Chapter 5

For the next week, Vanessa couldn't shake the feeling that something dreadful was about to happen. She wasn't sure what made her believe it, unless it was some sort of intuition, because nothing unusual had happened at all.

Of course, her current distraction had caused her conversations with Lord Fane to falter. She was still perfectly polite to him when he joined her on the strand each afternoon to paint, but other than a greeting and a fond farewell, Vanessa kept her responses brief. He attempted to engage her interest more than once, but she had the sensation of unease, and it never lasted for long.

She was starting to realize that trying to live a double life was more difficult than she'd imagined. She believed that she could leave Nottingham and travel across the country to find harmony and solace at the Society. She vowed that when she left, he wouldn't be able to find any trace of her. She imagined that she'd covered her trail with precision, but now she was beginning to wonder if that were true.

It had been several months, and she hadn't faced any sort of resistance, but something told her the sands in the hourglass were starting to run out. Her husband hadn't become the magistrate for Nottingham without good reason. He had the ability to find criminals who didn't want to be found. But it was his brand of justice that had made her flee for fear of her life.

He'd nearly killed her because she had failed to alert him the moment his mistress had sent word that she needed more funds. She would never forget the blinding pain of his fist when it had connected with her cheek. The swelling had lasted for weeks, and the doctor had advised her to be more careful so as not to take such a nasty fall down the stairs again.

She had nearly told the truth then—that she was tortured nearly every day of their three-year union, that Frank was likely the reason she hadn't been able to have any children while he likely had several illegitimate bastards under foot. However, she knew the ramifications should she dare to say anything against her husband. Not only that, but she knew it wouldn't have done any good. Frank was revered by the community, and he had the influence to sway people to take him at his word.

She had been a prisoner in his house, a burden that her father had sold off for nothing more than a case of fine French brandy. Three days later, his body had been discovered in his chamber at the estate, a bottle still clutched in his grasp, where he had finally drunk himself to death. Vanessa pitied him for how he'd never managed to get past the loss of his wife, and yet, she was angry because he had never forgiven her for putting her in the ground, which had been beyond her control. It was life, and he hadn't been able to cope without his Beatrice.

It was hard to look back on her childhood and the days leading up to her marriage. She thought perhaps she might grow to love Frank, but it was apparent on their wedding night that there would be no bliss born out of their union.

When she made a wrong stroke, Vanessa muttered a curse beneath her breath and set down her brush. She used a strip of linen to lightly wipe away the error, but in doing so, it smeared farther into the rest of the scene. She gave a heavy sigh.

"Perhaps a walk might help to ease some of your frustrations."

Vanessa had been so lost to her musings that she'd nearly forgotten that the viscount was still there. Guilt swamped her, and she rubbed her hands together as she got to her feet. "I believe that is exactly what I need." She looked at him. "Would you care to join me?"

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Absolutely."

He grinned and suddenly it wasn't the sun overhead that warmed her.

Nevertheless, Vanessa decided that she was going to appreciate his steady companionship because it was something that she seldom possessed.

* * *

Easton wasn't certain what was bothering Miss Carter, but he intended to uncover the origin of her troubles. To be able to bring a genuine smile to her face, to see her expression wreathed with happiness would be the best gift he could give to her—and to himself. It was obvious she was struggling, but without any sort of lead to explain her withdrawal from not just society, but everyone in general, there was little he could do but be a silent strength for her.

If nothing else, he owed it to her for his sudden resurgence into the artist world. Granted, most of his current works were all various images of her likeness, but at least he was able to use his creativity for something other than staring at the ceiling in his bedchamber.

Daring to go out on a limb, he asked softly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

She blinked, her blue eyes turbulent pools of distress. "I'm sure I will pass this current hurdle soon enough. You are living proof that artists have days where their inspiration is lacking."

He allowed a brief pause, and then he said, "I had the feeling that something else was bothering you."

"What makes you say that?" she hedged.

"The fact that you seem… distant lately."

She shrugged. "I suppose the new tenants at the boarding house have something to do with that."

"I see. I take that to mean you are making new friends?"

