Page 15 of Pursued Beyond Treachery (Harrowed Hearts #2)

T he light touch of Susannah’s hand on his arm did strange things to Johnathan’s mind. Like butterflies dancing along his skin, each brush of her fingers seeped through his sleeves and left the hair on his arm standing on end.

“This way.” He directed them toward the closest sitting room. Inside there were several people socializing in small groups, but at least the music was not so loud. A table in the corner was laid out with tea, coffee, and tiny sandwiches. “Will this do? There are others.”

“No, no this will do nicely.” She smiled up at him and turned the butterflies on his skin to fire pulsing through his veins. He swallowed hard. If he did not get control of his feelings he’d not be able to carry on any sort of conversation tonight.

After collecting some refreshments, they sat in matching mahogany chairs. Johnathan searched his mind for a topic of discussion when he noticed that every few seconds Susannah glanced down at her dress.

“Is something amiss?”

She shook her head. “I am not used to wearing white and I worry I will stain my dress. How do gentlemen wear such white cravats and not stain them?”

“W-we do. All the time. But a good valet knows exactly how to launder them correctly.”

Her mouth formed an oh but she said nothing more. He searched for another topic, but nothing came to mind that did not include his three specialties, and he would not bore her with those. There was always the weather. That seemed to work for many people.

“Dreary weather we’ve been having.”

She nodded in agreement.

That had gotten him nowhere. Susannah was not the normal London miss who talked on end about useless subjects. He needed something to draw her out.

“W-what is your f-favorite flower?” he blurted out before he lost his nerve.

She paused, setting the sandwich she’d been nibbling back on the plate. He felt ridiculous. He knew it was cowslip. Why had he asked such an inane question?

“Roses.” She ducked her head. “Pink ones are my particular favorite, but all of them are beautiful.”

His fingers curled tight around his plate. All this time he’d assumed it was a common field flower. Why? Just because she picked them often did not equate to her adoring them.

“I especially love the ones that have a strong fragrance. They smell like how love should feel.” Her eyes slowly rose to meet his, and his mind stopped working.

Just having the word love floating between them was enough to stop his tongue, but the intent way her eyes trapped his made it impossible to even swallow, much less speak.

He wanted to ask how a rose's smell resembled the feel of love. Why she’d even say such a thing?

If she had ever been in love? Was she in love? With whom?

But nothing came out.

She set down her plate on the beautifully carved coffee table in front of them. “Have you painted anything interesting lately?”

So much for staying away from his fallback discussions. “I have. H-have you s-seen the w-wedding portrait”—he stopped and took a deep breath, composing his thoughts so he could control the words— “I did for the Stanfords?”

She leaned forward. “Yes. The way you mixed the cobalt to highlight Lady Stanford’s eyes is magnificent, and the detail.” She let out a happy sigh. “Each hair seemed to have a life of its own.”

His chest puffed out with pride. She’d noticed the painstaking work he’d put into the gift.

“But what have you done recently?” she asked.

He opened his mouth then realized what his last project had been.

No, he could not tell her he’d painted her without permission.

He needed another project to relay, but none came to mind.

He’d been so obsessed with getting the light on the side of her neck and hair just right that he’d worked on nothing else for months.

“I—” His teacup rattled and he focused on subduing his trembling. “A portrait.”

“Really? Is it someone I know?”

He nodded and took a sip from his tea.

“Who?”

When it became apparent that he’d drop his cup and saucer if he did not put them down, he bent forward and slowly arranged them on the table, taking time to come up with a plausible answer.

“I am afraid the p-person who commissioned the painting might be u-upset if I share that information with you. Perhaps once it is delivered, I can… that is… I might ascertain if it would be permissible.”

“Now you have me intrigued. Tell me, is the subject male or female?”

He glanced at the other occupants of the room to see if anyone was listening in.

“Female,” he said softly.

“Really?”

A myriad of emotions played across Susannah’s face and he wished for a little window into her mind to see what she was thinking.

