Page 28

“W hy on earth have we arrived for the sitting so early?” Claire complained as the two grooms escorted her and Tiffany only two houses along the street.

Claire hated early mornings.

“I told you, you needn’t come. Lady Wolfarth will chaperon. I want to speak to her alone before I sit for Wolf.”

“Why?”

“I want to learn what happened to Margo. Wolf seemed most fearful yesterday. Are you not curious as to how she died?”

“Of course. I’m a lady, aren’t I? So much of life is hidden from us. If not for you, I’d never know about shares and stockjobbers. I’d never even considered that a stockjobber could be a thief, for instance.” Claire shook her head as they walked up the front steps of Wolfarth’s townhouse. “Why do you think Lady Wolfarth will tell you?”

“She talked to me the last time I sat for Wolf, and told me she thinks I’m perfect for her son. Perhaps if I point out I want to know him better before I agree to marry him, she might open up and explain why he is fixated on me all of sudden. He barely noticed me before.”

“I do agree his sudden interest is puzzling, but maybe on your trip back from Capel Court, he realized what the ladies already know. That you are a very loveable, kind, generous, honest and loyal person. You’ll make Wolf a perfect marchioness.”

“I do love you,” Tiffany said, hugging her briefly. Taylor, Wolf’s butler, bid them enter. She said to the grooms, “You may go, as Lord Wolfarth will see us home.” The ladies would go to Capel Court with Wolf after this. To Taylor, she added, “We’re early, and I was wondering if Lady Wolfarth would see us?”

A voice called from the landing, “I’m just about to break my fast. Please come and join me. Ivy and Ashleigh are still abed.”

They followed Lady Wolfarth to the dining room while she chatted away about the latest gossip within the ton . “Lady Vale let slip that Serena and Julian are expecting their first child. Isn’t that exciting? I’d always hoped I’d be the first grandmother. I’d almost despaired of Wolf marrying. He has Rockwell as a spare, of course, but that’s all changed now he’s courting you, Tiffany.”

Tiffany couldn’t believe that Lady Wolfarth had brought the topic up herself. “I would like children,” Tiffany said to soften Wolf’s mother up. “Though I’m still not certain Wolf and I are suited. His sudden interest in me raises questions. Why has he left it so long after his previous engagement to find a wife?”

“My son is older and wiser than the man of his youth. Margo was a darling girl. I don’t wish to appear unkind, but as is often the case with a woman of great beauty, she relied on that. I really don’t believe Margo knew who she was without her looks, and when faced with…some tough situations, she could not cope. Wolf, in his na?ve youth, simply saw what was on the surface. With you, he’s looked deeper.”

Claire choked on her tea. Lady Wolfarth had pretty much implied it certainly wasn’t Tiffany’s looks that drew Wolf.

“It’s obviously taken Wolf a long time to get over Lady Margo. I imagine that would not be the case had his head been turned by beauty alone. He must have loved her very much.”

Lady Wolfarth considered Tiffany’s words. “I think Wolf’s reluctance to face marriage stems from guilt, not love.”

Tiffany flashed a look at Claire. Now they were getting somewhere. “Guilt? Has this something to do with Lady Margo’s death? How did she die?” Tiffany asked innocently.

“She killed herself the day of their wedding.”

Claire’s butter knife hit the table with a clatter, while Tiffany’s gasp echoed around the room. Of all the things she had expected Lady Wolfarth to say, that was not one of them. She took a deep breath. Wolf… No wonder he hadn’t recovered very quickly. “Oh my goodness. I can’t imagine…”

And then Claire said what Tiffany was thinking. “Why? Why would a beautiful woman, who was madly in love with a handsome Marquess, kill herself?”

“Where’s Mother?” A deep male voice came from the stairs. Wolf, on his way down.

Before he arrived, Lady Wolfarth turned to Tiffany and said, “That is not my secret to share. You’ll have to ask Wolf.”

He stepped into the room and must have noted the tense atmosphere. “Has something happened?”

Lady Wolfarth laughed gaily. “Of course not. I was regaling the ladies with tales of how you and Rockwell used to torture your sisters with dead mice and lizards.”

“We weren’t that bad. Besides, the girls got their revenge by making us help them with dancing lessons.” That made Claire and Tiffany chuckle. “When you’re ready, we should make a start. The weather looks like it might turn.”

Tiffany glanced out the window; it still looked like a fine spring day to her.

“You young people. I envy you the freedoms you have today. In my day, a young lady would never sit for a painting unless she was married and her husband had organized a portrait. But since you are courting, society will assume this might be a wedding present to your bride. How romantic to receive a painting of yourself. An image of how your husband sees you.”

Husband? Oh, no. Was this painting a vehicle to force her into marriage? Had Wolf tricked her?

Wolf must have seen her fear, for he quickly intervened. “Now, Mother. No one will recognize who the lady in the painting is. Her features will not be revealed clearly. There is no scandal involved, and there will be no pressure on Tiffany to accept my offer of marriage.”

