Page 1 of How to Enchant a Viscount (Lady Be Seductive #2)

L ady Maeve Thompson stared out of the window of her studio. The early morning light flowed over the window basking it its warm glow. It was a perfect time for her to settle in with her painting and add a few finishing touches to the canvas. It was nearly complete, but it needed something… She never truly new until she lifted her brush, and it all became clear.

She could paint anything. Maeve could sit at the pond that bordered her father’s land and the Duke of Thornridge’s and capture it with breathtaking accuracy. But her best works came to her in visions. She saw them clearly in her head and she had to bring them to life. This painting…this landscape—something about it seemed important. As if she were creating her future.

That was silly of course. No such thing was happening. No painting would determine anything in her life. It was just a beautiful piece of art, and when she met the person, it was meant for she would gift it to them. Because it was a gift. Maeve had no doubt about that. She just did not know who it was intended for yet.

“That is lovely,” a woman said.

Maeve did not turn at that statement. She had heard her twin walk into the room. She recognized Athena’s footfalls immediately. Only one of them walked with such purpose. Isla would have been quieter and easily sneaked up on Maeve. Athena had all the subtlety of a herd of cattle running through a field. Athena was her twin. Her mirror twin… Their only discernible difference was the placement of their sole dimple. Athena’s was on her left, and Maeve’s on her right.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for your wedding?” Maeve asked her.

Athena was to marry her intended in a few short hours. The servants were already bustling around preparing for the arrival of their guests and the breakfast following the nuptials. Maeve was happy for her twin. She had found a wonderful man that adored her, and Maeve liked Roman, the Earl of Kendal. How could she not? He treated Athena as if the sun and moon rose on her alone. No man would ever love her twin as much as that man did. Athena would be happy with him. That was all that mattered to Maeve.

“I have plenty of time for that.” Athena waived her hand dismissively. “But I had to see you first. There is something I had to give you.” She came over to Maeve’s side and stared at the painting. “And you promised me a while ago I could see this. It is quite beautiful. Though all of your art is. Do you still not know who you are painting it for?”

She shook her head. “I am sure I will know when it is time.” One of her dark locks fell over her forehead escaping from the knot secured on her head.

“And you are certain you must gift it to someone?” Athena asked. Her tone filled with awe as she spoke. Her ice blue eyes sparked with something—mischief? No. It was something else. Curiosity perhaps. Athena wanted to know, as much as Maeve, who this painting belonged to. Neither of them would know until that person came into Maeve’s life. Even then it might not be readily apparent. She only knew that it did not belong to her. She had known that before she had put paint on the canvas.

“I am,” she said. That was not always the case, but with this painting she had known from the start that she must give it away. This painting was not being created for her alone. They both stared at the landscape before them and took it in. The beauty of it was unmistakable and Maeve felt as if she must visit this place, wherever it was, one day.

The English landscape unfurled before with a breathtaking majesty—a rugged, windswept expanse with towering white chalk cliffs that plunged into the churning embrace of the sea below. The cliffs, timeworn and steadfast, bore the weathered scars of centuries—cracks etched by relentless winds and the ceaseless caress of salt spray.

Far below, the sea raged and whispered in equal measure, its blue depths streaked with silver foam as the waves crashed against the base of the cliffs in a balance of power and rhythm. Above, the sky stretched vast and endless—a kaleidoscope of shifting gray and gold mixed with white the thick clouds cast fleeting shadows over the landscape. A lone bird flew over the cliffs nearly lost in the expanse of sky and sea.

Beyond the cliffs, rolling green meadows stretched inland, dappled with gorse and wild thyme, their golden and purple blossoms adding color to the windswept moors. A narrow, winding path led away from the edge, disappearing into the verdant undulations of the countryside, where hedgerows and ancient stone walls marked the boundary between land and sky.

It was a landscape both untamed and timeless, where the world seemed to pause, held in the eternal embrace of sea and shore—a place where secrets could be lost to the winds and whispered promises carried away by the tide and Maeve longed to walk along the path before her and become lost in its beauty. She felt as if she belonged in this painting. Almost as if it were home, but how could it be? She had never seen this place in anything but her mind. Did it even truly exist?

“It is truly lovely,” Athena said. “It will be sad when you must give it to this mystery stranger.”

Maeve leaned down and added one more flourish to the sea, and then signed her initials in the corner. She did not respond to her sister. How could she. It would be sad to have to let this painting go. But the gift would mean the world to someone. She did not understand it, but she felt the need to present it to this person. Whoever they might be… She stood and cleaned her brushes and stored her paints away before turning back to her sister.

