Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

W ith his compliment ringing in her ears, Selina returned to her bedchamber, determined to keep from Edward the fact that she still did not have the sketch. Edward would fly into an incoherent fever of despair.

It was a tragedy, for it had been an excellent likeness. Still, she must have been careless. The wind must indeed have carried it away.

But Selina was confident she could do another in a fraction of the time now that she had committed His Grace's features to memory. She just needed access to their handsome host for a few minutes when he was not aware that she was observing him.

Surely she could manage that?

Edward was already in the drawing room when she arrived.

"Did you find it?" he asked in a low, anxious voice.

"Yes, I found it," she lied, smiling at him and at the rest of the party over his shoulder as she left his side to answer a question Miss White directed at her.

She noticed His Grace's eyes on her. They lingered, and she returned his interest for a brief second longer than she should have.

Immediately, she caught herself up. Was she wrong to flirt and give him encouragement?

Encouragement for what?

Just the thought made her quiver. Lord Chauncy was unmarried. So was Selina. Why should she not indulge an opportunity for whatever His Grace was in the mood for? A kiss beneath the plane trees was hardly so reprehensible. Yes, she'd try and repeat the encounter tomorrow and perhaps he'd be out there in the garden, waiting for her.

His interest and the sympathy he had shown during their brief conversation made her feel understood in a way that was rare.

She thought of Samuel.

She'd sacrificed everything to run away with him.Why, she'd thought herself so in love, even though he knew their respective stations in life put him well out of bounds.

Or rather, she, a baronet's daughter, should have been impossibly out of bounds for a man of his rank.

Yet, thanks to Selina—or rather her rashness coupled with Edward's loose tongue—the mere footman had been elevated.

Rather than be grateful, however, Samuel had soon come to behave as the men of the circles to which he'd always wished to belong.

A woman was expected to be quiet and obedient.

Unless she was mad.

Throughout dinner, and the conversation and cards that followed, Selina continued to feel His Grace's attention upon her. Occasionally, she would raise her head and meet his eye.

Boldly.

Edward didn't notice, of course. Edward noticed little about Selina unless she actively embarrassed him.

Or did not do as he stipulated.

And there was Selina's difficulty. She did not have a sketch of the duke to give to her brother.

So, when she rose from the card table at the conclusion of a rubber of whist, saying she wished for an early night, she was not surprised that Edward followed her to the drawing-room door.

"I need that sketch, Selina. His Grace is asking for it." There was the glint of desperation in his eye. "Where is it so I can see you have done something that won't embarrass me?"

Selina bridled. Her work was far superior to Edward's, and he knew it.

"When have I ever produced something inferior?" she asked. "I have a mind not to give it to you at all if you speak to me like that." And with a toss of her head, she turned and swept from the room, uncaring whether their altercation might have been witnessed by others.

Back in her own chamber, she considered her prospects as she looked at the quick sketch she'd just done on the flyleaf of her book of poetry. She had managed what she felt was a fair likeness of the duke, purely from memory. But memory was fallible.

No, she needed to draw the duke when he was directly in front of her.

And all she had was tonight.

She contemplated going outside the hide in the dark and look through the drawing-room window, except that the shrubbery was ill suited, as was the window angle. She'd already dismissed this option the day before.

As she changed into her night rail, her mind swirled with her ever-decreasing options.

She glanced at the clock. Edward would be another couple of hours if she knew him. After a third brandy, it would be well after midnight before he stumbled into their room.

He'd not even miss her if she wasn't in her own bed.

Because…

Selina now knew what she had to do.

If the only way to sketch the duke was when he was unaware, then the only option to do this was when he was in his bedchamber.

Asleep.

And the best way of accessing his bedchamber without him realizing his defenses had been breached was if she was already there.

She rose, drew her shawl about her, and, picking up her candle, went to the door.

But as she half opened it, she saw Mrs. Piggott in the corridor returning to her room.

Selina and Edward had been accommodated in a busy guest wing, replete with serving staff traipsing up and down the stairs with copper jugs of steaming water. And who knew when Lady Saunders was going to appear?

She thought quickly.

The best place to access His Grace's room from the least likely place to be observed would be through his window, in the dark.

And there was a large climbable tree outside his window. Selina had noted this when returning from the conservatory.

A sound in the corridor by her room halted Selina in her tracks as she made her way to the window.

This was madness. What was she thinking?

And then she thought of having no drawing for Edward to present to His Grace in the morning.

The consequences were unthinkable.

He would be embarrassed. Publicly. Possibly ruined if word got about that he was unable to sketch a fair likeness. Commissions would dry up and then Edward, Anna and Selina would have nothing.

No, there was no alternative. Selina simply had to gain access to the duke's room for literally five minutes so she could capture the quirks of His Grace's face. It would have been better if he was not sleeping, so she could imbue the likeness with character.

But it would be better than nothing, she told herself as she opened the sash window of her chamber and contemplated how she might find her way safely to the ground.

It was a chilly night, and rain had made the tree trunk slippery. But it hadn't been so long before since Selina had climbed a tree. And it was easier to do it in a nightgown that afforded ease of movement than a morning gown, which was what she'd worn the last time she'd climbed a tree to rescue a kitten.

Soon, she was safely on the dew-laden grass and hurrying across the lawn.

Just the feeling of the fresh, icy air against her skin, and the sense of liberty—even though her heart was racing with fear and her mind was alert to the dangers of her mission—made her feel alive.

She couldn't remember feeling this infused with purpose. It wasn't just that she was doing what she ought not—and Selina had forever been chastised for her unladylike choices—but she was courting danger as their very future hinged upon Selina successfully executing her mission.

For the first time since she'd finished her first drawing for Samuel, to replace his inferior effort, she felt filled with pride and purpose.

She was not just the useless hanger-on her menfolk painted her.

She was important.

However, a short while later, shivering beneath Lord Chauncy's bed, she felt more cold and doubtful than important and purposeful.

For what if her plan went horribly wrong? What if Lord Chauncy slept with his face buried in his pillow?

What if he locked his bedroom door and window?

Was she really mad? Were her unchecked impulses as unladylike and beyond the pale as Anna's?

Selina's initial hopes were that Lord Chauncy would be delayed long enough for her to get her breathing and teeth chattering under control. But as more time went by, she feared she might drift off to sleep—even cold and damp as she was on a hard, albeit rug-strew floor.

Had Lord Chauncy been detained by another game of whist? Had he fallen asleep over his brandy as Edward was wont to do?