Silly man. His mother jumped immediately. “So you’ve offered for her? Well, girl, why have you not accepted?”

She threw an angry gaze Wolf’s way. “A lady doesn’t wish to be rushed. Marriage is for the rest of my life. If I’m standing on a cliff overlooking a pond, I don’t immediately jump. I take my time and work out if it’s safe and right for me to jump.”

Lady Wolfarth stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “Quite right. I shall say no more.”

“Perhaps you could change into your gown and join me in the garden as soon as possible. I don’t want the light to change.”

“Am I needed?” Claire asked. “After I’ve helped you change, I think I’ll visit with Ivy and Ashleigh.” The way she said it conveyed a message that Tiffany understood. Claire would talk to them about the situation the DD found itself in because of Sprat. It might be a good idea that they talk without her. After all, this was all her fault.

*

Wolf didn’t seem able to wake up this morning. What little time he’d been able to spend in his bed trying to sleep over the past few days had instead been spent either worrying over Melville and the danger he had put them all in, or fantasizing about Tiffany. The last thing he needed was his mother interfering. Things with Tiffany were progressing nicely.

Wolf made his way outside to organize the setting up of his easel. Damn his mother. What he’d said was correct—no one would recognize Tiffany because no one saw her the way he did. A part of him hoped that when she saw herself through his eyes, she’d understand he did have a genuine desire for her. But that would not happen until the day of the auction.

He kept the painting covered on the easel until his mother was seated with her tapestry and he’d once again posed Tiffany the way he had previously.

His artist’s eye immediately noticed something different about her today. Her relaxed posture and confidence. Did that indicate she was finally understanding he was serious in his pursuit of her hand?

Soon he pushed all the noise and his mother’s chatter out of his mind and concentrated on revealing Tiffany on canvas.

Time flew by. He’d been concentrating for over an hour, and as his muse flowed, so did the heated blood in his veins. Posed in that invitational way, knowing what book he had put in front of her, and how he’d like to explore and introduce her to many of the positions described in its pages, his entire body heated.

Soon the sun made sweat trickle down his back and, for a moment, lightheadedness made him take a deep breath and blink hard.

“Are you all right?” his mother asked. She sat under the shade of the tree, as did Tiffany.

He straightened, and his head swam. The heat and too many late nights didn’t mix, it would seem. “I might need to sit down for a few minutes.” He slowly walked toward the empty chair next to his mother in the shade.

“You’ve overheated yourself. I’ll organize for some refreshments. Tiffany, go and get changed. My son has had enough for the day.” Then she got up and walked away.

Tiffany rose to her feet and came to stand beside him. “You’re not sickening with something? All this stress can’t be good.” She reached out and placed her palm on his forehead. “You do feel hot. And you thought it would cloud over…”

“I just need a drink and a few moments in the shade. That is all, I promise you.”

He couldn’t help himself. He pulled her down to sit on his knee. “You look beautiful in that gown.”

“You should let me up. Your mother will be returning soon.”

“She left us alone for a reason. Like me, she is certain you are the right woman to be my marchioness.”

“You never did tell me why you think I’m so suited. And then there is Margo…”

Wolf’s muscles tightened. He didn’t want Margo’s memory invading this new relationship. The past should stay there. He had come to terms with his mistakes and accepted his guilt in her death. It had taken him many years to do so and he would not open those wounds again.

Tiffany ran her hand through his hair as if she were caressing a child. “Your mother told me how Margo died, and I think I understand why you’ve been so reluctant to marry,” she said softly. “What I cannot fathom is why she killed herself. Is there something in this story that should see me not accept your offer?”

He would have to have strong words with his mother. She could ruin everything. And he was more than certain Tiffany was the right woman to be his wife. He still refused to look too closely at why the idea of her declining his proposal hurt. It wasn’t simply pride.

As he’d come to know her, he admired her. She had a quick wit. She was kind. She had a grand pedigree and he wasn’t going to overlook the reason he made the impulsive offer to her in the first place—her skillful investing. However, what he’d not expected was this warm feeling she caused in the vicinity of his heart. He’d wanted to lock his heart away so he could never be hurt again. It scared him how much he was beginning to feel for her, and Sprat being on the loose only added to that fear. What if something happened to Tiffany? It would be his fault, because he refused to pay Sprat for Melville’s debt.

“You’ve gone quiet.” She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

That was what he appreciated about Tiffany. She would never lie to him. She had no artifice. If she wanted to know something, she asked, or searched for the truth. He had no idea how to answer her, because deep down inside, he did consider himself responsible for Margo’s death. But he knew he’d learned a hard lesson from his reckless, stupid behavior.

“No. Nothing about her death should make you not consider my offer.” Was that a lie? He tried not to let the idea that he wasn’t good enough for her swamp him. Because of Melville, she was now in danger. “I would make you a good husband.”

