Chapter Twenty-Two

W hen Owen arrived the next morning, he was met by a supercilious looking butler—London seemed to be crawling with them!—who informed him sourly that Ellis had breakfasted and would be downstairs soon. Then he was led into a room with portraits on the walls and left to kick his heels.

He spent his time examining the painted faces. They were a grim lot, and the lack of resemblance to the Mallory sisters led him to assume these were the Duke of Oldney's ancestors. One of them, a plump gentleman on a horse with a sword in his hand, seemed to be riding into battle, but Owen doubted the enemy would be capable of anything but laughter.

Once upon a time he had hoped to be a portrait painter, but he had become so successful with his risqué pictures it would feel like going backward if he were suddenly to begin painting faces. Or would it? Perhaps this feeling of malaise he had experienced over the past year, before Ellis reinspired him, meant he was due a change.

He considered the man on the horse, and decided how differently he would have approached such a subject. He even felt a growing prickle of excitement at the idea.

"Owen."

He spun around, all thought of the plump horseman forgotten. Ellis stood framed in the doorway, smiling at him, her cheeks flushed and her dark eyes warm. Relieved the cool woman from last night was gone, he moved toward her.

"Ah, Lord Lyndhurst, I presume." Sophia's droll tones accompanied her into the room. She had a queenly air to her, and Owen remembered Ellis saying her sister was at the center of the most fashionable society clique.

"Your Grace," he bowed.

Sophia swept past him. "I believe the engagement notice will be in the newspapers this morning. Mr. Blake is nothing if not efficient."

"My uncle is acquainted with the owners of The Times ," Owen said.

Ellis had an anxious look. "If Theo is still at Breamore, he will not know for some days yet."

"He's not at Breamore. Oldney saw him last night in one of his clubs," Sophia said, and she grimaced when they turned to her. "They are acquaintances. ‘Friends' when it suits them."

Owen wasn't sure what to say about that, and he could see Ellis was also taken aback. "They are friends ? But he is vile!"

Sophia shrugged but she looked uncomfortable. "I spoke to Oldney and told him he is not to associate with Sir Theo again."

Was she expecting to be obeyed without question? Owen doubted it. He could not imagine the Duke of Oldney being the sort of man who listened to his wife.

But Sophia had moved on. "I suppose we must take a drive in the park this morning. It will kill two birds with one stone. People will see that Ellis has not mysteriously disappeared and is in fact very much alive, and at the same time we can introduce them to your fiancé."

Ellis exchanged a glance with Owen, and he knew neither of them was looking forward to making a show of themselves in front of strangers. Suddenly Hawthorne Lodge seemed a long way away, and he wished he were back there. But he would not abandon Ellis. At least they had their dislike of the social scene in common.

Sophia's carriage was ostentatious and in the latest style, and her friends were numerous. Ellis sat beside Owen, with her hand in his, and every now and again he would give it a comforting squeeze. She was pale with shadows under her eyes, and he suspected he was not much different.

Neither of them had slept.

If he could have held her in his arms... but that was no longer possible. Last night he had ached for her, and not just in a physical sense. He had sat up by candlelight and drawn Ellis from memory, sketch after sketch, a feverish exercise that only made him feel worse.

He didn't want a copy of her, a woman on paper. He wanted the real flesh and blood woman.

Owen glanced at her profile under her pretty straw bonnet, which was decorated with so many ribbons and flowers it looked like a small garden. Now that he looked closely, he could see she was dressed in the sort of finery that could only have come from a top London modiste. Her sister must have lent her the clothing because there had been nothing like this in the wardrobe at the Lodge to make her look so elegant and worldly. Was it wrong of him to wish her back in the turquoise satin?

Their days in his study, she sprawled on the velvet chaise longue, he on his chair... he missed them. He wanted them back again.

An awareness of eyes upon him brought him out of his thoughts, and he glanced up to find Sophia watching him. Was she deciding whether she could trust him and whether he was good enough for her sister? Owen suspected he was failing on both counts.

"Smile, Lord Lyndhurst," she said quietly, smiling herself. "You are not going to your execution."

The greetings and conversations carried on, and it was only when he noticed how Ellis looked even paler and her lips were trembling with exhaustion that Owen decided enough was enough. He leaned forward and said in an undertone to Sophia, "I think your sister needs some peace and quiet. Let us return to the house, Your Grace."

Sophia raised her eyebrows as if she was going to argue, and then she looked at Ellis. She stilled, and her eyes narrowed. Owen was prepared to insist, but he was relieved when a moment later Sophia instructed their driver to turn for home.

