6. Chapter Six

No way. Absolutely not. 'Twas impossible.

Evan could not paint Katrina Harrington from this hiding place. There wasn't enough light to see what he was doing. He was too far away from her. And he could barely see her through a peephole that was only slightly bigger than a pinprick. Besides, his view was of her profile, and the portrait Wellspring slapped onto the canvas was head-on.

He'd started the day annoyed when Harrington had told him he was to paint Katrina in the library.

"But my supplies are in the drawing room where I'm painting your wife," Evan had said.

"After painting Anna, I will have my staff move your things," Harrington said. "There is a place where you can watch the session and work on the painting while Wellspring pretends to paint my sister." Harrington clapped him on the back. "What is wrong? Normally, you quite enjoy pranks. And this one is harmless enough. We are simply helping Katrina and Springy make a match." Harrington leaned close. "Springy is quite shy and my sister is a bit difficult. But they are suitably matched."

Harrington was correct. Still, Evan's frustration mounted, and now he found himself in what might rank third on his list of idiotic ideas.

Once, he'd had to jump out a second-story window—naked—to escape a cuckolded husband's wrath. That had ended with an injured ankle and a barefoot run through briars as his prick flopped about.

There'd also been the time he'd sneaked into his headmaster's room and placed a sketch of the grumpy arse squatting over a chamberpot, in his chamberpot. Evan had still been skulking around Smoothers's room when he'd returned from chapel early. When the door opened, Evan had dropped to the floor and crawled under his instructor's bed. Hours later, he'd awoken to the headmaster bellowing, "Evan Eaton, you bloody fool. I know this was you."

It was only after Smoothers had stomped into the hallway waving the sketch about that Evan had been able to crawl out from under the bed and escape.

Sitting behind an easel in this dusty closet, or secret room, or whatever the hell this place was, right outside the library, while listening to Katrina and Springy discuss the weather, with a maid perched on a nearby chair reading and chaperoning, deserved a ribbon for stupidity. There was no way they would pull off this farce.

He may not be able to see much, and their voices may have been muffled, but he knew Katrina batted her lashes as her voice danced up and down the female vocal scale, tapping into delight one moment and surprise the next. Her words were sweet as she ohh and ahhed with interest. Although Evan only experienced her ire, she knew how to make a man feel special. And for some reason, this vexed him.

Oh, he might like her blue eyes and golden hair. And she smelled heavenly. His balls ached at the memory of the purring sound she made when being kissed. Sure, there was that soft, sweet voice, and her dresses were the height of fashion. Yes, he enjoyed the way her bottom lip stuck out when she pouted. She had such plump, pretty lips. Really quite lovely lips. If she ever smiled at him, he'd probably like that. But since that had never happened, it was hard to know for sure.

But the way in which she stared through him with her nose in the air irked him.

Then her eyes had widened in horror, and she'd paled when Greyson had whispered in her ear. Despite how she treated Evan, he did not enjoy witnessing that pain or knowing he might be the reason behind it.

Her tinkling laugh traveled across the room and through the thin wall, tickling its way to his heart and knocking the breath from his lungs.

Frigging bollocks. Did he have feelings for Katrina Harrington?

He moaned. It did not matter if he did. She was off limits. His best mate's sister. Courting his other best mate. Her older brother, the influential Duke of Astleyshire, hated him, and she was his sister's sister-in-law. And then there was the bitter truth. She detested him.

Now that Greyson knew their secret, Evan had to keep his distance. If the marquess was blackmailing the ton's sweetheart, what was to keep him from blackmailing a third son of an earl? However, blackmailing Evan might be pointless since everyone already knew he liked to seduce women. No secrets on his end. Until Katrina.

Evan stood, stretched his arms to the ceiling, then stomped the length of the oppressive room. Five steps. Five bloody steps to get from the door to the peephole.

He probably shouldn't stomp. If he could hear them, they could hear him. He exhaled frustration as he pressed his eye to the hole.

Damnation. The woman was beautiful. Dozens of pearl hairpins held her coiffure's intricate loops and twists in place. A pearl necklace adorned her delicate neck and soft shoulders. The neckline of her pink gown was a bit modest for his taste, but when a woman was as beautiful as her, she didn't need to flaunt her décolletage.

Hell's bells! What in the hell kind of missish nonsense was that? He loved breasts. Big. Small. Black. White. Tan. Delightfully delicious breasts and perky nipples were his favorite thing in the entire world. So he needed to slap sense into himself. If he weren't careful, he'd soon grow his very own tits and vagina.

Speaking of vaginas… Maybe tits were his second favorite thing.

"Buttons," Katrina said. "What are you doing here? Anna said you planned to spend the afternoon exploring Brighton."

Buttons, looking quite dashing in a finely cut tailcoat, strolled across the room, planted himself behind Wellspring, and stared at the canvas.

Frigging bollocks! The damn nosey butler had been following Wellspring about since the picnic. And now he would ruin everything.

Evan cringed, then waited. Any second now, Buttons should gasp, betraying the truth—Wellspring painted like a three-year-old.

"Hmm." Buttons tilted his head from side to side.

Wellspring flung his hands in front of the painting. Paint from the brush in his hand splattered. He looked down at the yellow splotches dotting his moments ago pristine waistcoat.

Damnation. Only an amateur would wear such a fine garment to paint.

"I am sorry, my lord," Buttons said. "How terribly rude of me to barge in. I am afraid being a guest has made me quite bold and made me forget my station. I shall get the paint out of your coat."

"Harrington insists you be treated as a guest," Wellspring said, looping an arm around Buttons's shoulder and guiding him away from the painting. "But my work is not ready to present yet."