A slight frown touched her forehead. "Not particularly. You know I don't like to engage in many social activities."

"I have noticed that. Is there a reason why?"

She stopped walking and turned to face him directly. "Is there a reason for this inquisition?"

He gentled his tone because he knew he'd pushed her too far. "Forgive me. I was just trying to help."

"Thank you, but I don't require your assistance or that of anyone else. I am quite capable of managing on my own."

Easton lifted a brow, thinking that she was getting defensive for no reason, but he said nothing as they continued walking. He hoped that at some point she might decide to confide in him. He would just have to have patience until that time.

They continued to stroll along in silence, but when Easton looked up and saw a parasol sailing in the air toward them, he grabbed Miss Carter around the waist and moved her out of the way. A gentleman was quickly following behind the rogue item, and although he apologized profusely and snatched the parasol and headed back to return it to his female companion, Easton only had eyes for Miss Carter.

He hadn't realized how close they had been standing together until the slight scent of violets drifted to his nose. Immediately, his cock responded to the light fragrance. That's when he noticed that her breasts were pressed intimately against his chest. He froze when he noticed she was breathing a bit heavier.

"Are you well?" he asked in a slightly husky tone.

"Yes, I… am fine."

He reluctantly released her but not without inhaling her scent one last time. It was subtle, but intoxicating all the same. "Shall we continue?" he suggested.

"I… think perhaps I should be returning to the boarding house. I'm not sure the walk is doing as much as I'd hoped."

He clenched his jaw in disappointment, but he nodded. "Of course."

As they headed back to their alcove, Easton glanced up and noticed a dark silhouette standing along the edge of the strand. At first, he dismissed the stranger until it appeared they were the subject of the figure's attention.

He glanced at Miss Carter.

Then again, perhaps the focus was her.

When Easton decided to take a better look, the figure had vanished.

Immediately, his instincts went on high alert. It wasn't as though he was faced with danger that often. In truth, he had lived a rather staid existence in Ireland before he'd arrived in Burnham-On-Sea, where he'd been forced to assist his cousin after an illicit gaming establishment was burned to the ground. The proprietress hadn't taken it too kindly and set out to take her revenge on Fraser's betrothed.

The warning bells that had rang then had returned in full force.

He feared this time would be even worse than before.

* * *

The next day was full of gloom and malicious intent from the gray clouds rolling in across the harbor. The wind had picked up, and Vanessa knew that there would be no hope of painting on the strand this afternoon.

She told herself it was fate telling her that she needed to get her focus back on track. If she continued to act as though something was wrong, Lord Fane was the sort who would insist on solving her problems. That was the last thing she could let him attempt because there was no way that her particular situation might be resolved. She was tied to Frank until death did them part.

She closed her eyes as the horror rolled over her. She didn't know why she was thinking about him so often when he hadn't crossed her mind nearly this much the entire time she'd been at Burnham-On-Sea. Perhaps he was on her mind now because she'd met a kind and good man in Lord Fane. She had no doubt that he would make someone a worthy husband and father someday. It struck her with sadness thinking of the day he would return to Ireland. With the summer coming to a close in a few weeks, it wouldn't be long before he did just that.

Determined to move past this recent upset, Vanessa returned her focus to the paintings strewn about the room. If she was going to display her work in an art gallery, she had to have something to show. Right now, only two finished paintings sat in the corner. That was hardly enough to fill the walls of any kind of building. It wouldn't fill up a room.

Gathering her supplies, she stood before one of the landscapes. Her brush hovered over the canvas. A dreadful problem she'd had of late. It was as if, in assisting Lord Fane recover his muse, she had lost whatever magic she'd had within her.

She stared at the canvas and concentrated until she finally allowed her brush to take over. She made a few strokes, and slowly, she started to create a figure standing on the beach. She was careful not to make any sort of misstep as she added a few highlights to the burnished brown hair. The sideburns had to be just right, as well as the set of the shoulders and the crooked half smile that promised mischief or perhaps something quite… delightful.

When she paused to inspect her progress thus far, she realized that she'd drawn a perfect replica of Lord Fane's profile.

