Chapter 12

The room fell silent after Vanessa's outburst. Mr. Porter appeared to be at a momentary loss for words, but he was the sort who was able to recover his wits quickly. "I daresay you are a surprise, Mrs. McGavin. After what I've heard about your doting husband, I wondered if you would be willing to return to his loving arms, especially after I learned his mistress had just given birth to a son just three weeks past."

Vanessa put a hand to her stomach as the room started to spin. It was as if all the air had been abruptly pushed out of her lungs. "They had a child?" she breathed. She grasped on to the back of the chair as the blood left her face.

"I think it's time that you left, Mr. Porter." The countess stood and as she did, the butler appeared in the doorway as if summoned by nothing more than the firm tone of her voice.

He hesitated, looking at Lady Beauvais, and after shooting a brief glance at Vanessa, he bowed lightly. "I couldn't agree more." He started to take his leave, but then he stopped and looked back at the viscount. "David Baxter, Baron Devonshire."

The instant he was gone, Vanessa started to tremble.

"My dear, are you alright?"

She could hear the soothing voice of Lady Beauvais, the lilting French accent, but she could comprehend little else. All she could think of was the fact that Frank and his mistress had a child together. She had long yearned for a baby of her own, but Frank had scorned her, calling her barren since he continued to lay with her with no resulting pregnancy.

It was as if the knife had been shoved into her heart just a bit farther than before. It was bad enough that Frank had made her feel as if their sour marriage was because she was too frigid in the bedchamber. He claimed it was the reason she couldn't seem to get with child. Although she had scorned his accusations, now she couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't been right all along.

She could feel tears sting her eyes. "Excuse me." Vanessa couldn't seem to make her legs move fast enough. She rushed up the stairs, intent on making it to her rooms before she made a fool of herself by sobbing over a child who was never meant to be hers.

"Vanessa!" She closed her eyes temporarily and blindly reached for her bedchamber door. Immediately, a warm male hand covered hers. "Don't shut me out," he whispered against her neck. "Not now, not when you need someone to hold you."

Vanessa told herself that she was an independent woman. She had suffered much worse in her life and managed to break through. She wasn't sure why this revelation struck her so hard. It wasn't as if she cared what Frank did, just so long as he left her in peace.

She slowly opened her door and when it was shut behind her, she didn't seem to care that Easton had followed her inside. She could feel her breathing start to get heavy, and when she opened her eyes to search for something to break, to match the devastation in her heart, all she saw was a vase in the corner. Realizing that it wasn't hers to destroy, she turned her wrath on Easton.

She clenched her fists and started to strike out against his chest as the hot, scalding tears that she had been holding back finally began to roll down her face. "They had a son! I could never have a child. I was told I was worthless, that I wasn't worth the case of brandy that Frank had given to my father. I despise them! I hate them for being able to gain the one thing I always wanted. I hate them—"

Easton had remained still the entire time she had pummeled his chest. He was absorbing the pain and frustration that she hadn't been able to take out on anything else. When it was over and she crumpled, sliding to the floor in a dejected heap of pathetic misery, he was there to hold her and gently stroke her hair as she cried for all the torment she'd endured, not just from Frank, but the despondency she'd felt as a child. She released all the pent-up anger and disappointment and loss of love that she'd been denied for so many years.

As she finally quieted, a few sniffles and a pair of puffy eyes later, she looked at Easton. He was sitting on the floor with her. His brown eyes were empathetic, furious on her behalf, but she saw no pity there. "I'm sorry—"

He was shaking his head. "We all have moments when we feel as if the entire world is against us, when we feel as if we've been abandoned to all hope." He smiled ruefully. "It wasn't that long ago I was prepared to give up painting because I had lost my creativity." He exhaled heavily. "When I met you and got to know you, I finally realized that my muse was nothing compared to what you've had to endure. They might have a son, yes. But that doesn't mean you are anything less because of it. You are special and worthy and unique, just as God intended you to be." His mouth kicked up in the corner. "My sister would say I sound like our local priest, but in this instance, he would be absolutely right." He reached out and cupped her cheek. "You are still perfection to me. Frank and his mistress can go rot in hell."

Vanessa's heart skipped a beat while he'd been speaking. Without thinking of the consequences, she leaned forward and kissed him. She didn't care if she was still married. If Frank was having children with another woman, she could find pleasure in the arms of this man.

"Kiss me, Easton." She grabbed on to the lapels of his jacket and met his lips with impatience. She wanted to forget everything but the feel of his skin against hers, the same bliss that she'd felt in his arms.

