Chapter 4

Easton found himself whistling a merry Irish jig on his way to meet Miss Carter the next afternoon. He stopped abruptly because he had to conduct himself with some decorum, or else he had the risk of making a complete cake of himself. He adopted a smooth demeanor that befitted a gentleman of his station and it worked—until he caught sight of her. She looked positively radiant in a light blue dress, her red-blonde hair pulled back into a simple chignon.

His grin returned, and he offered her a jovial, "Good afternoon, Miss Carter."

"My lord."

He nearly took a misstep at the cool note in her voice. Had something happened since he'd left her the day before to put her out of sorts? "How are you faring today?" he asked.

"Fine, thank you." That was it. No inquiry into his health, as would have been polite. Just a clipped response.

He was convinced that something had upset her now. Until he could figure it out, he decided it would be in his best interests if he took his previous position on the rock slightly behind her.

As he began to set up his easel, she remained silent. She had paused in her work, her back stiff, but perhaps she was considering what to do next. Once Easton had set up his canvas, his brush hovered over the paints on his palette with hesitation. He found he was also suffering from the same conundrum.

"Are you comfortable?"

The query momentarily took him off guard. "Er… yes. I suppose. Why do you ask?"

"Yesterday you said you preferred standing."

"Er… that I did, yes." Stop stammering. "I just assumed you might not want your space invaded today."

He saw her exhale heavily, and then she turned to him. "Forgive me. I am a bit out of sorts today. If you would like to stand closer, I would not find any issue with it."

He inclined his head. "Thank you, Miss Carter. That would be much appreciated." He gathered his things and moved closer. With his palette still in his grasp and the brush hovering in the air, he glanced at what she had accomplished thus far, and realized that it wasn't much more than he'd done the day before. "Having trouble with inspiration today?"

She looked at her canvas, and he saw her lips purse together when she replied, "It appears so. But I don't generally lack for long." She glanced back and added, "I received some news this morning that made me feel a bit… unnerved."

He was immediately concerned. "What happened?"

She lifted a hand. "I shouldn't allow the arrival of another tenant to bother me as it does, but if you haven't guessed, I'm not that comfortable around many people, especially those unknown to me."

"I have wondered about your aversion to social niceties, but that doesn't mean there is anything wrong with it. I generally eschewed the same back in Ireland." He shrugged. "I think it's the artist in us. We tend to focus on things that are inanimate in order to create a masterpiece, whereas we can't do that in a gathering of our peers, however small or large it may be."

She seemed to ponder his suggestion. "I'm sure that is it." She straightened her spine and offered him a smile over her shoulder. "Thank you for offering me a different perspective, Lord Fane. I daresay I'm already feeling more revived."

Easton's mouth kicked up in the corner. "As am I."

Using Miss Carter's blue eyes as an example, he mixed the shade that he believed matched her eyes the best and set it to the canvas as his sky. It was a perfect match.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with light conversation as each of them worked on their prospective pieces. As the time drew near to part ways, Easton was reluctant to bid her farewell, but he knew he had no reason to keep her any longer. Instead, he had to content himself with seeing her the following day.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

She paused and then nodded. "Until then."

As she gathered her things, a thought occurred to him. "Where do you paint when the weather won't allow it?"

"Generally, I just remain in my rooms."

He hoped that his next statement wouldn't scare her away. "If you are amenable to the idea of somewhere with more room, the townhouse parlor is large enough for both of us."

She regarded him in that shrewd yet calm manner. "I will keep that in mind."

Easton watched her leave, the gentle sway of her hips beneath the gown and the way the slight breeze coming off the ocean tousled her hair. He wondered if the strands were as soft as they appeared. But it didn't matter if he wanted to know. He knew it would never come to pass. There was a clear boundary that Miss Carter had drawn in the sand between them and he knew better than to cross it, even if he might wish to know her better.

Pleased with the progress that he'd made on his painting thus far, Easton set out for the townhouse. He was still feeling rather hopeful, so perhaps he might attempt to work on the project a bit more when he reached the townhouse. However, when he got there, he realized it wasn't the seascape he was working on that called to him. He still desperately wanted to paint Miss Carter, but until she agreed, he would have to draw her from memory.

Taking out a drawing pad and a pencil, he took a seat in his private sitting room and began to sketch.

