Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

S elina spent a restless night tormented by fears of failure.

If she failed to create a perfect likeness of Lord Chauncy there may be no more commissions.

But chiefly, her restlessness was over what Lord Chauncy might do about the woman who had breached his private sanctuary.

Would he demand to know her intentions?

Cast her from his house?

However, nothing in his look at breakfast the following morning suggested Lord Chauncy had wasted a moment thinking about Selina or what her presence in his study might mean.

Until.

One split second across a platter of steaming haddock was all it took.

One fleeting, barely intercepted look of smoldering interest before His Grace responded to Lord Saunders' question regarding their expedition later that day.

Had Selina really been gazing at him, and if so, what might have been written on her features?

She was not a lovelorn miss out for adventure.

But how strange that since that brush of his hand upon her breast, her body had felt so full of longing.

Selina hadn't felt longing in years. Oh yes, she'd longed to leave Boothe House which felt more like a prison.

But Selina had felt little physical yearning since she'd been seventeen and her body had been on fire for handsome Samuel. He'd eagerly encouraged her interest by suggesting the wicked assignations behind the stables that had led to her ruin.

After Edward had caught them and threatened to tell their father, Selina had agreed—against her better judgement—to run away with Samuel the following night.

However, during her widowhood, Selina's conduct had been impeccable.

Samuel had died with a reputation as a man of great talent who'd squandered his wealth, but since many in the district had benefited from his profligacy, Selina had been accorded a modicum of respect she worked hard to safeguard.

And she was not about to risk that by throwing either herself—or longing looks—at any handsome eligible gentleman who crossed her orbit.

Not that Lord Chauncy was eligible. He was an aristocrat far above her on the social ladder. Selina was a daughter of a mere baronet. And a somewhat scandalous widow, at that.

Besides, Lord Chauncy was in the midst of contracting a match. The likeness he'd commissioned was for that very purpose.

But the look he sent her over that plate of steaming haddock made her throat dry and her breath race as she held it for just a split second longer than she ought.

And then Miss White was rising, pushing back her chair, and saying brightly to the ladies, "Shall we take a turn about the gardens?"

Selina thought this an excellent idea. Not only would it quell her agitation, it would afford her the opportunity to solidify her plan of concealment for when her brother set up his easel in the conservatory to paint His Grace.

Though perhaps it would be sensible to plead a megrim so she could slip away with her purloined paper and pencil and leave the ladies to their walk.

Selina would be less constrained if she was alone.

Smiling at Miss White, she offered her excuses and headed toward her bedchamber.

A little later, glad of the good weather, Selina nestled against the trunk of a plane tree and a border of shrubs.

His Grace sat upon a bench inside the glass walled conservatory with Edward angled to the left, affording Selina clear access to do her work.

Not just to run her pencil over the paper, but to really observe his lordship in repose with him none the wiser.

Starting from the faintly curling dark hair at his crown, following the line of his forehead above clear, intelligent eyes, and then his straight, Roman nose, and his slightly full lips, Selina felt the intimacy of her project like she never had before.

Now she was the one exploring Lord Chauncy, as he had explored Selina the night before. But she could do it at leisure and in depth.

She swallowed as her pencil shadowed the hollows of his cheeks, tracing the delicacy of his mouth.

He carried himself with an air of entitlement. His look communicated the same.

And she reminded herself that he was a man who would be denied nothing.

And that men like that were dangerous, for they took with impunity, and what had occurred last night was nothing more than a duke's passing whim.

And that's all Selina was. The duke's passing fancy.

Selina paused, her pencil just above the firm jawline she'd sketched. She had to cast aside thoughts like that to focus on the task at hand which was to render as realistic a likeness of their host in as short a time frame as possible so that she could slip back to her room and then re-emerge for luncheon as someone who really had been suffering an indisposition.

As her eyes returned to the scene in the conservatory, she caught Edward's stern look and remembered her duty. Speed was of the essence.

There was no time for daydreaming. The duke was to be married. He had no more real interest in her than if she'd been some wild creature from the menagerie at the Tower of London. She had to remind herself of this. Again.

