Lady Windham turned to the painting and exclaimed in delight, gushing over the details to Lord Seton as Emmaline gratefully stepped back from the unusual attention.
After a moment, Benedict excused himself and left the room. Lady Windham turned to Emmaline and engaged her in the finer details of painting technique, surprising Emmaline with her knowledge of the subject.
Within minutes, they were chatting away, and Emmaline was bemused to discover that she rather liked Lady Windham.
“Miss Winters, I am so enjoying your company,” said Lady Windham, running her fingers along the cover of Emmaline’s sketchbook and then impulsively picking it up and flicking through the pages. “Oh, good heavens!” the lady laughed, opening the page to a sketch of Lord Seton’s profile, a stern expression on his face.
“This is just the most perfect depiction of Benedict I have ever seen,” she exclaimed, flicking through all the other sketches Emmaline had done from various angles. “He is always far too serious in any situation. He does not know how to relax at all.”
She leaned close in a conspiratorial manner, checking quickly that they were still alone. “I also like to dabble at portraits, I must show you my sketches of Benedict, especially those in his parliamentary finery. He always carries himself so superior, it's terribly amusing.”
Emmaline smiled at the Lady’s good humour, feeling a bit uncertain about her familiarity.
She took Emmaline’s hand, squeezing it quickly. “You must call me Honora, I feel like we could be great friends. And I could call you…?”
“Emmaline…” answered Emmaline with surprise. “Of course, you must call me Emmaline.”
“What a lovely name, it suits you perfectly!” Lady Honora put her hand to her stomach, flashing Emmaline a smile that she had only seen on women in a certain condition.
“I am expecting. I know you can’t tell quite yet, but I am. Do you think you would be able to do a painting of me for my husband? I know he would love your work.”
“I am sure my father would-”
“Oh, no, I want you to do it, my dear Emmaline. This is something only another woman would truly only be able to capture, and look at your skill. Please?”
Emmaline smiled shyly, bopping a quick curtsy in happiness. “Of course, Lady Windham. I would be honoured.”
“Honora, my dear,” she said with a delighted clap of her hands.
“Yes, thank you, Lady Honora.”
At that moment Lord Seton strolled back into the room, and Lady Windham called for a chair to be arranged for her beside Emmaline while Lord Seton settled himself for his sitting.
The rest of the morning seemed to pass in a blur as Lady Windham talked Emmaline’s ear off while she painted.
It was such a pleasant time, Emmaline was almost disappointed when it was time to pack up for the day.
CHAPTER FIVE
Benedict can’t believehe even entertained the conversation about the bet, it’s been almost a week since the conversation with Silas and he just couldn’t get it out of his head.
That is why he started coming into the ballroom at night, hoping to dissuade himself from the crazed idea that he should go ahead with the disastrous scheme.
Maybe he should seduce the woman and get her out of his system. That seemed to be the commonly held solution, and perhaps that would be the only way to purge her from his thoughts. Other men seemed to have an appetite for such affairs, even if Benedict found it a bit distasteful.
If only he had any experience in seduction. Or with the all-encompassing feeling that he had met his match, finally, in a woman.
What was it about Miss Winters that fascinated him beyond all reason?
Unfortunately, over the last few days, she seemed to have taken up residence in the vicinity of his heart as well as inspiring this physical attraction to her.
A distinct feeling in his body, almost like indigestion, came over him whenever she sat herself down to paint.
It was uncanny, Miss Winter’s ability to draw him out of his thoughts while she worked diligently away. Benedict had found himself telling her things he had not thought on for many years, or told to anyone besides Honora and Silas. Like the memories of Christmas with his parents at their house in the country, the way Honora had scared him witless when she went missing, or even the scent of his mother’s perfume and the fact that he kept an old bottle of it locked away for safekeeping.
It was as if Miss Winters looked into his very soul sometimes, the way she cocked her head and observed him in complete stillness now and then. Tracking his movements with her curious dark eyes while his heart beat a little faster in his chest.
It was a traitorous organ, indeed.
