Chapter 9

He was close. Easton could feel it.

The last place he'd seen the stranger in dark clothing was slipping down this shadowed alleyway near the harbor, but Easton wasn't foolish enough to take off in pursuit without the proper weapon at hand. He glanced around for something to use as a cudgel, but the only thing he spied was a broken brick. Without any other options, he decided that it would have to do.

Holding it at the ready, Easton moved cautiously. "I know you're here," he called out. Although silence met his ears, he knew he was being heard. "I just want to talk to you, to find out what you want with Vanessa. Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement that would suit us both. Whatever your employer is paying you—"

The cock of a pistol behind him caused Easton to freeze in place. "I work for no one," came the raspy reply.

At first, he felt a frisson of awareness that the voice sounded oddly familiar, but Easton was more concerned about the gun poised at his back. Or it could have been his head. Either scenario wasn't very appealing. "But you are watching her. Admit that, at least."

"I daresay I must be getting worse at my occupation if I'm that obvious."

Easton knew that was as close as he would get to a confession. "What do you want with her?"

"I shouldn't bother telling you since you're no longer with the lady, but perhaps you are right and we can help each other."

Easton heard the hammer being put back into place, and so he slowly turned around. Now that the stranger was close, he realized that he did know him after all. "Mr. Porter?"

There was a coy smile beneath the low-strung hat. Dark stubble covered a sharp jawline and cheekbones that were equally pronounced. But when he lifted his head just enough to pierce Easton with his menacing, silver eyes, he remembered how dangerous this man could be.

"On second thought," Easton murmured, "I'm not sure I wish to do business with a criminal like you."

His lips curved in a smirk. "If you are referring to Lady Ashefeld and her failed gaming hell, Mike's, I had nothing to do with her misdeeds. My efforts are best served elsewhere, instead of hoping to gain a few blunt from unsuspecting peers."

Easton crossed his arms, although he retained his hold on the section of brick he'd grabbed. "What is it that you do exactly, Mr. Porter?"

He scratched his jaw. "I'm something of a land privateer."

Easton's brows lifted. "You're a thieftaker?"

"I suppose that is as good a definition as any, but it doesn't sound nearly as appealing, don't you think?"

Easton wanted to laugh. Was he actually attempting to jest with him? "So McGavin hired you to bring in his errant wife?" He shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't let her go that easily."

"What makes you assume I'm following her?"

Easton's head spun for a moment. "You just said—"

"I said I must be failing if I'm that obvious, but I never admitted to following your love interest," Mr. Porter corrected.

Again, there was another instance of disorientation. His inability to properly follow his line of reasoning caused him no end of frustration, thus he demanded, "Stop speaking in riddles and just tell me what you want."

Mr. Porter shrugged one shoulder in a careless gesture. "Very well. I will speak plainly like you wish, but only if you agree to come with me at the end of our discussion."

A strange foreboding struck him. "What are you saying?"

Mr. Porter took an intimidating step toward him. "I am telling you that I have no interest in the lady. She was merely a way to figure out where your interests lie. My objective is not Miss Carter, although it does seem as though she has a particularly interesting story to tell." He paused to smile broadly. "I'm here for you, Lord Fane."

* * *

Vanessa stood back and inspected her progress thus far. It was certainly dark and moody like she'd imagined, but somehow it… fit. There was a certain pull to the bare trees clawing toward the heavens, and the leaves scattered along the ground. The lone figure standing in the midst of it all was modeled after the stranger who had been following her of late, although his profile still resembled Lord Fane. She couldn't seem to remove him from her mind, so she decided to keep placing him in various landscapes.

In this particular one, he looked so forlorn, so removed from everything, perhaps life itself. She decided she would entitle this work The Desertion of Existence. It looked like the end, where life stopped and death arrived at the crossroads to intersect the unsuspecting traveler. The man's hair blew gently in the phantom breeze while his clothes were ratted and shredded, as if he had expended his last hope and was prepared to embrace his fate.

As Vanessa set aside her brush, she realized that the picture represented how she felt whenever she considered going back to Frank.

"Oh. My."

Vanessa turned to see Lady Beauvais standing inside the doorway with a hand over her heart. "It's not finished yet. It's just a sketch—"

"It's already magnificent. Perhaps your best yet. I can feel the anguish, the pain…" She shook her head. "It makes tears spring to my eyes because it makes me think of how I was feeling when I was cast out of my home in Paris." She looked curiously at Vanessa. "Do you paint from your inner turmoil?"

"For this one, yes," she admitted quietly.

"You must miss Lord Fane a great deal to paint in this way."

"It's not Lord Fane," she said. "At least, not completely. Most of it is my fear of being forced to return to Frank." She looked at the painting with a focus that was from years prior. "I'm not sure I could survive it."

"You shall not have to. We will think of something," Lady Beauvais said firmly. "Come, luncheon is ready."