Quickly, Selina communicated what she saw through the glass to the paper that was resting flat and steady on a book of poetry she'd brought along for the task.

Then she held it away from herself to compare the real man with the picture she'd drawn.

And was satisfied.

Lord Chauncy looked every bit the handsome nobleman.

Yes, she would need to make slight alterations when under less duress, but she was satisfied.

Carefully, she rolled up the drawing, securing it with a stone exactly where she and Edward had agreed. He could access it with an arm stretched through the partly open conservatory window, which was much safer than if Selina was detained with it in her possession on her return to the house.

Selina must have been successful at convincing everyone that her absence was due to a megrim, for as she made her way along a corridor towards the guest wing, Lord Chauncy himself questioned Selina on the state of her health with a look of sympathy.

But her suspicions were on alert.

Was he afraid she might fly into a bout of insanity if his cousin had communicated the fact Selina had pleaded a megrim?

She stopped, while Mrs. Piggott and her sister passed by, noses in the air, obviously believing they had put her firmly in her place by burning her drawings. They halted a little distance away, pretending to talk while darting barbed looks in her direction.

"My bed was the restorative I needed," Selina told Lord Chauncy. "Other than a short bout of pain in my head, I have never felt better and am greatly looking forward to this evening."

She sent a suspicious look at Mrs. Piggott, who was, no doubt, eager to point out any suggestion of insanity displayed by Selina. However, Selina suspected Mrs. Piggott's pride would prevent her telling His Grace explicitly about the offensive likeness she'd drawn of her.

Lord Chauncy smiled, his eyes raking her appreciatively from the top of her head to the tips of her slippers. "In that case," he said, "we are in for some lively conversation. I gather what while your brother's talent lies in his art, yours lies in other areas. What do you care for, Lady Boothe?"

Selina drew back, surprised at the question but more surprised by the interest in his tone.

She narrowed her eyes, her suspicions on alert. What was he about? Was he preying on the vulnerabilities of a supposedly mad woman whom he found pleasing to the eye? Did he hope to flatter her so that he merely need crook his little finger and she'd go to him? Was that how he entertained himself?

Or was he the one who entertained suspicions about Selina and her real identity and intentions? After all, he'd discovered her prowling about his study in the dark.

She smiled. It would be best to pretend to play the game.

"I care for gaiety and amusement, Your Grace. There is little more to me than what you see." She indicated her body with a careless flick of her wrist. "An empty-headed woman is what my husband calls me." She hesitated. "You know already that I speak before I think which is not considered attractive in a woman. To some, it suggests a touch of madness." Her lips turned up just a little suggestively. Boldly, she added, "Or wantonness."

"Indeed, Lady Boothe."

He'd closed the distance between them ever so fractionally. Little matter that Lady Saunders and her sister were staring, goggle-eyed from the end of the corridor. Let them look. Selina was a far more appealing prospect than either of them for a duke wanting diversion.

She didn't care a jot that Edward might be humiliated by her behaviour. He took advantage of her accomplishments and treated her as if she should be grateful to him when it was only due to Selina that they had managed to retain the family home.

"My husband looks down his nose at frivolity." Selina sighed. "He is a very serious minded man who, alas, struggles to find the pleasure in life that I long for." She sent the duke a fulsome look, as she added, "And I do so rail against the chains in which he has bound me. Thank you for including me in your invitation when you asked Sir Edward to draw your likeness. It is so liberating to find myself, unfettered, in such an environment."

"Unfettered?"

Selina shrugged. "I've discovered that while a reputation—albeit unfairly earned, in my opinion—could be a millstone around my neck, it does free me from exercising the restraint I might otherwise." Briefly, she touched his shoulder as she lowered her voice and said, "But here, knowing what everyone already thinks of me, I feel no restraint."

She heard his breathing, and observed the darkening of his pupils, with a thrill.

"No restraint, eh, Lady Boothe?" he repeated. "Well, we might just have to put that to the test, eh?"