Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

E dward was snoring loudly when Selina crept into her own bed that night, and he was still asleep when dawn broke.

At first Selina had restlessly tossed and turned, her heart almost bursting with excitement as she relived her sensuous adventure with surely the most handsome man in all England. Certainly, he was the most handsome duke in all England.

But as dawn broke, other thoughts pushed away her shivers of delicious euphoria.

What was the truth behind the disappearance of her drawing?

Did she have an enemy? Had someone been watching her?

For there was no doubt that someone had taken the duke's likeness from beneath the rock where she had left it outside the conservatory. She was certain of it. It hadn't been the work of the wind. Someone had been watching her and had known of its importance.

And, Selina suspected, that someone was Lady Saunders or her sister, Mrs. Pigott, though what motivation they had, she could only surmise.

Had Lady Saunders registered the interested looks exchanged between Selina and His Grace.

Or, perhaps there was another marital contender in the wings they wished to push, so were bent on thwarting the duke's marriage to his intended.

Or perhaps they had simply been waiting for an opportunity to thwart Edward in an act of petty malice for Selina's unkind drawing of Mrs. Piggott.

More likely, though, it had simply been blown away by the wind, and discovered.

Another fear intruded. Did whoever took it know that it was Selina's work, and not that of her supposed husband?

As sleep continued to elude her, and remembering mention of Lord and Lady Saunders's dawn ride, Selina decided that perhaps she should use their absence to search their bedchamber.

That is, if they had indeed gone riding which, fortuitously, she confirmed with a glance through the bedroom window.

After dressing quickly, she hurried from her chamber and down the corridor toward theirs which, she was relieved to discover, was unlocked.

Entering quietly, holding her candlestick aloft, she took stock of her surroundings.

It didn't take long to prove her suspicions correct. Whatever Lady Saunders' reason for snatching the drawing, she had tucked it away in the writing desk by the window.

Selina snatched it up in triumph. Of course, she now had two drawings, but at least she could brandish this original one in front of Edward and tell him that he had falsely accused his sister of carelessness.

However, as she was about to leave with the drawing, she hesitated. Was it wise to make it clear she'd been in Lady Saunders' chamber when Selina didn't know the reason for the theft of the painting?

Selina had formed an instant dislike for the woman and her sister. Even more so, having discovered that Lady Saunders had been the duke's previous lover.

By the light from the window, she studied her work as she contemplated her options.

On the writing desk were more paper and a pencil. Selina could do another drawing that was identical, which would mean she could leave the stolen drawing in Lady Saunders' possession. Selina would then have not two, but three drawings: one she could leave here in Lady Saunders' writing desk, one she could give to Edward, and one she could keep for herself.

Yes, it would remind her of this night she'd treasure her entire life. Closing her eyes, she touched her heart. It was beneath her breast and perhaps it had been her breast, really, that had interested Lord Chauncy. But for Selina, it was her heart that had been touched. The sensations Lord Chauncy had evoked had, at first, been familiar: the lust-charged desire, the physical yearning followed by spectacular satisfaction, then satiation.

His Grace had shown kindness and consideration, both earlier and during their lovemaking.

He'd also spoken of his fondness for a cousin whose wildness had caused her downfall. He'd actually sympathized with this female cousin and, furthermore, now housed her unmarried sister who acted as his hostess and whom he treated with respect.

Not like Selina had been treated by the men in her life.

And their encounter hadn't only been based on lust and circumstance, even though Selina had at the time thrown herself into it from a purely physical sense as an excuse to justify why she was in Lord Chauncy' room.

A slight wind stirred the papers on the desk and brought Selina back to the present.

Her ruminations should be on whether to leave the drawing in Lady Saunders' possession, not whether the duke had felt anything deeper for Selina than raw, transient desire—which he surely would not have, she told herself.

With a sigh, Selina replaced the drawing that had been stolen. Far better to let Lady Saunders assume she'd got away with her theft.

But, after drawing one identical for herself, Selina would mark the original drawing in some way to make it clear that Lady Saunders had falsely acquired the likeness. Yes, that would give Selina some satisfaction.