* * *

Vanessa found that her excitement every afternoon when she started to head down to the strand wasn't just because of her art anymore. She was also looking forward to seeing Lord Fane. This was only the third day that they would be painting together, but she was eager to see how much more he added to his current work. It was readily apparent that he had a certain skill, and to think he had gone months without any sort of masterpiece to show for it was most definitely a shame.

She was as eager to see his work as he had been to admire hers. The problem was finishing what she'd started thus far. Most of what she had was going to pay homage to the quaint, seaside town that was starting to grow into a rather popular resort. Like Lord Fane, she found that some of her current inspiration had dwindled. She didn't know if it was because Lady Leia had told her about the new arrival this week, or if she was starting to let her infatuation with the viscount overshadow everything else. Either way, she told herself that Lord Fane had been more than kind and appreciative of her help, and it had been wrong of her to take her frustrations out on him the day before. She vowed that today wouldn't be the same. If he discomfited her, that was her cross to bear and not his. He wasn't at fault for her traitorous heart.

"Miss Carter."

She could tell by the even tone of his voice that he wasn't sure how to approach her, so she offered him the most pleasant smile she could muster and replied, "A lovely day for painting, is it not?"

She could see the relief on his face and regretted her cool demeanor toward him. It wouldn't happen again. "Indeed, it is. Let's hope we can continue making progress. Then you will be rid of me sooner rather than later."

She dared to tease him, "Am I no longer your muse, then?"

"Oh, you are," he returned without skipping a beat. "But I'm sure you will tire of my continual presence."

"You have been quite difficult to handle," she agreed, but the twitch of her lips belied her words.

He put a hand to his chest. "Dare I believe that you are laughing at me, Miss Carter?"

"I wouldn't dream of it." She added a wink for good measure.

He tossed his head back and laughed, and she found herself transfixed by the action. She had never realized what a strong neck he had, nor the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, but for some reason, she found it completely enticing. She quickly looked away. "We mustn't squander the day."

Vanessa did her best to concentrate on the task at hand, but she found her thoughts drifting to the man who had set up his easel at her side. It had been years since she'd felt any sort of awareness, a stirring within her breast when it came to the opposite sex, believing any desire had died long ago at the mistreatment she'd suffered from Frank. However, Lord Fane continued to fan the flames within her, ones she knew were dangerous and must be quashed as soon as possible before she was scorched.

Desperate to regain her equilibrium, she glanced out over the strand to try to find a different sort of inspiration. She found nothing unusual—there was a strolling couple holding hands near the shore, several children laughing and playing with abandon as their nannies watched with a critical eye. There were even a few spaniels that joined in on the merriment. It was one of the reasons that Vanessa had started to paint down on the strand. She could dream of what she might never have. She was nine and twenty, a woman who was past her prime for childbirth by most standards. It pained her to think she might never hold a tiny baby in her arms and know it was hers, but as she looked back on her own life, she decided it was probably for the best that she hadn't brought such an innocent child into her tumultuous existence.

She must have sighed without realizing it because the viscount asked, "Ha'penny for your thoughts?"

She glanced at him, and although his mouth was curved into a warm smile, she could tell his eyes saw much more than she wanted him to see.

"I was just woolgathering about what color to use next." She hoped he would believe the slight untruth.

"Hmm. I would have to see how far you've gotten first." He set down his brush and moved to stand beside her. He had to bend down slightly to get a better angle. While his attention was fixed on the image she was creating, Vanessa found it difficult to tear her eyes away from his profile. She had never particularly cared for sideburns on a man, but they suited him quite well.

"Perhaps a bit of green mixed in here? Not too heavy, of course, but just a subtle hint to bring out a bit more depth to the sea." He slid his eyes to her and for a moment, their eyes met and held. Amber and blue melded into one.

Vanessa held her breath because it was as if they weren't just looking at each other, they were staring into each other's souls. She was the first one to break contact as she turned back to the canvas, but how she might hope to accomplish anything now might be impossible. "Thank you. I believe that will fix the problem."

* * *

Easton wanted to retort that he wished his problem were as easy to cure with color. It would take much more than that. As he allowed his focus to linger on her form a bit longer, his gaze swept over her body, taking in the fullness of her breasts beneath the bodice, the indentation of her waist that led down to legs that were no doubt shapely and silky smooth.