“You’re still here?” Maeve had known she was, but she did not want Athena to know that. “Why?”

“Because of this.” She held out their mother’s journal. “It is your turn with it.” The journal had belonged to Sybil Alden Thompson, the former Countess of Harwood—their mother, its leather cover worn and softened with age, the once-rich brown now faded to a muted, timeworn hue. The edges were scuffed, the corners slightly curled from age, and faint cracks traced across the supple surface. A thin strap of leather, frayed but still intact, wrapped around the book to keep its secrets bound within. Her mother’s secrets…

Maeve did not take the journal right away. They all had agreed that each would have a turn with it. Athena had gone first and had the journal for months now. Clearly, she had decided it was Maeve’s turn with it. She did not take it immediately. She was not certain how she felt about reading her mother’s words. Both her and Athena had never known their mother as she had died giving birth to them. Isla, the eldest, barely had any memories of her. “Shouldn’t I be giving you a gift? Is it not your wedding day dear sister?”

Athena’s lips twitched. “If you wish to give me a gift I shall not refuse.” She walked over and pushed the journal in Maeve’s direction. “But this is not a gift. It is what I owe you. I should have given it to you sooner.” She did have a gift for her sister, but it wasn’t ready yet. She had started a portrait of her and Roman. When it was done, she would deliver it to them. Probably after their wedding trip.

Slowly, Maeve raised her hand and took the journal from her sister. She did not open it or even really look at it. She was not ready to read it yet. “Thank you.” She forced a smile on her face. “Now you should go. You have a wedding to prepare for and I do not think your betrothed will be happy if you do not show on time. He might think you have changed your mind.”

Athena grinned. “As if I would. I adore that man.”

“As you should. Only a saint would take you and your wretched horse on.” Athena’s beast of a horse, Hades, was a brute. Somehow the monster could tell the difference between Athena and Maeve. Hades only seemed to favor Athena. Any other rider would easily be thrown from his back, if they even got that far. He nipped and nearly snarled at any that attempted to be remotely friendly with him.

Athena laughed, shaking her head. “He has excellent taste, that is all. He simply prefers me.”

Maeve arched a brow. “Or he enjoys tormenting everyone else.”

Athena grinned. “Perhaps a little of both.”

Maeve shook her head, amused despite herself. “Go on then, before your dear Roman comes charging in to retrieve his runaway bride.” She could almost see Roman bursting through the door. It would not be the first time that he had come looking for Athena. What must it be like to be loved like that? Would she ever know such a feeling?

Athena sighed dramatically. “Very well, sister mine. But promise me you will read the journal.”

Maeve hesitated, running her fingers over the worn leather cover. “I promise I will.” She did not promise when she would though. They all had to read it their own time. When they were ready. Athena would understand that. She had not started reading it immediately either.

Athena gave her a knowing look, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Good. Now, wish me luck.” One of her dark curls, so like Maeve’s own, slipped free and tumbled down her forehead. Maeve grinned. Athena was always so unruly and even her hair could not be tamed.

“You do not need it,” Maeve replied with a soft smile. “But I wish you all the happiness in the world.” and she did. She wanted nothing but the best for both of her sisters.

Athena beamed, then turned and swept from the room, leaving Maeve alone once more. Maeve glanced down at the journal in her hands. The weight of it felt heavier than it should. She knew the words within belonged to a woman she had never known, yet they were her mother’s thoughts, her memories—perhaps even her dreams. Would they reveal something new? Something Maeve had not even thought to question? She did not ask Athena about her own experience with the journal. Perhaps she would after she had her time with it. But she had not wanted to cloud her thoughts with Athena’s experience. When she read the journal she wanted it to be without expectations. Though how could she not have any at all? This was her mother. A woman she had longed for her entire life…

She exhaled slowly and set the journal down beside her painting. One mystery at a time. The journal could wait. Her sister was getting married, and she had to dress for the event. She would not need as much to get ready as Athena, but she would still have to be presentable. Her gaze drifted back to the landscape she had created, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the canvas. There was something about it—something more than just oil and pigment. Who did it belong to and why? What was it about this place that seemed so magical?

A memory she did not have. A place she had never been. Yet, deep in her bones, she knew it existed. And somehow, some way, she would find it—and the person that called this place home. Surely, they were one and the same…