Chapter 10

"Itrust everything is to your liking, my lord."

Easton turned to the countess and put a hand over his heart. Already, his things had been put in the wardrobe and his personal effects laid out neatly on the dresser. "It is more than I deserve, considering you have no reason to trust in my innocence."

"Don't be ridiculous," she chided firmly. "We both know you are without guilt in light of these accusations. We shall soon get to the bottom of it. I will be sending out inquiries to a few contacts of my own in London. Is there anyone you wish to alert in Ireland?"

He shook his head. "My sister is the only relation I have there, and I don't want to worry her without reason. It would be best to hear what this accuser has to say before I do anything else."

"A wise decision." She inclined her head, and then she added, "Since you will be staying in close confines with Vanessa, I thought you might enjoy painting in the same space she is currently using."

Easton thought of when she had run away from him. "You don't think she will mind?"

"Not at all. And when I show you something, you will know what I mean."

Curious, Easton lifted a brow but followed his hostess down the hallway to a large ballroom that was littered with various paintings, some of which belonged to Vanessa while the others were his. An easel had already been set up for his use, and his art supplies were ready and waiting. "Your servants are quite efficient," he murmured.

"I pay them well to be so," she noted.

Easton grinned haphazardly, but his attention was soon diverted to the painting on Vanessa's easel. He slowly walked forward and spied the work in progress. But it wasn't the use of her dark shading that caught his attention, but the figure that was situated in the midst of the macabre drawing. He recognized that profile, as he saw it every day in the mirror.

"She drew me," he whispered.

"Indeed," the countess confirmed. "And it isn't the only one." She waved her hand to indicate the rest of the work sitting about the room, all in varying degrees of progress, but with one major factor that connected them all—him. From his profile to the set of his shoulders from a rear pose, it was obvious that she had designed a set of prints with him as her inspiration.

As he returned to the somber painting, something very different from her lighthearted pictures of the seaside, Lady Beauvais spoke up. "I don't know what is going on between you and Vanessa, but it is obvious that you inspire each other. From your drawings, to her likenesses of you in every piece thus far, I daresay I hope it continues."

Easton turned to her curiously. He hadn't been expecting her encouragement. He was expecting to be given a lecture in comportment. But then, she was rumored to be the mistress of the Prince Regent, so perhaps she was more of a forward thinker than he'd imagined.

"I can tell I've surprised you," she added with a twist of her lips. "I am not as straightlaced as the English. I have strong French roots and what I am concerned about is my gallery in Burnham-On-Sea. With your combined talents, it will be a smashing success, but only if you continue to create your art. I give you leave to continue your flirtations if it is necessary to do that, but I would warn you that Vanessa is not just an artist I am keen to support. She is also a friend, and I do ensure that my friends are protected. If you understand?"

He made sure he was sincere when he said, "The last thing I want to do is hurt her. On that you have my word."

She nodded, satisfied. "Good." She turned to go but added over her shoulder, "I heard she is in the library. I shall await you both in the parlor, and I expect you to join me promptly."

Easton bowed lightly. He decided that he liked the countess. She was not one to mince words, nor did she act timid when it came to having her wishes obeyed. She expected results, and Easton was certain not to disappoint her. She could have easily left him to continue rotting in that horrid cell, but instead, she made sure that he was released into her care. That alone made him offer his undying loyalty to her.

As he headed down to the first floor, he spied a maid who gave him directions to the library. When he entered the room, he didn't see Vanessa at first. But it didn't take him long to spy her sleeping form. She was slumped slightly in a chair by the mantel and had an open book on her lap. Curious about what she might have been reading, he walked over and slowly removed it from her grasp. When he read the title, he had to snort. A woman this desirable shouldn't be forced to read such nonsense.

He knelt in front of her and considered the best way to wake her.

His gaze traveled along the length of her body, and he realized he could think of many enticing ways in which he would like to bring her to awareness, but since none of those were an option, he resorted to taking hold of her hand and gently rubbing the top of her knuckles. "Vanessa." He spoke her name softly, but she didn't stir. It was apparent that she was exhausted, lost to dreamland.

He stilled, knowing that his next actions weren't proper, but he couldn't resist a small taste of her tempting lips. Ever since he'd met her, it had been difficult to think of little else.