As he straightened, he caught a whiff of a light floral scent. Likely her perfume, but it wasn't anything he could readily identify. Violets, perhaps? He was more interested in the slender curve of her neck and the creamy décolletage that urged him to uncover those feminine delights.

He could see the pulse beat near her collarbone and he wondered if perhaps she was as disturbed by his presence as he was by hers. He wished he could know for certain because the more he was around Miss Carter, the more he found himself completely enthralled. It wasn't just her prowess as an artist, but her soft-spoken nature and sweet demeanor.

He exhaled a low breath and frowned at the canvas before him, but he knew that his focus was already lost to his companion. She might have started out as his muse, but she was already much more than that. He could easily picture her naked form on his coverlet, her red-blonde hair fanned out around her as she held her arms out to him in welcome. He would eagerly join her but then take his time, getting to know each and every inch of her intimately.

It was a vivid enough image that he had to think of something other than the way his cock stirred in his trousers. It wouldn't do their tentative bond any good if she were to notice how aroused he had become from just a brief flash of her in his chamber.

A short time later, Miss Carter gathered her things. "I'm sorry, Lord Fane, but I'm rather tired today. I think I will head back a little early to the boarding house. You are welcome to stay however long you wish, of course."

"I daresay my mind isn't where it ought to be to give my work its proper due today. I believe I will retire as well. I'll walk with you."

She nodded. Whether she was pleased by the prospect of his company, or she was being polite, he couldn't tell, but it was enough just to linger with her a bit longer.

For a time, they were silent as they fell into step along the sand. Then he noticed that she had removed her slippers and was carrying them in her grasp. Her feet were also bare. "Do you always eschew stockings? Or have I not noticed their absence before?"

She smiled. "I haven't worn them since I came to Burnham-On-Sea. I tried it once, but it is entirely too uncomfortable to try to fight the sand. It's much easier on my feet to leave them behind." She abruptly stilled. "You're not offended by their lack, are you?"

"Not at all. I was merely thinking that next time, I might do the same and walk barefoot. I am forever making a trail of sand through the townhouse foyer when I return."

She surprised him by laughing aloud. It did something odd to his chest because not only was it unusual to hear her merriment, but he felt gifted to be the recipient of her amusement. "I find I am coming to enjoy our afternoon painting sessions, Lord Fane."

He lifted a brow, although she couldn't see the action. "It has taken you this long to realize what a catch I am?"

He had meant it in a jest, but some of her humor vanished. "I have no doubt that is true, my lord. I wish I would have had the pleasure of knowing you in a different place and time. Perhaps we might have been friends."

Some of his own enthusiasm diminished. Did she not consider him a friend now?

He cleared his throat and hoped to recover their easy banter. "Do you find time to play in the sand, Miss Carter?"

She looked at him curiously. "It's funny you should mention that." She paused and gathered a random stick that had washed up on the shore. "When I first arrived at Burnham-On-Sea, I used to walk along the strand quite often in the evening, just as the sun started to dip into the sky and most of the public had retired." She pressed the end of the stick and drew a nearly perfect heart in the damp sand at their feet.

His mouth kicked up in the corner. "Might I see your makeshift brush?"

She handed it to him and their fingers brushed lightly. She quickly drew her hand back. He had to withhold a confident smile as he added an arrow through her heart. He looked at her in triumph. "Very inventive, my lord."

As she continued walking, he wondered if he'd done something to upset her because she seemed distracted again.

"This is where we part ways."

He blinked, coming back to himself, not realizing that they had reached the fork in their prospective routes. "That it is." He inclined his head. "Good afternoon, Miss Carter. Until we meet again."

He turned and headed back to the townhouse, but her words kept tumbling about in his mind. He wondered about the cryptic nature of her musings, whether she had been literal or just pondering aloud.

He decided it was time to find out a bit more about the lady.

When he walked in the townhouse, he handed over his easel to Clavely and then said, "I find I am in need of some information. Since I am unfamiliar with any contacts in England, perhaps you might be able to offer some assistance."

"Of course, Lord Fane." The butler inclined his head. "The Earl of Stanton asked me to serve you in his stead, so your requests are that of his."

"Indeed. In that regard, engage the services of an investigator to find out everything you can about Miss Carter. Leave no stone unturned as payment is no object."

"Yes, my lord." There was a brief pause, and then the servant added, "Has the lady done something unseemly?"

