Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke Page 16

  She should suggest they catch up with the rest of the party, but seemed incapable of formulating the words. The stultifying stillness embraced her and she became acutely aware of the strong gravitational pull she felt towards him. Thoughts of all the females who he had probably charmed in a similar fashion helped to restore her senses, and she refused to become his latest conquest…well, not that easily. Nia tossed her head, redirecting her thoughts to her grandfather and his enthusiasm for the portrait, so closely followed by his first vague moment of the evening. A fat tear slid down her cheek. She simply could not bear it if the portrait work proved to be beyond him. Nor was there anything she could do to help him if it did. It was grossly unfair.

  A finger that was not her own, stopped the tear in its tracks. Nia had not heard Lord Vincent move from his position beside the door and froze when she became conscious of his taut body standing far too close behind her.

  “What is it?” he asked softly.

  She should plaster a smile on her face and say it was nothing more than momentary weakness. That was how she always responded when she became upset about her grandfather’s condition and was asked if anything was amiss. But she sensed Lord Vincent would know it wasn’t true, and he didn’t deserve to be lied to.

  “What if he can’t do it?” she replied.

  “You must think that he can or you would not have put him in this position.”

  “But that’s just it.” Anguished, she turned to face him. “Perhaps I think he can still do it because I so desperately want it to be true. I want to turn the clock back and make things the way they once were.” She sighed. “But wishes don’t make fishes.”

  His lips quirked. “What a charming phrase.”

  “It is one of Grandpapa’s.”

  “Which makes it even more delightful.”

  Lord in heaven, he had slipped an arm lightly around her waist. Panic welled, only to rapidly subside again. It was the most natural gesture in the world, if one wished to comfort a friend, which presumably was his intention. But she and Lord Vincent were most emphatically not friends; nor were they ever likely to be. There was a strong, irresistible compulsion between them that precluded mere friendship. That compulsion overrode her desire to put him in his place. She no longer wanted to attempt it.

  She simply wanted him.

  Or as much of him as he was prepared to offer her, for as long as he was prepared to offer it. She now accepted what he, with his experience, had doubtless sensed all along. And the time had come to stop fighting it.

  “You saw him just now, Lord Vincent.” This time Nia made no effort to hold her tears in check. “One minute he was being creative, the next…well, we had lost him altogether.”

  “You said yourself that mornings are his best time. He has been here at the Park these several hours on top form, with just one tiny slip.”

  Nia expelled a heavy sigh, far from convinced, even though she desperately wanted to be. “Yes, you are right about that.”

  “My mother already adores him.”

  Nia managed a brittle smile. “Most ladies do. He has a certain way with them.”

  “And if he does lose his inspiration with the painting, you will be here to guide him.”

  Her mouth fell inelegantly open. “What do you mean?”

  “Precisely what I say.” He fixed her with a probing gaze. “Your father did not inherit Trafford’s talent, but I rather suspect that you did.”

  “I wonder why you would think such a thing.” She fiddled with a leaf on the orange tree, not trusting herself to meet his gaze. He placed a finger beneath her chin and gently turned it until she was compelled to do so.

  “I told you before about the paint I observed that first day beneath your nails which suggested that you do more than merely mix them for your grandfather. Then I considered what you told me about always being with him when he gets up in the night to paint his landscapes, even though you claim he is at his most creative in the mornings. Why would he do that, I asked myself. The only answer I could come up with was that he didn’t—or rather you did not—want other people intruding, just in case he made a mull of it. And then, of course, there is the way you look at people when you make their acquaintance. It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” His eyes gleamed with a dangerous light that made her forget her anguish as liquid heat spiralled through her veins. “You seemed fascinated with my mouth.”

  “Not in an inappropriate manner, I can assure you of that. My eye is drawn to shapes, you see. And your mouth, your lips in particular, happen to be most unusually shaped.”

  The lips in question quirked. “Ah, that would explain it.”

  He did not believe her, but was too gentlemanly to say as much.

  “You see a lot.” She sighed. “All right, since you appear to have guessed, you might as well know that Grandpapa is more creative in the morning, but he does good work in the small hours too. Some nights his landscapes are perfect, and I do nothing more than mix his paints for him. He barely knows I am there. You will see for yourself soon enough that when he immerses himself in his work, that is the way it is for him. Unless…”

  “Unless his work goes wrong, which is when you step in.”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes for an expressive moment and nodded. “I am nowhere near as talented as Grandpapa, but he recognised the artist in me when I was still quite young and encouraged me every step of the way. Sean, too, to a lesser degree. That is partly why we spent so much more time with him rather than with our parents, although what I told you about them is quite true and we both much preferred to be with Grandpapa.”

  “I can understand why. He is charming.”

  “Thank you. I agree with you about that.” She threw her head back and sighed. “His landscapes, for the most part, are his own work and they are brilliant. But he sometimes gets frustrated because he remembers they are not what he wants to be doing. That is when I step in. If I cannot reassure him with gentle words and praise for the new direction he has had the courage to take, then I try to rescue the painting and make it fit for exhibiting. Oh, don’t make the mistake of assuming I am no better than the forger we are attempting to apprehend—”

  “The idea did not once cross my mind.”