Just one brief kiss from his muse. Surely that wasn't too much to ask?

His hand shook slightly as he cupped her head. He closed his eyes briefly as her hair slid through his fingers. It was just as soft as he'd imagined it would be—the blonde locks with just a touch of red fire.

He moved toward her lips and pressed his against hers. It was a light pressure, hardly a kiss at all, but enough where he held his breath in anticipation of her response. When she didn't make any attempt to stir, he added a bit more pressure. This time, it was different. With a breathy moan from deep in her throat, she arched her back slightly and wound her arms around his neck. He didn't know if she was doing it with full consciousness or not, but he thrilled at her reaction. He told himself that he would end the embrace once she was fully cognizant, but not just yet.

* * *

Vanessa was having the most amazing dream. She was standing by the ocean, the breeze flowing through her hair. She had her face raised toward the sun, the rays beating down upon her with its soothing warmth. She wiggled her bare toes, and they dug into the soft sand.

It was a glorious day, and she didn't think it could get any better.

Arms wrapped around her from behind and she leaned her head back against a strong surface. It was a man's chest—Lord Fane's chest, to be exact.

She sighed in contentment, realizing that nothing lay between them but the future, which stretched out between them with hope and love. He turned her in his embrace and kissed her in full view of the rest of the visitors on the beach this afternoon. Nothing had ever filled her with such peaceful abandon before, and she wanted this moment to linger for all eternity. For the first time in her life, she was… happy. She didn't have to worry about Frank. She was free to be with Lord Fane, and it filled her heart with joy.

His lips slid along hers with a soft promise of more. She had never wanted any sort of intimacy with Frank, but Easton—he was all she'd ever wanted. All she ever needed.

As his mouth moved away from hers, she sighed in reluctance at the loss. She breathed his name and then heard him groan deep in the back of his throat. He kissed a hot path of desire along her jaw and down her neck. The dream was so real that she could almost feel the slight abrasion of his beard scraping against her skin.

It wasn't until his hand moved to the side of her breast did her eyes flutter open. Awareness immediately entered her consciousness, and she gasped. Immediately, the onslaught ceased, and he moved away from her. "Forgive me. I only meant to wake you. I… didn't mean for it to go that far." He set his back to her, his shoulders stiffly set.

She saw the anguish on his face before he'd turned away, and she couldn't find it within her to get upset because it would be a lie if she claimed she hadn't been enjoying his attentions. But she did intend to make a point. "It cannot happen again."

"Indeed." His tone was harsh. "It shouldn't have happened then. It was a moment of weakness." Keeping his back to her, he said, "I shall await you in the parlor."

As soon as he was gone, she released the breath she'd been holding. Now that the shock of his actions had seeped into her brain, she realized that their attraction was worse than she'd feared. She had felt womanly desire for the first time since she'd married Frank. At that time, it had been more of a curiosity of the carnal delights that transpired between a man and wife.

It hadn't taken long before that fantasy had turned into a delusion.

In light of Frank's cruelty, she had pushed down all her desires, suppressed any sort of wanton needs that she might have otherwise had, because she hadn't wanted anything to do with Frank. She remained cool and distant after the first six months of their marriage when she realized that whatever she did would not make a difference. When he started to spend more time with his mistress, she was relieved, although when he did return home, it wasn't a joyful reunion.

Vanessa closed her eyes tightly to block out all those horrid memories that continued to cross her mind. She had gotten away from him, and that was all that mattered. He might show up on Lady Beauvais's doorstep at any time, demanding that she come back to Nottingham, but she knew the countess would fight him with everything that she had.

It wasn't the thought of returning to Nottingham that filled Vanessa with dread, but the retribution that Frank would offer when he had her alone.

She shuddered, just thinking of it.

And yet…

The thought of running away with Lord Fane and living a quiet, solitary life in Ireland sounded more than ideal. She wished she didn't have any sort of honor left, but since she did, she knew she couldn't act so long as she was a married woman and promised to another. No matter how horrible Frank was to her, by law and in the house of God, she had vowed to forsake all others. It might rip her heart out of her chest to leave Easton behind, but she had no other choice.

