“It’s barely improper to steal a kiss from one’s own betrothed. Everyone does so.” Harewood readjusted his large hat, the feather bouncing wildly as he moved it. “If your art bird wished to paint something of interest, there are plenty of characters to be found here.” He motioned toward the room with his hand, though the blue silk cloak he wore caught in his wide glove cuff, and he became entangled in it. “Dratted uniform. No wonder France lost to us.”
He swallowed his laugh, knowing Harewood would not see the humor in his predicament. “Have you made your bow to the queen yet?”
Harewood shook his arm until the cloak finally fell away. “Which one?”
“Lady Macbeth.”
“Hardly. The more I learn of that woman, the more I believe you are indebted to me for saving you from a life with her. Do you know she instructed my mother on how to thread her needle and lectured my father on the sins of drinking alone? Since when is that a sin? If it is, I’m going to hell alongside Prinny, though for quite different reasons.”
Unable to refrain, he lifted his hand and made the sign of the cross in front of Harewood.
“Oh, will you stop that.”
He chuckled. “I thought only of your soul.”
“The devil you did. You thought only to irritate me and to have fun doing it. Is that what you do when you sit for your portrait?”
“Yes. I talk a lot and move about too.”
Harewood stared at him, eyes wide. “I thought you were courting her. Does she find that charming?”
“Not in the least.” He grinned. “But it does get her attention, though I don’t think she sees me as anything more than, well, a bowl of fruit.”
“If you’re still a bowl of fruit to her, you may need more lessons in seduction.”
He’d had far too many lessons in seduction, many right alongside Harewood, so for him to pretend a greater experience annoyed him. “I have no need of that. At our last meeting, I was shirtless and she touched my bare skin multiple times.”
“That sounds promising. Did she swoon? Blush? Need to take some air?”
Even as he thought back, the disappointed, disgruntled feeling he had when she’d gone back to her easel to paint, filled him. “No, she returned to her painting. As I said, she sees me as no more than a bowl of fruit.”
“Would that be strawberries and grapes, or pineapples and pears?”
He looked down at himself. “I’m thinking a large melon.”
Harewood laughed, a rather unusual sound, considering his normal cynical view. It must have to do with having the ability to assemble current happenings then conclude an outcome, and always be right. Or rather, almost always. “Perhaps she simply has no interest in bulky shouldered, tanned men who look like laborers.” He twirled his fake mustache. “She most likely has more refined tastes and finds those of us with a slender build and pale skin much more aristocratic.”
It was true that despite the two of them competing in similar sports and other activities while at Oxford, he often helped his men in outdoor labor, preferring to understand the family estate from all angles. Therefore, he did sport darker skin than Harewood, but he’d never found that or his broad build to be a hindrance in the bedroom. “I don’t believe that’s it. I think she simply sees the human form as anotherobjet d’art.”
“Then, my dear friar, what are you going to do about that?”
It was a fair question, and one he’d pondered since he’d left his last sitting. “I find myself now in a rather enviable position as I must seduce her with both words and touch.” He gave Harewood a smug smile. “That is, of course, if I can find her.” He winced at the fact he’d been unsuccessful so far.
“I told you where the shepherdesses are. Why are you still talking to me?” His friend turned toward the room to scan the crowd.
“Because that is not her costume.”
Harewood frowned as he turned back to face him. “What do you mean? You told me she said she’d be a shepherdess.”
“She lied.”
Once again, Amelia’s actions had shocked Harewood as he stood there, mouth agape.
Andrew had to admit, he enjoyed seeing his friend speechless. That alone was worth having her by his side for the rest of his life.
“She…she…lied…to you?”
He nodded. Was it odd to be proud of her for lying? Most likely, but he didn’t care. She’d paid him back for being an uncooperative model and that pleased him. He always envisioned himself with a biddable proper wife, but something changed since his father’s death. His instinct told him Amelia was exactly what he needed in a lifelong mate. Life would never be boring with her by his side.