  “If I have helped with any of the works that finish up in the exhibition, my name will be added to my grandfather’s. Obviously, that will greatly lessen the work’s value—”

  “That I seriously doubt.”

  “Thank you, but you have not seen them so cannot possibly judge.”

  “Oh, believe me. I know.” He sent her a searing smile. “I am almost never wrong about such things.”

  “Or modest, either.”

  He flexed a brow. “I have something to be modest about?”

  She punched his arm. “Be serious.”

  “I was being perfectly serious.”

  “Anyway, now you know.”

  “And you may rest assured that I will respect your confidence.”

  “Thank you. I did not doubt that you would, otherwise I would not have told you.”

  “But you are concerned about your grandfather painting Zach’s portrait, because if he loses his way, you will not be able to help him.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I don’t mean to make light of your concerns, but what is to prevent you? Zach won’t mind, and none of us will tell.”

  “You give me too much credit, Lord Vincent.”

  “Vince,” he corrected her softly. “It would please me to hear you use my name.”

  She swallowed. “Very well, but only when we are alone, and I do not anticipate that situation arising too often.”

  His soft chuckle had a decidedly wicked edge. “You underestimate my determination.”

  She knew better than to ask him what he meant by that. All the time they were discussing her grandfather, she could ignore the fact that his large body swamped hers, mere inches separating them, fragmenting her senses and constantly causing he
r to lose the thread of their conversation. She could ignore the arm around her waist and the long fingers gently stroking her spinal column. If she didn’t look at his mouth, she could even pretend she wasn’t desperately hoping that he would kiss her.

  “I can paint a reasonable landscape, but my skills as a portrait artist do not begin to mirror Grandpapa’s. That is my difficulty.”

  “Have you attempted portraits?” She nodded. “I should like to see the results.”

  “Then prepare yourself to be disappointed.”

  “Nothing you ever do will disappoint me, sweet Nia.”

  He lowered his head and, finally, she felt sure he would kiss her. Anticipation washed through her in unstoppable waves when his lips firmed against hers and he tickled the corners of her mouth seductively with the tip of his tongue. So sensuous, so reassuring. There was something important about an earlier resolve that she ought to remember. What was it? Something about keeping her distance, allowing him to imagine she would submit to him and then retreating before actually doing so. Or not. Which had she decided upon? When his arms closed possessively around her, she could no longer recall, and gave up trying. Instead, her arms slid around his neck, quite without her permission, and she stood on her toes as she inexpertly kissed him back. Her body was on fire with need by the time his tongue, velvety and sensuous, cut a path through her mouth and she was able to savour the taste of him as he deepened the kiss. Ye gods, a small part of her brain screamed at her that this was madness; it was probably the very situation she had been seeking to avoid.

  Yes, she was absolutely sure now that that had been her intention.

  The feminine side of her ignored the voice of reason and revelled in this new, enticing and very educational experience. Her body pulsated and convulsed as desire swamped reason. Sophia had not exaggerated. Being kissed by a gentleman she admired truly was paradise. But where would it lead? She probably ought to be concerned about that.

  Far sooner than she was ready to be released Vince broke the kiss, providing her with the answer to her unasked question. It would not lead anywhere, and not because she had called a halt to proceedings, but because he had. Perdition, was she that much of a disappointment to him?

  “Better?” he asked, softly tracing the curve of her face with his fingertips.

  “We should not have done that,” she replied, turning away from him, breathing deeply as she struggled to regain her composure.

  “I hesitate to disagree, but you might as well know that I have wanted to since first meeting you. However, if you would prefer that it didn’t happen again, then you have my assurance that it will not.” His smile was almost contrite, and contrition did not suit him one little bit. “You only have yourself to blame, you know. There is just something about you that I find entrancing. But I don’t want you to feel that you cannot come to this house with your grandfather for fear that I will compromise you in some way.”

  Nia wanted to point out that being compromised by him might be an enjoyable experience, but thankfully common sense prevailed.

  “Thank you for that reassurance,” she said primly, staring at a point over his shoulder.

  “You are entirely welcome.” He clasped her hand and placed it decorously on his sleeve. “Now come, the others will wonder what has become of us.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Mr. Trafford is perfectly charming,” the duchess said as soon as their new neighbours had taken their leave. “Perhaps a little eccentric, but one expects such behaviour from artistic types. I am very pleased to have made his acquaintance and am sure that he will make a wonderful job of your portrait, Zach.”

  “It is a long time since I have seen you so agreeably engaged, Mother, and I am glad of it,” Zach replied with a smile. “I am willing to wager that life with such a man on our doorstep will never be dull.”

  “Patrick is known for his charm,” Lady St. John remarked, gathering her reticule in anticipation of her carriage arriving at the door. “I am pleased to see him in such good spirits. The last time our paths crossed in Belgium it was a very different story, and rather embarrassing. He kept complaining about being too warm at a particularly smart gathering we all attended and repeatedly tried to remove his clothing. Poor Nia was beside herself.”