With Ellis resting in her room, and Sophia obviously busy with domestic matters, Owen returned to his uncle's house, where he found the viscount ensconced with Nicholas Blake in the library.

They looked up as Owen entered the room. "You look rather done in, dear boy," his uncle said with a frown. "Has the Duchess of Oldney had you sweeping floors?"

Blake sniggered and Owen glared at him. "We went for a drive in the park, and informed everyone who was anyone that we are engaged. Also, Sir Theo Abergele is in London."

He had barely finished when Blake cut in. "I know. I was just telling the viscount."

Owen sank into one of the comfortable armchairs, breathing in the comforting smells of leather and books and cigars. "And did you know that he is a friend of Oldney?"

This time Blake looked as if he'd swallowed a lemon. "I did know. They deserve each other," he added savagely.

Well, there was some ill feeling there! Certainly, there was a story to be told, but Owen wasn't interested in listening to it.

"Then he will know about the engagement along with everyone else. Do you think he will act soon?" mused Uncle Steven.

"Yes," said Blake. "We know he can't wait until you are married. And how does he know how long the engagement will last? What if they make the decision to elope?" He smirked, as if the idea appealed to him. "Yes, I believe he will make his move as soon as possible and remove the problem before matters get more complicated."

"‘The problem' being Ellis," Owen said angrily, glaring.

"Dear boy," his uncle sighed. "No one is insulting your lady love."

"My apologies if it seemed as if I was," Blake said. "I am merely trying to look upon the situation in a pragmatic manner, without emotion."

Owen said nothing, but he was thinking that to do such a thing, for him at least, was impossible. Every time he looked at Ellis, thought about Ellis, he overflowed with emotion. Indeed, behind his quiet exterior, he was a passionate man. Perhaps that was why he needed his art, to channel those feelings into something productive.

Once Blake left, Owen decided he would visit Hugh Madrigal. He had the drawings he had completed for the new series, and he knew Hugh would be excited to see them.

It was only when they had greeted each other, and he was watching Hugh rifle through the drawings, that Owen began to have doubts. When Hugh held up the one of Ellis looking well-kissed and gave a low whistle, he was glad he had not brought the more explicit drawings, because the thought of his friend gawping at them made him feel quite ill.

"Owen, this is the best work you have ever done, and I have said that quite a few times. Remarkable. You always exceed my expectations." Hugh took another look through them as Owen sat opposite him in the publisher's office, trying not to shuffle with discomfort. "Is the series finished?" Hugh looked up. "I want it finished as soon as possible."

"I will finish it," he said, but even as he spoke Owen wondered if that was true. "Something has come up that I have to deal with here in London."

Hugh gave a dramatic sigh. He was a dramatic sort of person. "You know this book will fly off the press, don't you? Who is this lovely vision?" He pointed at the sketch.

Owen tried not to grind his teeth. The thought of other men salivating over Ellis's image, and Hugh was as close to salivating as he got, gave him a squirmy sensation in his stomach. He did not want all those eyes on Ellis. He did not want them imagining themselves to be the mysterious lover that she was trying to seduce. It was Owen she was imagining as she undressed and displayed herself. It was only ever going to be him.

"She may object to the use of her face," he said carefully. "I may have to rearrange her features to make her less recognizable."

Hugh frowned. "Oh. That would be a great pity. I think her face is what will sell these, Owen. You need to keep her face."

Owen suspected that was true, but he didn't want to agree to it.

"Can't you persuade her to allow us to print them as they are?"

Owen mumbled something, which Hugh seemed to take as a yes. "Finish them and then we can talk about the publishing date. I can just imagine your patrons' faces. I think we will have a hit on our hands."

Owen smiled, pretending an elation he was not feeling.

As he left Madrigal's offices and set off down the street, he pondered the awkward situation.

He had never truly wanted to go to an art academy run by stuffy old men. He wanted to be free to express himself as he wished, but he also wanted others to appreciate his work. Hugh certainly appreciated it, and his growing clientele suggested he wasn't alone. But now he found himself reconsidering his choice of profession. The thought of Ellis's face being in front of so many others, along with her risqué poses...

He didn't need the money he was making. He wasn't a spendthrift and he lived quietly in the country, and apart from that he was his uncle's heir. Did that mean he could change course if he wanted to?

His choices were simple, it was either change course or allow his intimate moments with Ellis to be shown to the world. What should he do?

The answer came to him, clear and resolute.