“I won’t push. But one day, if I’m to stand by your side and say my vows to become your wife, I’ll want to know what happened. Not because I’m nosey, but so I can understand the man I’m going to be sharing my life with. I hate secrets. If only my father had told me his doubts about Sprat, I’d not be in this position.”

He tried not to let her words lead him to anger. “Are you implying that the reason you are now considering my offer is because you’ve lost all your money?”

She bent and kissed him on the lips. “Of course not. I can always make more money and Fane would never force me into a marriage I did not want. The reason I want to understand the man I marry is because I want to know, before I wed, if he is capable of growing to love me. Marriage is for a very long time. I can’t end up being someone’s polite, baby-breeding wife who lives a life separate from her husband’s.”

He moved restlessly on his chair, wishing his mother would return. This conversation was drifting to places he did not wish to go. It made his head pound.

She added, “And then there is the delicate question of whether we are compatible in the bedroom.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know your reputation with the ladies, so I’m sure you are very skilled. However, will I be enough for you in that department? I’m warning you now, I won’t share my husband with other women.”

He’d never thought about what his daily life would become once he married. Yes, he’d released his last mistress before courting Tiffany; he would never disrespect her that way. But no other women for the rest of his life? He looked at her. Really looked at her, and while he couldn’t say he was in love with her, he liked her. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted their marriage to be happy.

His parents’ marriage hadn’t been a love match, but he instinctively knew they had grown to love one another. Even though his father had died when his mother was still quite young, she’d never wanted to remarry.

He slid his palm down Tiffany’s bare arm and collected her tiny hand in his. He turned it over and pressed a kiss to her palm. He loved the shiver his touch provoked. “I will teach you everything you need to know about the bedchamber. It’s the one place I’m confident we will be in perfect harmony.”

“How can you know that? I’ve never—that is—your kiss is the first I’ve experienced.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of one breast that was pushed up by her gown, and she shuddered. “You are full of passion—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows I’m a bluestocking. Quiet, contained.”

“And brimming with denied passion.”

She looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “You shudder with just the briefest of touches,” he said, stroking a finger over her breasts, slipping under the edge of her gown to reach her nipple. He watched her eyes flutter closed as he ran his finger over and over the hardening bud. “So responsive. You’ll come alive in my bed.”

Her eyes flew open at those words. Her chest rose and fell with each fast breath and she watched his hand delve deeper inside her gown to cup her breast.

So engrossed was she in his foreplay, she didn’t appear to notice the hurried footsteps of his mother returning, but Wolf did. He withdrew his fingers and placed her back on her feet. “Never fear, Tiffany. The bedroom is the one area in which we will be completely compatible. As to other women, I’m pretty sure I won’t need any other but you to see to my needs.”

“Slade,” his mother called. “Rockwell’s inside and he’s been hurt. Come quick.”

Wolf looked at Tiffany and then raced for the house, his mother following. Tiffany turned to look for her glasses. She was virtually blind without them. Wolf had placed them on the table next to the easel. She bit her bottom lip. She wasn’t sure her legs could move. She swore she could still feel his touch. Was Wolf right? Could she throw off the mantle of conservatism that she wore like armor?

It took mere moments for her to realize this was her chance to see the painting. She pushed away the guilt, knowing full well that he had decreed no one was to see it until it was finished, and retrieved her glasses. She slid them on, then looked at the canvas in front of her. She blinked. And blinked again. This wasn’t her… It couldn’t possibly be her…

She moved closer, and slowly the exquisite brush strokes took shape. This woman on the canvas was—beautiful. It couldn’t be her. She moved until her face was only inches away. It was her, but it wasn’t. She took a step back and looked again. She covered her mouth with her hand.

It was her.

He was right, even she barely recognized herself. No one would think it was her…

Was this how he saw her, or was this woman his fantasy? The woman he hoped she’d be?

Affairs of the heart were very confusing. How did any woman really know how a man felt? How did any man know?

Trust. Couples had to trust in each other and share what was in their hearts. Here she was, grilling Wolf about his feelings and why he wanted to marry her, when she had not been forthcoming herself as to why she was seriously considering his offer.

Looking back, she’d been infatuated with Wolf since the age of seventeen when she’d joined the Marlowe family. He was the prince who’d carried her up the stairs. But infatuation had changed to something deeper as she’d come to know Wolf better. And now, after everything that had happened since their wager and the situation with Sprat, she could easily see herself falling in love with the man. Would he ever come to love her?

She wanted a chance to find out. Wolf liked her, admired her even, there was no doubting that. Now, if this painting was truly how he saw her, then his desire for her was in every brush stroke. Could desire lead to love? She had no idea and no one to ask. This was the time she missed having her mother, or even Lady Marlowe, alive. But friendship and desire were a very sound basis for starting a marriage.

Suddenly remembering Rockwell was hurt, she turned her back on the painting and moved quickly toward the house, hugging the knowledge of how Wolf saw her to her heart.