  “She does seem inordinately fond of her grandfather,” Portia remarked.

  “He is more of a father figure to her,” Lady St. John replied. “Her own father scarcely spared her the time of day.”

  “And we entertained a courtesan here at the Park,” Amos said, grinning. “Poor Faraday. I’m unsure if his dignity will ever recover.”

  “She is just as much of a lady as anyone else!” Nate declared hotly, causing his other brothers to share a smirk. “I’ll have you know she is well educated, well read and a lot more fun than half the dull misses I had foisted upon me during this last season.”

  “She behaved with great decorum,” the duchess agreed with an indulgent smile for her youngest son. “And seems equally dedicated to Mr. Trafford.”

  “Which just goes to show what a kind heart she has,” Nate pointed out.

  Faraday materialised to announce the arrival of Lady St. John’s carriage.

  “Thank you, Faraday,” she said, standing. “And thank you, Your Grace, for inviting me,” she added, turning towards the duchess. “The evening was most enjoyable and I am so very pleased that you enjoyed Patrick’s company. I knew that if he was in good form you would not be able to resist his charm. No one ever does.”

  “I hope you will call often and observe the progress of the portrait,” the duchess replied. Vince suppressed a smile. His mother was becoming less and less subtle in her attempts to draw Lady St. John and Zach together.

  “Patrick will not allow me, or anyone else, to look over his shoulder,” Lady St. John said. “Artists are very particular about their privacy.”

  “Then come and talk to the subject,” Portia said cheerfully. “You can be as rude to Zach as you wish and he will not be able to retaliate since I don’t suppose he will be permitted to move a muscle.”

  “A rare opportunity we would all do well to take advantage of,” Amos added, sharing a grin with his brothers.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about my inability to retaliate,” Zach replied amiably.

  Lady St. John’s lips twitched. “Tempting though that offer might be, Portia, unfortunately I cannot think of any reason to insult His Grace?”

  “Then you must apply your mind to the subject,” Nate replied. “These opportunities don’t often occur.”

  Zach ignored Nate’s flippant comment and pinned Lady St. John to the spot with a scorching look that caused her cheeks to turn pink.

  “You seek to provoke me, Your Grace?” Lady St. John tilted her chin and met his gaze without flinching. “And yet I took your side. That hardly seems fair.”

  Zach chuckled and muttered something in an aside to Lady St. John that Vince couldn’t hear, but he did notice his mother observing the exchange with considerable interest.

  “I shall call upon you in the next few days, Portia,” Lady St. John said, a secretive smile flirting with her lips as she transferred her attention to Vince’s sister. “When I have obtained the information Annalise asked me for regarding school masters. I anticipate receiving a letter from my friend in London on the subject any day now, then we shall have a better idea how to proceed.”

  “I shall pass on anything of use to Annalise when I visit her next week.” Portia canted her head. “What does Mr. Sean Trafford do with himself all day, Frankie?”

  Ah, Vince thought, so that’s the way the wind blows. He had been so taken up with Nia that he had not paid much attention to Portia and her obvious interest in Trafford.

  “He manages his grandfather’s affairs and has two small sons to occupy his time,” Lady St. John replied. “I shall tell you more on my next visit, if you are interested.”

  “Evidently she is,” Zach said, eyeing Portia somewhat severely.
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  “The question arose out of idle curiosity,” Portia protested, blushing fiercely when the rest of her brothers joined Zach and concentrated suspicious glares upon her. “I am starting to understand why Annalise complained so vociferously about the four of you watching her every move.”

  “Become accustomed to it,” Zach warned. “There are fortune hunters everywhere.”

  “And none of them will like me for myself, I suppose, because I am not as beautiful as Annalise.”

  “That is not what I meant,” Zach replied, remaining implacably calm in the face of their sister’s rare fit of pique. “And well you know it. Don’t test me, Portia. You know I only have your best interests at heart.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry.” Portia glanced down at her folded hands and sighed. “But credit me with a little intelligence. I am not the dim wit you appear to take me for.”

  “I must not leave my horses standing around,” Lady St. John said, clearly embarrassed by the exchange. “I will bid you all au revoir.”

  Vince was again surprised when Zach chose to escort their guest to the door himself, and was absent from the drawing room for some considerable time. When he returned to it, their mother, sister and Crista had all retired.

  “Do you think Trafford is still capable of portrait work?” Zach asked Vince as he helped himself to brandy. “His lucidity appears to be transitory. I should hate to sit around for all that time and have nothing to show for it.”

  Vince shrugged. “Does an artist need to have his wits about him to exploit his talent?”

  “Being half-mad is acceptable in artistic types,” Amos said flippantly. “Some might say it is necessary, and enhances their brilliance.”

  “You can hardly expect our brother to give an honest opinion about Trafford’s abilities,” Nate said, grinning. “If he were to express doubts and you called a halt to the commission, Zach, he would be deprived of the beguiling Miss Trafford’s society.”