anthony’s hands were clean, he dried them on the nearest towel and hurried through the house. In the hallway, through the nearest window, he could see his mother stepping down from her carriage, assisted by a footman.

Anthony glanced quickly into the nearest mirror above a hall table. Seeing his hair was a little wild, he flattened it before turning to face the door that was opened by the butler.

“Mother?” Anthony said in surprise and stepped forward.

Honoria Fletcher, the Dowager Duchess of Belbridge, walked forward, not bearing a smile. Her dark hair was coiffed perfectly, with not a single wisp out of place, and her gown seemed to have been starched so much that Anthony swore it crinkled and made a sound as she walked.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? This is a surprise.” Anthony tried to keep the smile in place, despite his growing awareness of the frown on his mother’s brow. Her face was much narrower than his own, and her eyes were sterner too, even more so at this present time.

“Pleasure?” she snapped, her voice sharp. When she stopped in front of him, she reached forward, laying her gloved hand to his chin and tilting it upward. Anthony felt like a boy again. It didn’t matter that he was much taller than his mother these days, she still angled his face as if he were a child. “There is paint on your face, Anthony.”

He hastily stepped back and tried to scratch it off though he was uncertain if it had any effect. He used watercolors, something that was not exactly popular with many artists, but he had a fondness for it, especially as it was relatively simple to wash off. When he had first started painting with oils as a child, his mother had been most upset at how long it would take such paint to come off the skin. Watercolors were the safer option.

“Did you write a letter about your visit?” Anthony lowered his hand, determined to find out what had gone awry. “Perhaps your letter went astray.”

“I sent no letter.”

“But… you always send a letter.”

“Today is an exception. After discovering some disturbing news, I felt it necessary to set out at once and assure myself that it was all a rumor — that none of it could be true.”

“A rumor? What rumor?” Anthony frowned, uncertain where his mother was going with this. Behind them both, footmen were bringing in portmanteaus from the carriage. Judging by the sheer number of them, Anthony understood this would not be a fleeting visit.

“This one.” Honoria lifted the reticule that was slung over her wrist and reached inside, pulling out a wad of paper that had been folded up. As she began to straighten the paper, Anthony realized what it was she had been reading.

It was the scandal sheet.

“A friend of mine in London was so good to post this to me, for it mentions you and a very particular lady, Lady Curtis.” Honoria turned the article for Anthony to see.

“I have read it.”

“Then you will have read of the insult that it makes.” Honoria stood taller, flapping the scandal sheet in dismissal. “Tell me this, once and for all, Anthony. Tell me you are not considering marrying a woman that has been lambasted so in this scandal sheet as being entirely improper and not your equal?”