Buttons gasped at Wellspring's touch. How odd.

Even more strange, Wellspring cleared his throat, withdrew his arm immediately, and stepped away.

Meanwhile, paying no attention to the men, Katrina spoke with the maid.

"Please, my lord, allow me to see to your waistcoat," Buttons said. "It would ease my conscience for ruining it." The butler held out his hand.

"As you wish." The earl slid out of his vest.

Buttons dutifully stood by, his gaze glued to Wellspring, his tongue running over his bottom lip. Wellspring met the butler's gaze and grinned as if he might be charming a lady. Strange because Wellspring did not flirt, and Buttons was a man.

Perchance, looking through a little hole messed with one's perception. Evan stepped back and rubbed his eyes.

"Katrina, the portrait is lovely. Lord Wellspring is a divine artist indeed," Buttons called to her.

Divine artist? What the blimey hell? Although, a butler probably shouldn't tell an earl he was an untalented charlatan. Hmm? Especially if he fancied that earl in a romantic way. Now that Evan thought about it, the attraction was obvious, and mutual. Interestingly, his newfound understanding of his friend didn't change his opinion in the least. Springy was one hell of a good chap.

"Oh, I just know it will be lovely, Alexander," Katrina declared joyfully. "Your mask last night was a masterpiece."

Evan should not want to punch the earl in the nose. But Katrina should be complimenting him, not Wellspring.

However, this wasn't Wellspring's fault. It was Harrington's meddling that had set it into motion. Still, enough was enough. This spying was bollocks. Evan exited the dusty little room and flung the library door wide.

"Good afternoon," he declared with an affable wave and a huge smile.

Katrina Harrington stiffened and glared at him.

A flushed Wellspring swallowed and stepped away from the butler. "I believe I am finished for the day."

Finally, at long last, everyone else departed, leaving Wellspring and Evan alone in the library.

Wellspring rested a hand against his forehead and moaned. "Why did I ever let the two of you talk me into this? 'Tis ridiculous. I am lying to a woman I hope favors me."

Evan closed his lips to keep from saying, Do not blame me. This was her brother's idea. "Are you sure you fancy Katrina?" he eventually asked. "She can be quite difficult."

However, she tasted like sweet sin.

All this overanalyzing and soul-searching was a waste of time, so Evan would not spend another minute examining his motives for discouraging Wellspring. And no, he wasn't trying to covet the chit for himself. He was looking out for his friend.

Perchance, it was none of Evan's business. However, his friend deserved to find true love. "Wellspring, I dare say, you and Buttons have become quite close."

Wellspring colored up. "Is it odd that I enjoy a butler's company?"

"Not at all. My sister Georgiana's dearest friend is her ladies' maid. And my brother Alistair quite enjoys spending time with his valet. I'm partial to Mrs. Clayton's pies." Evan grinned. "I see no harm in flirting with a woman old enough to be my grandmother when her biscuits and tarts are akin to an orgasm."

Still, feeling affection for one's staff and exceptional baked goods was quite different from fancying a friend's butler.

How to say this without embarrassing Wellspring? More than likely Evan should keep his irreverent humor from a conversation this serious. He must conjure sincerity and compassion.

He met Wellspring's gaze. "You do know that no one has the right to dictate who you love or take into your bed? I say, damn society to hell."

Wellspring's brow furrowed. "But I am of the opinion society finds us suitably matched. Of course, I would never take her to bed unless she was my wife."

The poor, sweet Earl of Denial.

"I would not think any less of you if you chose not to marry a woman," Evan said. "Say you favored…" Dare he say aman? Perchance, it was best to speak metaphorically. "Say you favored a horse."

The second the words left his mouth, Evan cringed. Damn, he was no good at this compassionate, understanding rubbish.

Wellspring's chin snapped indignantly. "Are you suggesting I marry an equine?"

"Yes. If you loved an equine." Evan leaned forward, keeping his gaze serious. "Or a dog. Or a horse. Metaphorically, of course. Do you understand now?"

"Why do you never take anything seriously?" Wellspring asked. "Wait!" His eyes widened in understanding. "Now I understand."

Thank the heavens.

"I do not care who or what you tup, Eaton. But stay away from my horse. I find that nonsense unpalatable, and I do not wish to hear about it."

"Bloody hell, Springy, I don't fuck livestock. I am talking about you."

"Well, I do not fuck livestock either. I have no idea what you are going on about. Unless you are comparing Katrina to an animal. I know you do not like the woman, but still…."

This conversation was going nowhere. Perchance Wellspring wasn't ready to come to terms with his predilections. And obviously, Evan was no good at this problem-solving shite. He needed to stick with cards, painting, and tupping.

The earl stood, clasped his hands behind his back, and paced. "I know men of our station marry for duty, not for love. But I will love my wife." He halted in front of Evan. "And Harrington's methods may be questionable, but his motive is pure. Will you give me art lessons so that I can complete Katrina's painting myself? That shall solve all my problems." He pulled his shoulders back triumphantly.

Well, not all of his problems. But who was Evan to point out that learning to paint and sketch was difficult? Or that Wellspring should stop denying his attraction to his own sex? Or that life with Katrina Harrington would be utter hell?

Unless it would be heavenly bliss. Days spent stealing kisses? Nights spent fucking her senseless.

Nay! It would be hell with her always demanding her own way.

Evan sighed. "Of course, I will give you lessons. Let us start by sketching the ocean. We shall leave in an hour."

Wellspring grinned and clapped Evan on the back. "You are always there for me. I will make this up to you. I promise."

His courting Katrina Harrington so that Evan rid her from his system would be a fair trade indeed.