Every night he came here, when the servants were finally abed, to inspect the progress of her work. Some days it seemed that she made hardly any headway, merely working on the shadows of his hands or the fine details of his dress. On other days she painted furiously, setting his likeness down with bold sure strokes.
Bending the paint to her will as it took on the appearance of the backdrop and atmosphere. Miss Winters was supremely talented.
Benedict found a hint of jealousy burning in his heart sometimes when he considered that she had painted others in this way. Other powerful men, who had most certainly coveted her just as he did.
He took a sip of his drink, setting the decanter haphazardly down on the lip of the dias and hauling himself up to slump down on the settee. Suddenly too tired to take himself to bed and try to sleep this madness off.
For once he understood Silas’s old habit of taking to the bottle instead of dealing with problems head on. There was nohonourable way for Benedict to resolve his infatuation with Miss Winters.
If he approached her in any way while she worked on the painting, he was taking advantage of her. That was the fact of the matter.
Never mind that he had concluded he would have courted her without hesitation, had they met under different circumstances.
Benedict stared absently at the ceiling, the candlelight glinting off the gilded moulding.
When had he last held a ball in this room?
Many years ago, perhaps for Honora’s come out. Benedict pondered his apparent lack of social life with growing perturbation. Why should he waste his time with frivolity when he was engaged in more important work? He had responsibilities to parliament, sometimes even to the Home Office for diplomatic purposes.
His life was rich, in its own way, wasn’t it?Even if he did not have a wife.
A wife. Yes, if he had done the usual thing he would have a young wife waiting for him in bed and he would not be sitting here pining like a fool over the painter’s comely daughter.
It was not as if Benedict had been short of lovers exactly. There was always a willing widow about town ready to fall into a fleeting tryst or two without much effort on his part.
But although he desired Miss Winters in a carnal manner, he also looked upon her as someone who deserved to be treated with care.
Perhaps if he only kissed her?
No, that way led to madness. Miss Winters was a guest staying under his roof, trusted to be safe here by her father.
Where was the doddering old fool anyway? Only a dullard would leave such a jewel unattended and unchaperoned.
Perhaps that was his plan, to dangle his daughter in front of London’s richest men and hope that one took the bait.
Benedict determined that he wanted a word with Mr Winters, even if it was purely to tell him that he took his daughter for granted.
Benedict realised with a snort of self-pity that he really should take himself to bed. He was well into his cups and he needed sleep to clear his mind.
CHAPTER SIX
Emmaline hummed to herself uncertainly,holding up the flickering candle to assess the angle of the halls.
Which way was the ballroom again? And did the peerage have to have quite so many rooms?
Lifting the hem of her plain linen nightgown, Emmaline hurried down the passage she thought was the right way.
Damn that man for lurking around in her thoughts all evening. Was it not enough that she had thought of Lord Seton all day while she painted him?
The only way to purge him from her mind was to put pencil to paper and draw him away. Hopefully, that would alleviate the unfortunate symptoms Emmaline was ashamed to say only grew stronger with each day spent in his presence.
She was beyond infatuated. There were no two ways about it.
Yes, something like this had happened before, and it had not worked out well for her heart. Frightening to think she was susceptible to such nonsense once again.
Thatyoung lord had toyed with her on a whim until he grew bored with the performance. He had flirted shamelessly from the first, and she had been gullible enough then to believe it was genuine. At the time, Emmaline had chalked her state of calf loveto age and naivety, hoping that she had learned a valuable lesson and moving on with her life as if nothing had ever happened.
Emmaline had thought herself immune to such nonsense now at the advanced age of four and twenty, but alas, it seemed that all it had taken was a strong jawline and a set of moody blue eyes to cast the affliction over her.