Since no such convenience existed he had to rely on what he knew of her expressions.

A furrowed brow could mean several things, but the way she sat back led him to believe she was disappointed.

Why would a painting of her be upsetting?

But she did not know it was about her. Dare he hope a bit of jealousy might be involved?

“The subject is quite l-lovely with the most fascinating curls .”

“I see.” She picked up her cup and her arms pinched close to her sides.

It could not be. The small glimmer of hope led him to be a bit reckless. “The line of her jaw was hard to mimic, but her cheek is the most captivating color of pink.”

Susannah’s lips compressed and his heart cheered. Now how to go about finding out the depth of her feelings. The thought of talking about such sensitive subjects set his hands to shaking again. A lump formed in his throat and the ease with which he’d spoken fled.

Light blue skirts swished in his periphery.

“Miss Wayland,” Miss Wallace said as she approached them. “It seems you have found the exact spot to be this evening. Is not this a fantastic crush?”

He would have called it ghastly or abhorrent. No person needed to be pressed as much as he had been all evening.

Susannah cast her a tight smile. “It is. I have not seen its equal.”

“This is nothing compared to the ball he held last June,” Mr. Wallace said from behind them.

Johnathan turned to see the man approaching with his own refreshments. Susannah’s expression brightened and he wanted to groan. Did Mr. Wallace have to appear right at this moment? Or at all, for that matter?

“I heard there were nearly five thousand people in attendance,” Susannah said. “Is that true?”

“I would not doubt it. Unfortunately we did not attend as we had to remove to the country for our mother’s health. Family comes first, you see.”

The way Susannah smiled at his declaration did not bode well. He knew how much she valued family. Hers was the center of her life, and her loyalty ran deep. Any man who declared the same sentiment would certainly win a portion of her heart.

But Johnathan had no family. No parents or grandparents, and no surviving aunts or uncles. He’d heard tell that a second cousin lived somewhere in the north of England, but he’d never met the man. So how could he declare the importance of family when he had none to speak of?

Conversation fell into a natural rhythm between the others as they shared similar family experiences leaving Johnathan with nothing to contribute.

His mind spun around Mr. Wallace’s statement about needing to leave London.

That he knew of, the man had not been in Town.

Then again, perhaps he’d come to collect his mother and sister so his father might stay to take part in the House of Commons.

At a lull in the discussion Miss Wallace said, “Lord Newhurst, I tried to find you in the crowd when the dancing began but failed, so instead I gave Mr. Roberts my first set. I hope you are not offended.”

He hoped his face did not appear as horrified as he felt. His thoughts had been so consumed with Susannah all night that he’d forgotten he’d promised Miss Wallace a dance. “Yes… well…”

“I believe he was looking for you when I came upon him.” Susannah’s rescue was a godsend. “And since he’d also promised me a dance he was too polite to turn down my request that we find some refreshment. The floor, as you probably witnessed, is very full.”

“It is.” Miss Wallace’s lip jutted out, then her expression switched to a sweet smile. “But we have found each other now. Perhaps we might return to the court and see if there is room to admit us.”

There was nothing for it. He’d promised Miss Wallace a dance and he must see through as a gentleman. “If that is what you wish.”

“Absolutely.” She rose to her feet and he stood. “Oh, and Miss Wayland, Sir Nathaniel has been looking for you. Something about Lady Stanford not feeling well.”

Johnathan frowned. They’d been in the room a full ten minutes at least and she was just now delivering the message?

“I will help you locate them.” Mr. Wallace offered Susannah his arm and she took it with a smile.

Blast the man. First he had ruined the one dance Johnathan had set his heart on, and now he was leading Susannah away, probably to leave the ball if Melior felt particularly puny.

“Are you ready?” Miss Wallace asked as he watched Susannah walk away.

No . This was supposed to be Susannah’s dance. But he was a gentleman and so he led Miss Wallace back to the court room.