Gathering her courage, Vanessa got up and made her way to the parlor.

* * *

"Ah, there you are. I trust you had a nice repose?"

Easton tried not to stare at Vanessa, he truly did, but her cheeks were still slightly pink, her lips parted, as if in invitation for another kiss.

He considered returning to the gaol because surely this was more torturous than some old straw and crusted bread.

He could hear Vanessa give some sort of noncommittal reply as she sat down next to the countess. "Now that we're all here," Lady Beauvais noted. "Let's figure out what to do about your current situation, Lord Fane." She tilted her graying, dark head to the side and regarded him in that steady manner he was already growing accustomed to witnessing. "You claimed you had no idea who might have made the thievery accusations, is that correct?"

"Yes, my lady. I cannot think of anyone I might have aggrieved, most especially in London. As I mentioned, it has been at least a decade since I was last there."

"And what did you do when you were there?"

"I went to visit my cousin, Lord Stanton."

"And you interacted with no one else?" she prodded.

He thought of the bawdy house they had gone to, and a few museums, but he wasn't about to report the former. "Nothing unusual, if that's what you're asking. I can't recall a reason why anyone would go so far as to claim that I had stolen anything. Certainly not why they might have waited so long to come forward. It's common knowledge that I make my home in Tralee, off the western coast of Ireland."

As the countess considered this, Easton's gaze slid to Vanessa. She was sitting with her eyes cast down into her lap as if doing whatever possible not to make any sort of contact with him. A sharp pain shot through his heart. "I admit that is rather peculiar," the lady noted with a murmur. "That will certainly make a good argument for your cause as well. If your crime was so severe that a thieftaker was hired to find you, then why delay?"

Lady Beauvais asked him a few more questions, and then she got to her feet. "I have a few calls to make. Perhaps the two of you would like to do some painting to pass the rest of the afternoon."

When she left, Vanessa rose. "I think I shall follow the countess's suggestion—"

"Why are there so many paintings with my likeness?"

She immediately stilled, and Easton could have kicked himself for making such a bold inquiry, but he had been burning with curiosity ever since he'd encountered the current studio. However, he might have asked in a bit more tactful manner, instead of springing it on her like that.

"I can't really say, except that you appear to inspire me as well," she returned softly. For the first time since she had entered the room, she looked at him directly. "It seems that we are of a like mind, and since you saw my work, I think it's only fair that you show me yours."

He got up and offered a light bow. "I would be honored."

Easton led the way to the upstairs room and walked over to his supplies. He withdrew his sketch pad and handed it to her. Her eyebrows lifted slightly as she took it. "There's not a specific page?"

He shook his head. "No. They are all of you."

She opened the first page and then the second, and then she continued to flip through each of the charcoal portraits. Some she examined for only a brief time and others she studied in a bit further detail. By the time she'd reached the halfway point, where the pages were blank, she closed it slowly. Instead of handing it back to him, she held it against her chest with a thoughtful expression before she returned it.

Easton held his breath as he waited for her to say something.

"They are a fair likeness."

When it was obvious nothing else was forthcoming, he said, "You don't have anything else to say?"

She lifted a brow. "Was there something you had been hoping for?"

Easton wasn't sure how to respond. Was she upset with him again, or just genuinely curious? "Er… I suppose not." He decided that the best reaction was to gather up his supplies and prepare to get to work.

However, as he was setting out his paints, she said, "If you are that determined to paint my portrait, I suppose I should no longer deny you. Not only have I used your likeness in most of my recent work, but you already have an eye for something much more than landscapes."

Easton slowly turned to her. His pulse had picked up speed at just the idea of painting every lush feminine curve. "Are you certain?"

She took a deep breath. "I am. I have never had my portrait painted before. I was nervous before because I didn't want anything put on display where it might get back to Frank, but I don't think it matters now, as word will surely reach him regarding my whereabouts soon enough."

He saw the sad smile that she offered, and immediately, he pictured a scenic landscape with Vanessa in the forefront, like that of the famed Mona Lisa by Leonardo Da Vinci. But considering it would be impossible to gain the sort of notoriety that lady had inspired for the past three hundred years, he decided that he would keep it just as simple but with a more sensual flourish. The title: ALady of Mystery.