Vanessa glanced at a nearby clock and realized that she had been so caught up in her current project that she hadn't even stopped to consider the time, but now her stomach was reminding her that it was time for some proper nourishment.

They entered the lavish dining room with its large mahogany table that shone with a brilliance seldom rivaled. A large, gold chandelier hung overhead and offered a soft glow. When the servants served the meal, it was done so on delicate Wedgwood china. Roast duck, boiled potatoes and shepherd's pie were just a few of the selections available. It might have seemed quite extravagant for anyone else, but Lady Beauvais was a woman who enjoyed the nice things in life and didn't have to host a large party to enjoy herself.

As dessert was served, lemon cream and apricot ice, a footman entered the room. With a formal bow to his mistress, he held out a silver salver with a single message.

"Thank you." The countess dabbed at her lips with her napkin and then unfolded the letter. Her eyebrows instantly lifted in surprise. "My goodness."

Vanessa frowned in concern. "Is something amiss?"

"You might say that, indeed." She clucked her tongue and just as Vanessa took a bite of her lemon dessert, she added, "It appears that Lord Fane has been arrested."

Vanessa gasped, and immediately regretted her actions. The lemon went down the wrong way, and she proceeded to cough to recover her breath.

"Are you quite well?" the countess asked in concern.

She tried to speak, but her throat was still raw. Vanessa reached out and took a tentative sip of her water. Satisfied that she wouldn't sputter, she finally recovered enough to speak. "What happened?"

"According to this," she waved the letter in her grasp. "A man by the name of Mr. Porter, formerly connected to that gaming hell, Mike's, is actually a thieftaker."

Vanessa couldn't believe what she was hearing. All this time, she imagined the stranger had been following her. It might have been true, but it was obviously just to gain information about the viscount. She shoved back her chair and got to her feet. "I must do something."

"I agree wholeheartedly. I'm sure it's nothing more than a terrible misunderstanding."

"Yes," Vanessa agreed. She certainly couldn't imagine Lord Fane doing anything that would warrant such a bold action. She had heard of Mr. Porter as well, of course, but she had imagined he was a ruthless criminal. Now, she didn't know what to think. All she knew for certain was that Lord Fane had been wrongly accused.

* * *

Easton stood in this miserable cell with his arms crossed and an expression on his face that was not amused. Then again, he'd had little to smile about after he'd reluctantly allowed Mr. Porter to lead him to the local gaol, where he'd kindly offered a tidy incentive to the gaoler for his temporary stay. Easton still wasn't sure what it was he was supposedly accused of "stealing." Mr. Porter had decided to leave him in suspense until the accuser arrived from London, which meant that he would be stuck here for a few days at least. Unless, of course, a miracle occurred—

A set of keys rattling against the metal bars caught his attention.

"You've secured another alternative, my lord."

"Have I?" he wondered aloud. "Under whose authority?"

The man didn't offer any further information, just waved his hand as he held the door open for him. Easton walked around the corner. He knew his cousin, the Earl of Stanton, couldn't have heard of his situation in the span of an afternoon, and his sister in Ireland surely hadn't had time to make it this far—

"Vanessa." He stopped, his breath leaving his lungs when he spied her standing there like some sort of charitable angel. He nearly walked over and embraced her, but then he noticed the movement to her side and realized that she wasn't alone. He quickly paused and bowed lightly to her companion. "Lady Beauvais."

The lady sniffed as she looked him over. "Good. They haven't roughed you up. I would have been quite put out. Come along." She turned and headed for the exit, and he fell into step behind her. He certainly didn't care to tarry overlong in his current surroundings. The few hours he'd been there had been bad enough.

He hoped that he didn't engage any of the unsavory scents that had been prevalent around him as he made his way to Vanessa's side. It was difficult to think of her as anything else now. Miss Carter was no longer an option, and it caused an ache in his chest whenever he thought of her as Mrs. McGavin. He bent down slightly and whispered in her ear, "Why did you run from me?"

"I was afraid," she murmured in return. "And I didn't want to cause any trouble for you." She glanced at him, her blue eyes glancing up and down his form. "Any more than you've already acquired, that is."

He ground his jaw together. "I didn't do anything. I don't even know what is going on."

"Mr. Porter didn't tell you?"

"Very little," he noted with more than a little exasperation.

She frowned lightly, and he found he wanted to kiss away that slight furrow. He didn't want anything marring her perfect face. "He obviously had enough information in order to convince the authorities to take action."

He shrugged. "Be that as it may, everyone is very tight-lipped on the matter. I fear I won't learn anything at all until my accuser arrives from London. That alone is enough to tell me that they have the wrong man. I haven't been to London in nearly a decade."

"Lady Beauvais will have people look into the matter. She has already told me that you have her full support. She paid rather well to have you released into her custody."