He easily complied with her request, but when she started to push his jacket off his shoulders, he broke the embrace. "I can't do this." He shoved a hand through his hair as he got to his feet and walked toward the door. She thought he was going to leave her, but he paused and looked back at her with anguish upon his features. "You are vulnerable right now, and the last thing I want is for you to regret this in the morning. Perhaps before then."

Vanessa scrambled to her feet. "I will not. I want this."

His discomfort didn't ease. "You might think you do, but I have known you long enough to realize this isn't you." He visibly swallowed. "If you still feel the same tomorrow…" He inclined his head. "I should go."

He turned on his heel and left her standing alone in the room, shock coursing through her veins.

* * *

Easton was a fool. Surely that must be the sole reason he'd left Vanessa just now. Unfortunately, he also feared that he was correct. She was hurt and angry, and she imagined if she lay with Easton that she could somehow strike back at the man who was responsible for her upset. Easton wanted Vanessa so badly that his teeth ground together from the self-control he'd fought to retain just now. At the same time, he refused to give into temptation because he knew any intimacy would be tarnished by this hardened memory. He refused to be thrown into the same category as McGavin. He cared too much about Vanessa to allow that.

If, or when, they came together, it would be under entirely different circumstances. It would be slow and gentle, not hurried and desperate out of some sort of need for acceptance.

He headed downstairs because it wasn't a good idea to be anywhere near Vanessa right now. Since he couldn't leave the manor while he was under the countess's protection, he decided that he would take a walk in order to clear his thoughts.

He strode outside and stopped on the front step, lifting his face to the sun overhead. He exhaled heavily and opened his eyes to continue on his way. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and walked purposefully for a time, before he made his way to the gardens. He meandered about the flowers that would soon become dormant. He thought of the rolling Irish hills around his estate, the countryside dotted with yellow ragwort and white primrose.

His throat ached, realizing now how much he missed his homeland. England was similar, pastures dotted with sheep and the fragrant air from the sea, but it still wasn't Ireland. His ancestors were buried in the cemetery that bordered his estate, their wish to never be parted from the Emerald Isle. This summer was the longest he'd ever been away from his estate and he wanted nothing more than to return, to put this nasty business of the thieftaker in the past. He might have already left if it wasn't for Mr. Porter's employer, Lord Devonshire.

Easton shook his head because he couldn't recall ever meeting anyone by that name. He still couldn't imagine what it was this man thought he'd taken, but it was obvious now that there had been a terrible misunderstanding, and he had been made to suffer for it.

He wasn't sure if he was grateful for being detained at Burnham-On-Sea or regretful. He feared that he was in danger of losing more than just his freedom the longer he stayed here. Vanessa scared him more than any gaol could. He could endure rats and foul conditions much better than he could the possibility that McGavin would return and be fully within his rights to drag her back to that pit of despair he'd called a home.

"I thought I saw you come out here." He turned at the sound of the lilting French accent and saw Lady Beauvais standing a short distance away. He hadn't heard her approach, which told him that he was more distracted than he'd imagined. "The gazebo has always been my favorite refuge."

Until then, Easton hadn't paid any heed to the white, glass-enclosed structure situated near the tree line. With its slightly mysterious air concealed by crawling ivy vines, he could see why it might appeal as a personal getaway.

"You are welcome to it for your own use while you are here," she noted, a knowing smile on her face.

He inclined his head. "That is kind of you to offer something so personal, but I'm not concerned about what Mr. Porter said earlier. I don't know Lord Devonshire, so I am confident this entire ordeal has been in error."

"I'm glad to hear it," she returned evenly. She moved about the garden, bending down now and then to smell various flower petals. "But I wasn't speaking of your current troubles with the thieftaker in this instance."

"I see." He wasn't sure how much she knew about himself and Vanessa, but he wasn't in the habit of kissing and telling. Besides, most of their acquaintances had focused on art.

"Vanessa is a talented artist, but she also has a very troubled past. You were subject to that today." She sighed heavily. "I daresay I could have Mr. Porter horsewhipped for speaking so boldly. Vanessa does not deserve the lot she's been given in this life. I wouldn't want you to think badly of her for mistakes that have not been her own."

Easton tilted his head to the side and regarded his companion curiously. "You aren't suggesting that I think less of her due to what I heard, are you?" He shook his head. "If that is the case, you may rest assured that my respect for her is still as strong as it was the first day we met."

She folded her hands in front of her. "You are a good man, Lord Fane. It is regrettable that Vanessa couldn't have met someone like you before she was forced into such a dreadful marriage with Mr. McGavin. I have heard some terrible stories about him of late, reports that he has fallen into a downward spiral. There are rumors that he drinks heavily and may lose his revered position as magistrate if he does not curb his excessive habits." She clucked her tongue in disgust. "Other than his mistress, he is known to consort with women of ill repute quite frequently."