Quickly, she worked at her art, the pencil racing over the page as she again considered how much easier it was to do the likeness having felt the man's lovely contours in the flesh.

Her original drawing had been excellent, as had the one she'd whipped up by his bedside in her shaking, frenzied haste, but her new drawing brought to life something that had been missing. Some elusive quality in Lord Chauncy's gaze. In her new drawing, Selina had caught a certain thoughtfulness, a depth of intelligence that her original drawing lacked. The second, she now decided, was far too influenced by the physical delights that had just taken place.

She held the two up to the light, side by side. Yes, the first was good, but this latest one was excellent.

Footsteps sounded in the passage, and she tilted her head, alert. It was too early for Lady Saunders and her husband to return in view of how recently they'd gone riding.

No doubt the voices were those of other guests or servants who would pass by in the corridor.

Her most important task, now, was to find a means of marking the drawing to distinguish it from the one she'd give to Lord Chauncy.

Or rather, that Edward would give to Lord Chauncy.

She frowned. Her drawing featured only his Grace's face and clothing. There was very little room to add further details.

Selina bent her head closer to the work. Of course, she could manage it. She was the best artist in the country. In all the galleries she'd visited, she'd never seen work that surpassed her attention to detail.

Until now, this reflection had compensated for the fact that she was relegated to the country, denied the freedom to do as she would like.

But now she'd tasted freedom.

And enjoyed pleasure like she never had before.

Selina squinted. There was the high collar. Amongst the shading and shadows beneath his Grace's neck, perhaps she could mark out in tiny lettering the words: Stolen by Lady Saunders.

Selina's eyesight was exceptional. She knew it was better than most people's and so was her ability to render the most minute details. In this case, without detection.

Smiling, as she bent to her work, she carefully drew in the words.

But perhaps the shadowing needed to be reflected on the other side of the collar. Perhaps it was an opportunity for Selina to claim her work. Not that anyone would know.

So, very carefully, she pencilled in: " Original artist: Selina Boothe. " She'd not take her husband's name. And if any words could be deciphered, Boothe was, after all, the artist.

Not that it was likely anyone would seize up eyeglasses or magnifying glass to study the shadowed collar of the drawing, which was, as anyone could see, an excellent rendition of the man himself.

And it was stolen, besides. It would remain in Lady Saunders' keeping, no doubt, for her to brandish to the marital hopeful she had lined up. For what other reason could she have for wanting to steal the portrait of the duke, supposedly done by Edward?

And which Edward would claim, no doubt, with little thanks, she thought resentfully.

But her satisfaction at claiming her own work—albeit in a way that was almost undecipherable—was quickly replaced by horror as she heard more voices approach, and then the sound of the doorknob being turned.

How had she been so careless? she berated herself as she dived for the only place she could hide, having hidden in a similar place not long before.

But before secreting herself beneath the four poster, its valance reaching the floor, she'd had the presence of mind to replace the drawing exactly where she'd found it, and to snatch up her new drawing.

Lady Saunders would not notice. And there'd be some satisfaction in hearing Lady Saunders crow over her supposed cleverness in acquiring a drawing she had no right to have. Selina might even hear what her intention had been in taking it.

"Help me with the back of my habit, Saunders. I told Jenny I didn't need assistance."

As Selina listened to the clipped orders of Lady Saunders, she decided she liked the woman even less. Her poor, cuckolded husband. Selina felt outrage on the gentleman's behalf.

Then immediately she felt awash with guilt. Not three hours earlier, she'd insinuated herself beneath the bedcovers of a man who was soon to be married.

But Lord Saunders was Chauncy's friend. Chauncy had double reason to be ashamed of himself.

And yet, Selina couldn't help herself by offering complete exoneration as fingers of memory stroked her. Just as Chauncy's fingers had stroked her hours before.

She supposed men of high standing were used to taking whatever they liked and told herself it was a good thing she'd soon leave this house, and Lord Chauncy with his disreputable friends and tendencies. These were people whose morals took account of little more than satisfying themselves, whereas Selina could justify her actions in going to bed with the duke.