Easton did pause, then. "I'm going to live with her?" His mind was struggling to keep up. "And you?"

She smiled tightly, and he wished he would have had the courage to ask if she was upset that they would be temporary roommates. Or if perhaps she was also aware that they would be sharing such close, intimate quarters.

Nevertheless, Easton could do nothing to let his attraction become known, because she was a married woman. He winced.

"Are you injured?"

He appreciated the concern in her tone more than he could say. "I'm fine."

They had reached the carriage and as the two women seated themselves next to one another, Lord Fane took the opposite seat.

"I have taken the liberty of ending your cousin's lease at the townhouse and sending the servants back to Lord Stanton's residence in London," Lady Beauvais noted. "They are gathering up your things and bringing them to my cottage later this afternoon."

"Thank you, my lady. Your assistance in this matter is greatly appreciated. I promise that you will be handsomely compensated for all your efforts."

She waved a dismissive hand. "It's the least I can do for a friend of Mrs. McGavin. She is a particular friend to me, and with your combined artistic talent, I daresay some of my motives are less than honest. I would like to have a successful venture at some point, and I want both of your talents showcased. I had the pleasure of viewing some of your work when I dropped by the townhouse, and I was quite impressed with your portraits."

Easton froze as he glanced at Vanessa. She looked at him curiously. "I thought you concentrated on landscapes as I did."

Before he had a chance to speak, Lady Beauvais interjected, "Oh, he has those too, dear, but it was the likenesses of you which I found quite admirable."

"Me?" This time, her gaze was direct and unyielding as it lit on him. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't paint my portrait."

"They are sketches from memory," he murmured. "They weren't meant to be seen."

Lady Beauvais laughed as both pairs of eyes slid to her. "What can I say? I have an eye for talent."

After that, the carriage fell silent, but Easton knew he would have to find time to speak to Vanessa in private and somehow, find a way to explain—or beg her forgiveness.

* * *

She should be angry. She really should.

However, Vanessa was more flattered by Easton's determination to draw her, instead of being upset that he had done it without her permission.

As she regarded him from the opposite side of the carriage, she had almost forgotten how handsome he was. But no, that was a lie. She had tried to forget, although her paintings kept reminding her that he was still prevalent in her mind.

He glanced up and their eyes met. Instantly, her breath caught in her chest, and she had to glance away, lest he saw how much he affected her. What was the point of admitting to any sort of attraction when there was nothing either of them could do about it? Things would have been so much easier if she had been a widow. She could engage in a torrid affair, and no one would bat an eyelash so long as they were discreet. A married woman having an extramarital affair was something else entirely.

As the carriage pulled up to the drive to the countess' home and stopped, the viscount exited first, so as to help the ladies out. Vanessa saw him glance up at the three-story, sprawling manor house. "Cottage?" he whispered in an aside to her, and she couldn't help but smile.

She glanced at Lady Beauvais, who was involved in conversation with the butler. "Don't say you don't have something just as extravagant in Ireland?"

He scratched the side of his jaw nonchalantly. "Nothing quite so tame as this, of course."

Vanessa laughed because of the rejoinder. "I see. It must be a castle."

He grinned at her, but she noted that his amber eyes were warm and inviting as they met hers. Vanessa could feel herself slowly moving toward him, as he did the same—

The spell was broken by the countess' voice. "I'm told your things have already arrived. I must commend Lord Stanton's exceptional staff on their timely manner. Your rooms are ready as well. I'll help you get settled in, and then we shall have some tea to discuss this horrid ordeal."

Vanessa watched as the viscount disappeared up the stairs. She watched his ascent, and when he turned at the top and looked directly at her, she realized that he'd been aware of her observation the entire time.

Her face heated, and she told herself that she surely wasn't blushing. But then, it hadn't been so long ago that he had caused a similar reaction. She told herself it was ridiculous to act this way, that it was wrong to embark on such flirtatious behavior. It wasn't as though she was a debutante in the blush of her youth. She had been a married woman and was nearly thirty years of age. She was too mature to giggle or flutter her fan to gain a gentleman's regard.

Lifting her chin, she made her way to the library. She needed something to read to get her mind off the viscount and her conflicting feelings for him.

As Vanessa was looking over the shelves, she spied Fordyce's Sermons. She immediately withdrew it. Many years ago, she had scoffed at the content, but she decided that perhaps it was time she had a reminder. She was just surprised that it was something that Lady Beauvais possessed. It didn't seem to suit her character, but perhaps she kept it as her own reminder to fight for the rights of women, rather than bow down and become a dutiful socialite.

Vanessa sat down in a chair and curled her feet beneath her as she opened the first page—and promptly yawned.

She had to snort because she hadn't yet read a single word, and already she was starting to feel the effects of the sermons. Less than a chapter in, her eyes started to grow heavy, and although she did her best to keep them open, they slowly closed.