“I fear I will have a very short while to update you on today’s mores.” Despite her supposed fear, there was laughter in her voice. “I do believe winter has joined us early this year.”
So used to avoiding being alone with a woman, he paused just outside the doors before remembering that being with her was what he wanted. He continued just to the right, not far from the warmth of the ballroom, unwilling for her to grow too chilled, yet out of sight of Harewood or anyone else for that matter.
He disengaged his arm to step in front of her. He took her gloved hand in his. “My dear miss, I fear I must leave the cloister, for your beauty has overtaken me and I now renounce my vows.”
Once again, she laughed at him. “Dear monk, I am hardly worth renouncing your vows for. I am no more than a simple milliner. Why you know nothing about me beyond my work.” She patted the hats on top of her head with her free hand.
“But I can guess.” He held up his hand so she wouldn’t interrupt then closed his eyes. “I believe that you are a kind person who does for others.” He opened his eyes to judge her reaction. She kept her smile, but it was not relaxed. “I also believe that you are very knowledgeable about your work. You seek perfection, but don’t feel your work is worthy.”
Her smile disappeared as she stared at him.
He grasped her hand to his chest, or as close as the pillow would allow. “I believe you are afraid that without your work, there is no point in life. I believe you are afraid that in anything else in life, you will be mediocre at best, but I know that cannot be.”
Behind the elaborate mask, her eyes glistened in the lantern lights of the terrace, and his heart ached at the confirmation in her tear-filled eyes. With his free hand, he cupped her cheek. “You are worthy beyond your own understanding.” Unable to resist, he leaned forward and kissed her.
At the feel of her soft lips yielding to his, a possessiveness like none he’d experienced before took hold. He snaked his hand behind her neck and deepened the kiss, coaxing her to let him in so that he might taste the wonder of her. As her mouth opened to him, he delved in to taste her heady flavor, a mixture of tang from the punch and pure Amelia.
A need built in his abdomen that raked up his back, demanding he pull her into his arms, but he kept it at bay, not wanting to scare her away.
As her tongue met his, he barely stifled a groan at the sweet sensation. Her tentative movements assured him she’d never opened to another man and his body’s demands to claim her grew stronger. He had to stop before he lost all his senses. Forcing himself to withdraw from her warmth, he started to pull back, but she thrust her tongue into his mouth even as her free hand clutched his shoulder.
His whole body leapt with joy, including his manhood, which was well covered by the robes and pillow. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stifle a groan as she explored his mouth with her tongue. At the sound, she pulled away, startled.
He let her go and her gaze roamed his face before she shivered. He opened his mouth to offer to take her in, but received a slap across his face.
“You assume too much, sir!”
Stunned, he stared at her, true fury alive in her eyes. Then with no other word, she marched back into the ballroom and disappeared from sight.
He pressed his hand to his stinging cheek. Yes, he deserved that, though to be fair, a kiss was an appropriate recompense for having lied to him. She had reacted to him with far more passion than he’d expected. He leaned his back against the wall of the home, the cool air helping to get his body under control. However, it did nothing for his stinging cheek.
His euphoria vanished in an instant. For her to have slapped him meant she didn’t recognize him, which had been the point of his costume. Was he to then conclude that she thought herself kissing a stranger? If so, then how staunchly did she keep to their bargain, and more importantly, would she fulfill her part of the agreement after the painting was accomplished?
For the first time since agreeing to Amelia’s proposal, he was assailed with misgivings. No longer confident, he moved toward the open doors to the ballroom. He needed to keep vigilant and see if she engaged with any other gentlemen at the ball. The last thing he needed was a wife who could not keep her word.
Chapter Twelve
Amelia stared outthe window of her studio, the blank canvas long forgotten. There was nothing of any import to look at. The leaves were gone, the gardens put to bed for the winter, the birds flown south, and nothing moved under the overcast sky. It was the stillness that captivated her, that urged her to paint it, but she’d tried before. There was no possibility that a painting could capture the ultimate lack of movement in a living, breathing scene. It was a small mystic moment that soothed her soul more than anything else had been able to so since the masquerade five nights prior.
She refused to allow the memory to disturb her short peace. Tears and crumbling sketches had brought her no relief from the physical awakening Andrew had brought forth in her. Nor the anger that burned inside her that he could kiss a strange woman with no thought of her. His very presence upset her, yet he was necessary to creating her masterpiece. It had to be accomplished or she’d be like her mother, never knowing where her talent could lead her. And it definitely led her to Andrew. He was the key to hertour de force. Every fiber of her psyche told her he was the subject that would release her best work. He just couldn’t touch her…or another.
With her heart racing again, she tried to refocus on the stillness outside, but it was of little use. Her mind had wandered to her dilemma once again. With a sigh, she finally rose and took a sip of her cold morning tea. Even her marmalade toast remained half-eaten. She stared at the blank canvas across the room. No image formed in her mind except that of a masked Andrew pulling her closer as his lips descended upon hers. “This will never do.”
Setting down her teacup, she opened the little drawer in the small desk beneath the tea tray and pulled out Belinda’s miniature. She ran her finger over the glass, still amazed at how perfect the likeness was. But it was more than simply what Belinda looked like. Somehow, she’d captured who Belinda was. “I could use your special kind of peace now, Bea. Could you send some?”
A knock at the door had her staring hard at the miniature of Belinda, but when the doorknob jiggled, she knew it had to be Mariel. “I’m coming.”
After laying the miniature back in the drawer, she wound her way through the furniture and opened the door, her heart leaping. “Joanna!”
Her sister grinned. “I knew you would be happy I arrived. I come bearing gifts.”
Though she didn’t feel she could confide in Joanna, her sister always proved an excellent distraction. She gave her a hug, then ushered her in from the cold, taking the packages and setting them down on her sketching table. “Are these the oil paints?”
Joanna hung her cloak on the hook revealing a royal blue walking dress that brought out the blue in her hazel eyes and complimented her dark tresses. “They are. I purchased every color I could find.” She winked. “I even dragged James to a few other shops for more.”
“I didn’t think your booksellers sold oil paints.”
“How little you know.” Joanna moved into the room and looked at the two easels with blank canvases. “Where is all your work?” She liftedThe Education of the Feminine Speciesfrom the table nearby. “Has my book helped?”
