Page 31

Victor harbored no ill feelings toward Lady Charlotte.

After all, she couldn’t be blamed for who her brother was, just like Victor wasn’t accountable for his mother’s sins.

However, her cold demeanor was common knowledge, especially among men of Victor’s acquaintance.

But from Mr. Beckham’s besotted expression as he gazed at his wife, perhaps those accounts, too, had been hyperbolic.

Or . . . the unexpected match had more than favorable consequences.

Interesting .

As if waiting for a pause in the revelry, Frampton finally announced Victor’s arrival.

Juliana paused from wiping the tears of laughter from her face and bounded from her seat. “Victor! You just missed the funniest story.”

Victor couldn’t restrain his own smile as he followed Juliana to the settee. The joy of the happy family before him was contagious. “So I see.”

Mr. Beckham grinned. “I can tell it again.”

Lady Charlotte groaned. “No. Please don’t. Now, sit down, you buffoon. Mr. Pratt has come to call on Juliana. We don’t want to run him off.”

Juliana patted his arm. “I’ll tell you later, but I doubt it will be as humorous as when Simon tells it.”

“May I offer belated felicitations on your marriage, Mr. Beckham? Lady Charlotte.”

“Call me Simon. We’ll be practically family once you marry Juliana. Why, she’s like one of my sisters.”

Lady Charlotte rolled her eyes. “As if you need more sisters.”

Despite the banter between Simon and Lady Charlotte, Victor recognized the love between them. He’d witnessed it between Cilla and Timothy, and Burwood and his duchess. A different kind of love, true, but love, nonetheless.

Love out of what was probably the oddest match in Victor’s memory.

His attention returned to Juliana. Would it be possible for love to grow between them should Juliana not cry off? If their kiss was any indication, it certainly appeared promising.

“Should I come back another day to work on your portrait?”

Burwood rose. “Not at all. Simon and I have some business to attend to, and I’m sure Honoria is eager for some time with Lady Charlotte. Ask Frampton for the portrait and set up wherever you wish.”

Simon gave his wife a wink. “Are my ears going to burn when you speak to Honoria?”

“Like Rome,” Lady Charlotte said, her expression one of dead seriousness.

Simon roared with laughter as he followed the duke from the room.

Once Honoria and Charlotte had left, Victor turned to Juliana and her mother. “Would the orangery suit you both today?”

“I’ll leave the location for the two of you to decide. Under the circumstances, you may forgo a chaperone.” Mrs. Merrick kissed her daughter on the cheek, then left them alone.

The possibility of more kisses resurrected, but Victor reminded himself of his promise to tread carefully.

After agreeing upon the orangery, Victor set up his easel and prepared his paints while Juliana waited nearby.

Seated on a chair a footman procured, Juliana smoothed the skirts of her sprigged muslin gown. “Should I change into my riding habit?”

Victor glanced up from mixing his paint. “Perhaps later. I can concentrate on the details of your face first. If the weather holds tomorrow, we can ride out to our spot, and I can concentrate on Sunshine’s details.”

With the paints ready, he adjusted Juliana’s pose. As he tilted her head to the correct angle, her gaze anchored on his. His heart lurched at the softness—the trust—within her eyes. Was he worthy of such faith?

Motionless, he stood before her, an unknown force like an invisible hand holding him in place yet tugging him forward, dangerously close to falling within their blue depths.

He jerked his gaze away and returned to the safety of his palette and brushes. Dabbing paint onto one of the brushes, he opted to appear nonchalant. “Her Grace wrote to me about organizing a ball in our honor. I meant to thank her. If I don’t see her before I leave, will you convey my gratitude?”

“Of course.” Soft as the gaze he’d torn himself from, her voice sounded forlorn in the expanse of the room. “In truth, although Honoria is practically bubbling with excitement, I’m less enthusiastic.”

His attention snapped back to her. “Are you having misgivings about our betrothal? Ready to cry off already?” Why did the idea not please him? He adopted a playfully affronted expression. “Am I such a distasteful suitor?”