"No, but she is a mystery I am keen to unravel. Alert me the moment anything is uncovered that might be of import, even if the investigator might not think it is. Sometimes, those small details are insights that hold the key."

With that, Easton headed up to his chambers.

* * *

When she walked in the door of the boarding house, there was the sound of laughter and conversation coming from the main parlor. Vanessa wondered if the ladies of the house were entertaining, or perhaps it meant that the new tenant had arrived. If the latter, she thought to sneak up to her rooms before she was summoned to join the group. The last thing she wanted was to earn the curiosity of anyone else. It was bad enough that she had offered more than a small bit of guidance to Lord Fane. The man was starting to become a bad habit.

"Miss Carter! What fortunate timing!" Miss Stratford walked toward her with a face wreathed in smiles. With her faded red hair pulled back into an elegant chignon, her green eyes sparkling with a life and vitality that was lost to most women her age, Vanessa had always thought her to be warm and friendly. She just wasn't in the proper state of mind to entertain right then.

"Good day," Vanessa returned evenly. "It sounds as if there is a party going on."

"As a matter of fact," she began, and Vanessa noted that some of her happiness had dimmed to match her demeanor. "We have not one, but two more tenants to welcome this afternoon. Alexandria and I are thrilled to make the introductions. As you are our senior boarder, I'm sure they would love to hear about your experiences thus far."

She sounded so hopeful that Vanessa didn't want to let her down. Although she wanted nothing more than to run away and hide, she knew she had a responsibility to these women who had saved her from an impossible future.

She swallowed down the regret of finding immediate solitude and forced a smile back to her face. She set down her things. "I would be glad to join you."

"Lovely!" Miss Stratford threaded her arm through hers. As she led Vanessa toward the commotion, she said softly, "I appreciate your willingness, Miss Carter. I know you prefer to keep to yourself and I promise that we won't keep you occupied for too long."

Vanessa said nothing, but she hoped her words rang true.

They walked into the parlor, and Vanessa found Miss Grantham seated on the settee. With graying brown hair and eyes of the same youthful nature as those of Miss Stratford, she smiled broadly at Vanessa. Sitting across from her was Lady Leia, who she already knew. Sitting beside her was a woman with raven hair pulled back into an elegant chignon. Her eyes were nearly as black as she lifted them and glanced curiously at Vanessa.

The other woman was sitting next to the mantel and, although she wore a dress, her hair was shorn and a brighter red than Miss Stratford. It shone with the brilliance of copper.

Before the introductions could be made, the lady with the red hair strode forward boldly and rather courageously. She offered a light curtsy to Vanessa. "It's an honor to meet you at last. It is Miss Carter, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

Once her identity was confirmed, the redhead offered, "I apologize if my boldness offended you, but I have never been in the habit of waiting to be introduced to someone. I prefer to make their acquaintance myself. I am Miss Ariadne Southward."

"Ariadne?" Vanessa murmured. "What a unique name."

She shrugged. "I'm told it's Greek in origin, but I never bothered to question it."

Miss Stratford smoothly interjected at this point. She waved a hand at the dark-haired girl who rose to her feet. "This is Miss Micara Jenkins."

"Miss Carter."

She was more somber than Miss Southward, to say the least, but Vanessa wondered if her reticence was because she was shy, or if she was like herself—and held a dark secret. It was one reason that Vanessa was wary of new arrivals to the Seaside Society. Were they actually spinsters hoping to embark on a life of independence? Or were they hoping to conceal something dark in their past?

Feeling the need to escape, Vanessa turned to Miss Stratford. "If you would excuse me, I have some finishing touches to add to my canvas while the ideas are still prominent."

The lady nodded in understanding. "Of course. Thank you for coming by."

Vanessa offered a brief curtsy to the room as a farewell, and then she gathered her things in the foyer before heading to her rooms. By the time she'd opened her door and shut it behind her, her heart was racing, her hands shaking with nerves. She set down her easel and supplies and went to sink down onto her cot.

She couldn't keep alienating herself from everyone or there would start to be suspicions. She didn't need any sour light cast upon her because she couldn't stomach the thought of going back…

She screwed her eyes shut and focused on calming her breathing. Daring to retrieve the small box from beneath her bed under a loose board, Vanessa held the simple object in her palm for a long time before slowly opening the lid. Her breath caught, as it did every time she was reminded of the one thing that could drag her back into the pits of hell.

To her husband.