The blood started to pump through his veins with more than just excitement. The possibility of being able to paint his muse was more than inspiration enough for his artistic fingers to itch to grab the nearest brush. "When can I get started?"

* * *

"There is no time like the present, I suppose."

Since Vanessa had been struggling with finding the right sort of creativity to continue her usual landscapes, she decided she would take this reprieve to give Lord Fane what he most desired. Since she couldn't offer him her body in the Biblical sense, she would offer it to him in the most physical way possible.

She glanced about the room. "Where do you want me to sit?"

He looked around, and she could almost see his thought process on his face as he looked around for the perfect object. He walked over and grabbed a simple chair and placed it in front of one of the long windows that overlooked the gardens. He went back to his easel and picked it up, moving forward a few feet, then stopped and adjusted it a bit more. When he was satisfied, he gave a nod of his head. "Perfection."

She saw him glance up and down her form, and she lifted her chin slightly, wondering what he was inspecting so thoroughly. "Do you have anything in red?"

"Red?" she laughed. "Do you intend to paint me as a harlot?"

"No," he chided, completely in somber artist character. "As a true muse."

"I see." She shook her head. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but most of my gowns are simple muslin like this one." She spread out her skirts to emphasize the plain white gown with small, embroidered violets adorning the hem and upper bodice.

He grinned broadly. "Then I will allow my imagination to soar." He told her how to sit, with her legs crossed at the ankles. He had one hand casually sitting in her lap, and the other curved delicately, palm down, under her chin, head slightly tilted, as if she were staring longingly—or perhaps lovingly—at the creator.

"That's it. Do not move," he instructed.

Grabbing a blank canvas, she saw him glance back and forth from her to the easel as he sketched out a brief outline. After that, he gathered his oils and mixed them on the wooden palette until he had just the right shade he was searching for.

It was fascinating to watch him work like this. He was in deep concentration, his mouth set into a firm line, and his amber eyes were focused on her, but not in any sort of way except professionally. A lock of his brown hair had fallen over his forehead, and she twitched with the urge to brush it back. She saw the muscles in his arms bunch beneath his jacket, and the cords in his thighs flexing with each movement. She found it quite enticing, and she licked her lips.

"Eyes on me."

It wasn't a request, but more of a demand. One she immediately obeyed because it wasn't harsh, only a firm plea.

After that, she made sure to keep her focus on him, and if she decided there was room for any woolgathering about how he cut a fine figure in his clothes, then she made sure she didn't deviate from his art. Eventually, the rest of the room melted away, leaving only the two of them and the light scrape of his brush against the canvas.

Their eyes met and held, and then he would break contact before returning to her. It was as if time had somehow ceased to exist until Lady Beauvais arrived and broke the spell that had taken hold of her.

"My goodness, have you been here all this time?" she asked in surprise.

"Why? What time is it?" Vanessa asked, although now that the countess had arrived, she realized that her shoulders were a bit stiff from sitting.

"It's half past seven, nearly time for supper."

Vanessa blinked. "Oh." She looked at the viscount, who appeared just as astonished. Normally, they worked together for a couple of hours each day on the strand. They might continue in their prospective rooms in private, but this was the first time they had spent the entire afternoon together in perfect harmony. He set down his brush with some reluctance. "I apologize for keeping you here for so long. I'm afraid I was focused."

"I should say so." Lady Beauvais started to walk over and peer at what he was working on, but he quickly grabbed a strip of linen and covered it before it was seen.

"I would like to keep it concealed until the unveiling if you don't mind."

The countess lifted a brow, but she said, "I suppose a bit of mystery wouldn't be amiss. I'm sure if it is anything like the rest of your talent, it will not be in vain." She looked at Vanessa. "I shall see you both downstairs shortly."

Vanessa bobbed a light curtsy and then walked over to the viscount, where he was cleaning his brushes. She couldn't help but notice that his fingers were stained as well. She was glad to see his hands were actually tainted by color again. He was usually very careful and meticulous, but she could tell her portrait was different. It would be his masterpiece.

"I suppose this means you have rediscovered your love for art?"

He glanced at her, his gaze warm. "I've discovered much more than that."

Vanessa's breath caught. And then she glanced away and quit the room.