“Oh, no. That’s not what I meant at all.” Delicate pink tinged her cheeks, and he wished she could maintain the effect without the inciting embarrassment. “Simply that my last ball was less than successful.”

“Ah, but that was my fault, not yours.” Or should he say Lydia’s? Which, if Lydia attended, he promised himself he would protect Juliana from any further machinations. “On my honor, I promise not to spill anything on you.”

Juliana’s lips tipped up slightly, not enough for a full smile, but as if she held a little secret.

“Bella! Don’t move. Hold that smile, just like that if you can.

” Victor worked quickly, capturing Juliana’s enigmatic expression.

Finished, he stepped back, his hands on his hips, and assessed the result.

Warm satisfaction flooded his chest. It was good.

Really good, if he did say so himself. That je ne sais quoi he had spoken about to the duke stared back at him, alive on canvas.

“Well? May I see?” Juliana’s voice brought him back.

Victor held out his hand, and when she approached, he threaded his fingers with hers. “It’s still not finished.”

Her intake of breath told him she was pleased. “Oh, Victor. Is that really how you see me?”

How could she not know? “It’s how you appear when you aren’t worrying about what people think, or when you’re trying to fit in. When you’re simply...you. Unguarded and real.”

“How...how do you know?” Intensity shimmered in Juliana’s eyes, the connection between them unnerving. He suddenly felt unsteady on his feet.

Victor released her hand and began cleaning his brushes.

“I studied you.” He smiled to himself, then slid a glance back to her.

“It’s not as nefarious as it sounds. My painting master in Florence told us in order to accurately paint a subject, you must first know them.

” Victor kept it to himself that Master Giovanni used the word intimately lest Juliana misunderstand.

Brushes cleaned, Victor took her hand, and they sat together on a small bench among the lush foliage.

“When you’re with your family, your face is relaxed, especially here.

” He traced a finger over her brow between her eyes.

“Your smile is carefree and even a little mischievous. Your lips tilt slightly, here.” He placed a finger on the corner of her mouth, and an overpowering urge to kiss her followed.

His gaze flicked up to hers, his question asked, and her answer waited.

Sliding his hand to cradle her head, he lowered his mouth to hers.

Similar to the day before, the same unexpected surge of energy rushed through him.

He teased, savored, lost himself in the kiss.

Like a breath held too long, he released the name burning in his mind. “Adalyn.”

She pulled back, the look of horror on her face hitting him square in the chest.

Juliana. Not Adalyn.

Oh, God, what had he done?

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...” But the damage was done.

The pain in Juliana’s eyes accused and convicted him. Her body stiffened, and her expression grew guarded. Gone was the true Juliana, and in her place was a woman protecting herself.

Thank goodness she didn’t cry. He couldn’t handle her tears. Instead, she became pensive, staring down at her hands clasped before her. “You loved her. Adalyn. Still love her.”

Not a question, but he answered anyway. She deserved the truth.

“Yes.” Averting his gaze, he swallowed and scrambled for a way to salvage his egregious misstep.

“But she is far away. Married to another.” A scoundrel of a man, Victor added silently.

He would never understand why a woman would choose a blackguard over a man who would cherish her.

“It is a difficult thing to love someone who doesn’t return that love.”

He wanted to thank her for her understanding, but when he turned toward her, her eyes appeared unfocused, distant, as if she wasn’t speaking to him, but stating a fact she herself was well-acquainted with.

His mind stuttered on the realization.

Who had broken Juliana’s heart? Whoever the blackguard was, Victor wanted to beat him to a pulp for toying with the feelings of such a lovely young woman. And Victor wasn’t a violent man.

Her eyes cleared, and she turned toward him. “Forgive me. I feel another headache developing.”

He almost shot from his seat. “Of course. I shall call again tomorrow. Weather and your head permitting, we could go riding to our spot, allowing me to work some more on Sunshine.”

Waiting silently while he gathered his paints, brushes, and the canvas, Juliana wore a tremulous smile like a coat of armor, the sparkle that so typically lit her eyes absent.

Victor mumbled an awkward, “Goodbye,” then stole from the house like a thief.