Her body flamed at the memory and her mind was drifting in this direction when something in Lord Saunders' tone made Selina pay attention.

"Did you ascertain from your erstwhile lover his intentions regarding the Rushworth visit?"

What? Lord Saunders knew that his wife had been having an affair with his friend?

"You know I was reluctant to go, Saunders. I told you matters had cooled between us." Lady Saunders sighed. "No, he's said nothing about attending Lady Rushworth's August ball."

Lady Rushworth's ball? Selina tensed. She remembered Lord Chauncy had begun writing something about it. She recalled the unfinished sentence in the letter beneath which she'd stolen the paper.

"He has been maddeningly noncommittal." Lord Saunders sounded peevish. "He promised me?—"

"Do stop, Saunders. I told you it was pushing it too far if I tried to petition him in his bed last night."

Lord Saunders sighed again. "You should have pushed it when Chauncy was still mad for you and feeling guilty for cuckolding me."

"Oh, do stop. He feels no guilt. He knows your proclivities, Saunders, and that his philandering is nothing compared with yours. But he is still good for a loan and I will approach him…" She hesitated, then added, "When the time is right."

Selina could see Lord Saunders' ankles as he walked to the desk. After a moment, he said in a tone of surprise, "Why have you got this? I say, Boothe has done a more than tolerable job. I could pick out the man in a crowd if I just had this."

Craning her neck, Selina could see Lord Saunders holding the drawing up to the light while his wife said, "I found it in the shrubbery. It must have blown from his easel in the sharp wind yesterday. Lord knows how, but I saw that madwoman of a wife of his rushing about searching for it."

"You must return it?—"

"Must I, Saunders?" Lady Saunders' voice was smooth. "Boothe can make another. He'll feel too foolish to do anything else."

Lord Saunders chuckled. "So, you're not going to forgive his wife for the drawing she did of your sister. I wish I could have seen it."

"Best that it be destroyed, Saunders."

Selina held her breath in the long silence before her husband answered thoughtfully, "Just as you will destroy anyone who thwarts you, Catherine, dearest."

Selina's mouth was dry and her breathing sharp by the time the pair left their bedchamber.

She felt indignant, concerned, and outraged.

Cautiously, she dragged herself out from under the bed and went to the desk.

What good fortune that Selina hadn't, out of pique, taken the original.

Selina returned to her bedchamber to find Edward in a rage.

"Good God, I've been at my wits' end, not knowing what had become of you and what we are to do!" he cried. "Where have you been…looking like that? You truly do look like a madwoman with your hair not even brushed."

Selina put her hand to her hair, which had perhaps suffered in her tumbling with Lord Chauncy, followed by her lengthy waiting beneath Lord and Lady Saunders' bed. It might be disordered, but not more than her thoughts.

She'd planned to tell Edward everything she'd overheard but when she saw that he was concerned only with his reputation, she realised her most important task was furnishing her brother with the object that had brought them here: the drawing of his patron.

"It's a fair enough likeness," Edward now said as he examined it. "He'll be satisfied with it, don't you think?"

Selina shrugged. She'd hoped for a little praise, at least. Or some acknowledgement that she'd been clever to have done such an excellent likeness.

Edward seemed to realize the reason for her lackluster spirits, for he said in a jollying tone, "Well done, old girl, your work is up to the mark, as usual. We shall be well rewarded, and I shall buy you a new dress from the proceeds."

Selina blinked and was about to offer the fiery retort she realized would be ill-advised at this juncture.

"That would be very generous, Edward," she murmured, then turning towards the window, said on a sigh while thinking longingly of Lady Rushworth's ball, "Though where would I wear it?"

With painful resignation, she realised she might never see Lord Chauncy again.

But at least she'd have something to remember him by: the drawing she'd whipped up on the flyleaf of her poetry book.

And the kindling look in his eye when he'd dismissed his future marriage before assuring Selina how much their unexpected coupling had been rooted in desire.