Easton could feel the blood starting to boil in his veins, completely vile emotions toward a man he'd never met, and prayed that he never had the misfortune to do so. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to control his actions should that day arrive. "She won't go back to him," he vowed.

She nodded. "I am inclined to agree with you, but unfortunately, this is one area where my pleas to the Crown would not result in much hope. Marriage is quite final."

"Indeed," he returned somberly. "It would appear so."

* * *

Vanessa looked out her chamber window and saw Lord Fane and the countess in conversation. She turned away and sank into a chair near the mantel. No fire burned in the grate, as it was a rather warm day, but she hugged herself, nevertheless. Any chill she felt began on the inside and spread throughout her limbs.

When Easton had left her, she had been stunned speechless, but as she'd allowed his absence to sink in, she realized that he'd been right. She had wanted to be with him for the wrong reasons. He was a good man, and she had intended to use him for her own personal anguish. She would have lamented their time together without meaning to do so, just because it wouldn't have felt right when it was over.

She squared her shoulders and decided it was time that she returned to the studio. She would not waste any more time in this empty room with her own thoughts to consume her. It was time to create something wonderful out of something tragic.

Vanessa set up her easel with a new, blank canvas and got her paints ready, but when she had her brush poised above the colors, she had no idea what she was going to draw. For several seconds, she held the same pose, waiting for inspiration to strike, but nothing appeared. Dismayed, she set down the brush with a frustrated sigh.

She looked about the room, hoping that something might catch her interest. At this point, some simple still life would be preferable to nothing.

She spied the covered easel—the one Easton had been working on with her portrait.

Intrigued, she glanced toward the door, ensuring she was still alone, and walked toward the concealed canvas. She had been itching to see the progress he'd made thus far, but he had been adamant that it wouldn't be revealed until he'd finished it. But what he didn't know…

Vanessa grabbed a corner of the linen and slowly lifted it.

She froze, her entire focus riveted on the figure sitting in the chair in a brilliant red gown. She hardly recognized the sensual confidence of the face staring back at her. It was familiar, and yet, Vanessa wondered if it resembled her at all. The woman in this portrait was absolutely… breathtaking. Was this how the viscount saw her?

She blinked and continued her perusal. The background didn't look like Lady Beauvais's sitting room, but instead, it was rolling green hills and a sprawling gray castle situated on a hill overlooking a valley. A sparkling ocean crashed waves upon the large boulders that led down to the shore. That was where it ended. The portrait was only half completed. There was still much more of the gown to complete, as well as shading in some parts of the slightly cloudy day in the distance.

Otherwise, it was truly remarkable. It was more than she might have ever hoped for in a likeness.

She slowly lowered the linen and returned to her easel. With a coy smile, she suddenly decided what she would paint. With the rest of her work resembling Lord Fane in some way or another, she was going to make a portrait of him. But where he had added his beloved homeland to hers, she would add the golden sandy beaches of Burnham-On-Sea. He would have his satchel with his painting supplies under one arm and windswept hair. The main characteristic would be his eyes. It would be difficult to duplicate such an unusual amber shade, but she was confident that she could bring out the sparkle that only he could possess.

It was more pronounced when he looked at her.

With warmth filling her veins and creativity finally returning, Vanessa started to fill out a rough draft. She had most of the background completed before Easton joined her.

"Another landscape?" he guessed as he sauntered into the room.

She quickly concealed the painting and said, "Actually, this is something a bit different."

"Is it?" His brow quirked upward, and she decided that she might want to add that as a characteristic to his features as well. And she mustn't forget those neatly trimmed sideburns. It gave him a sophisticated air that she admired. "I daresay I'm intrigued."

"You, sir, will have to wait for the full unveiling." She gestured to his linen draped portrait, and although guilt shot through her at sneaking a peek, she told herself that she hadn't ruined the full reveal, so she pushed aside any lingering culpability she might have been feeling.

His lips quirked. "What a terrible tease you are."

Vanessa didn't want to be pulled back into his charm, but it was impossible not to be affected by him. "I suppose I should return to my chair so you can continue working on my portrait." Was her voice truly that breathless?

"Vanessa."

His serious tone caused her to look at him. "Yes?"

"I think it's best if we reconvene tomorrow."

She wondered about his sudden reticence, but since he obviously had his reasons, she inclined her head. "Very well."

He offered a light bow. "I will see you for supper."

Vanessa watched him go with a lingering pain in her chest. If she couldn't paint next to him, then she would continue his sketch. She removed the linen draped over it, and for a moment, her fingertip traced the contour of his likeness, gently memorizing each hard line of his jaw and wishing she was admiring the man instead.