She gave a heavy sigh.

This infatuation was starting to become worse than she'd thought.

A knock came at her bedchamber door. She got up and tentatively went to open it. She nearly gasped because Lord Fane stood in front of her. At first, she wasn't certain he was real, as if she'd somehow conjured him from her imagination. When he spoke, she realized that he wasn't a figment of her musings. He was truly there.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you." He offered a slight smile. "I thought, since the rain impeded our progress, you might want to take me up on my offer to paint in my parlor."

Vanessa thought of the figure in the painting that she'd just done. "I'm not sure that's a good idea—"

She hadn't even finished before he said, "I thought you might say that, so I brought my supplies with me in case you might feel more comfortable downstairs." When she remained silent, his smile vanished to be replaced with a light frown. "No doubt you are weary of spending any more time with me than you already have, but I find I am in need of your presence beside me. I cannot paint without you right now. I wasn't lying when I said you truly are my muse."

Vanessa realized that she faced a conundrum. If she wanted to retain her anonymity, she had to be cautious who she befriended. Although Lord Fane made his home in Ireland, that didn't mean he'd never heard of Frank or knew who he was. The likelihood was slim but not impossible. She wouldn't go back to her husband—she couldn't while still respecting herself.

While she was courting certain danger, she dared to incline her head. "It might be best if we returned to your townhouse. There are new tenants here, and I don't want to monopolize any space they might choose to gather."

"Of course."

As she gathered her things, she followed him downstairs. Thankfully, there wasn't anyone there to question her about where she was going, although it would be obvious to anyone who happened upon them. Besides, what did Vanessa care about reputation at this point? She had suffered the wagging tongues as Frank's wife for longer than she could recall. She couldn't leave the house without people turning their gaze away—they must have known about his affairs and blamed her for the failings of their union. Eventually, she'd stopped going out at all, preferring to sequester herself in her chamber and praying that Frank stayed with his mistress a day or two longer so that she might be spared his cruel attentions.

The viscount opened an umbrella and led her to the hackney that was outside. Folding the item back together, he settled himself across from her before he rapped on the roof.

Vanessa glanced down at her hands as a lump formed in her throat. He had sheltered her from the rain. It was so simple, and yet so considerate, that she didn't know how to respond.

"You're quiet today."

She turned her attention back to him. "The gloom always seems to put me in a melancholy mood."

"I can understand that," he murmured in return. "It rains the majority of the year where I live."

Vanessa was grateful for something else to focus on other than her own inner turmoil. "Where do you call home in Ireland?"

His expression was that of fond memory. "It's a town called Tralee in County Kerry on the western coast. Have you been there?"

She shook her head.

"It's magnificent. It's full of history, going back two hundred years. There's a rumor that an Egyptian Pharaoh's daughter is buried there. Tralee Castle is timeless, but it has fallen into decline. I fear for its fate. More recently, the Blennerville Windmill was constructed. It is a wonder not to be missed."

Vanessa smiled because as he spoke it seemed as if his Irish inflection grew in strength. "I can tell you hold a lot of loyalty to your home."

"That I do. I am starting to miss those familiar green hills."

A sting of something unwanted hit Vanessa in the center of her chest. She didn't like knowing that Lord Fane would be going so far away, but it was inevitable. She would have to resign herself to the fact. Their time was limited, and she should be thankful for it.

Since the townhouse wasn't far from the Society, they soon came to a stop. The rain was still pounding on the roof of the carriage, so Lord Fane opened the umbrella and escorted her carefully to the front door. Other than a damp hem and boots, she was none the worse for wear.

The butler bowed to her.

"Clavely, this is Miss Carter, Tassy's friend from the boarding house who's been helping me recover my creativity."

"Welcome," Clavely intoned.

"Thank you," Vanessa returned softly.

"Shall we reconvene to the parlor to begin our session?" Lord Fane suggested.

"Of course."

With his hand setting lightly at the small of her back, Vanessa realized that it wasn't an unwelcome gesture. A calm assurance flowed through her as they parted and began to set up their respective easels.