The plan became clear to Andrew. “And I will guess that if we find the footman who gave you the note and ask him who it came from, he will point to Lady Garmoyle.”
Clearly caught now, the woman started to cry to Lady Enderly. “I admit I did arrange this assignation. I only hoped to please you.”
Lady Wakefield, silent until now, stepped around Lady Enderly to confront Lady Garmoyle. “You would trap my daughter into a marriage she didn’t want to satisfy your own thirst for revenge? My daughter? An artistic genius who needs time to produce her best work with which to grace mankind? Do you understand how petty and small your motivation is, and how large the ramifications your scheming could have had?” The woman’s voice had risen to such a fury that they all stared.
Andrew could feel Lady Wakefield’s need to strike out at Lady Garmoyle and was both pleased and concerned. He strode to her and stepped between the two women. “My lady, I fear that one of such small mind cannot appreciate your anger.”
Lady Wakefield finally looked at him and took a deep breath. “You are correct. Thank you, Lord Sommerset. I will simply let it be known among thetonthat this personage is not welcome among those of us with higher breeding.”
Lady Garmoyle gasped as Lady Wakefield gave her the cut direct and gracefully walked to where her husband stood with her daughter. “I believe it is time we returned to Thornwood.”
“Louisa.” Lady Enderly stepped forward as the three headed for the door, her worry over her lifelong friendship clear for all to see.
He doubted that their friendship was over. Lady Wakefield was simply in a pique. “She will reflect and come to understand that it was not your fault.”
At his words, Lady Enderly turned to look at him, but her gaze went past him where Lady Garmoyle stood. “You are no longer welcome here or anywhere my family resides. You are a viper.” With that, she turned to him, her usual calm friendliness back in place. “If you would be so good as to escort me back to the ballroom?”
He held out his arm. “It would give me the utmost pleasure.”
“Come along, Felton. I don’t want you left alone with anyone this night.”
Harewood gave her a formal bow and followed them out of the room.
As they moved toward the entry of the ballroom, a footman was sent for the butler and soon Lady Enderly had given directions for the removal of Lady Garmoyle by morning. His pleasure that he would no longer need to worry about the woman bent on revenge was cut short upon re-entering the ball. There were still hours to go and the one woman he wished to be with had left, but to keep up appearances, he must attend to a few more ladies.
Tomorrow. He promised himself that tomorrow would be the end to the subterfuge. He would convince Amelia they could no longer wait. It was time to finish the final painting and be formally betrothed. Already, he could imagine the pleasure on his mother’s face when he told her he’d be getting married and that there would be a winter wedding.
Chapter Fifteen
Amelia stared atthe dark clouds and overcast skies. She’d come out to her studio early, anxious to plan the perfect painting. She could feel it in her soul, but then the footman had brought out her breakfast with a request from her mother to come back to the house due to the weather. She’d sent back a note saying she couldn’t. She just hoped her mother understood that she needed to paint today.
She scanned the fields that bordered the forest between Sunnydale and Thornwood, knowing in her head that Andrew probably wouldn’t come today, but in her heart still hoping he would. It had been pelting hail since breakfast and three hours later the ground looked like an ice sculpture.
She finally turned away from the window and went back to her sketch. It lay on top of old sketches she’d done of the acropolis years ago. She’d decided on the exact angle and where Andrew would be. The Parthenon would rise above him on his left and a clear blue sky would fill the upper right. He needed to be painted in the sun, despite the weather. Could she do a general sketch of him in the center?
She picked up her brown pastel that was almost gone. She should use another color, but it just felt right and allowed her strokes to flow. Pulling another sketch she’d done of Andrew, she drew the rough outline of him looking forward. Shuffling through her sketches, she found the one of him without his shirt, but he faced the wrong way, his torso twisted. Frustrated, she dropped the pastel on the table. She was wasting her time.
Rising from her stool, she stalked to the fireplace, adding another log to the fire. She definitely didn’t want to go back to the house while hail continued to come down. Glancing out the window again, she frowned. It looked like it had turned to rain. That was a hopeful sight as it might melt the coating of ice on the ground, but she was still in no hurry to go out in it.
What could she use to sketch Andrew’s body when she’d not seen it in the position she wanted? This was her downfall as an artist and one of the reasons she could never be a master. She always had to have her object or person in front of her, or at least a sketch or painting of her subject. Now, she was right back to her old frustration of not being able to paint the male body as—
Her gaze fell upon her chest. “Of course.” Striding over to it, she unlocked it and grabbed Joanna’s book onThe Illustrated Pleasures of Seduction. Bringing it to the table, she unclasped the lock and opened it.
It opened not to the page she needed, but to a different page where a man sat upon a straight-backed chair and the woman straddled him. She’d viewed the image before, but this time as she stared at it, she could see Andrew sitting there. His mouth on her breast as the man’s was in the sketch. Her belly tensed as something tightened between her thighs. The woman’s back was arched, her head back while the man gripped her buttocks.
Not comfortable with how her body reacted, she flipped the pages, but another sketch caught her eye. The man stood behind the woman, his arse tense, his thigh muscles clearly outlined as a line indicated he pressed the woman against a wall. The three-quarter view, revealed one of his hands grasped her breast while the other wrapped around her abdomen, her leg lifting slightly.
She slammed the book closed, her heart suddenly racing and her breathing shallow. Had she caught a fever coming out in the bitter cold? She felt her cheek with her palm. It was warm, but not hot. Was it the book? She stared at the book that she’d deemed so helpful. She rifled through her sketches on the table until she pulled out the one she’d done of Michelangelo’sDavid.Looking at it, her body did not react. Because there was no woman?
Ever since Andrew’s last visit, her skin seemed over-sensitized from his caresses, so much so that she’d changed her dress for the ball last night three times. If he affected her in this way, then it might interfere with her painting…or did it help? Pulling out the oil that was him, yet not him, she studied it. She wasn’t fond of it because it didn’t look like Andrew, but she couldn’t help noticing how perfectly she’d captured his body, his expression, and his position. She’d completed it after he’d left, after he’d touched her so intimately. Was that the key to unlocking him in a painting? Feeling him and being touched by him?
She shook her head at such fanciful notions. Purposefully, she sat on her stool and opened the book from the beginning, flipping over the dedication page to the images of the nude man and nude woman on each facing page. She paused, waiting to see if her body heated. When it didn’t, she let out a breath. “Good.”
Though she hadn’t seen Andrew in this particular position, from what she’d seen, he was more muscular, broader, and a lot more attractive. Still, the sketch could help her place him in the setting and set the perspective correctly. Picking up the pastel, she began to sketch again. As she worked, she could almost see Andrew standing there and the form began to look more like him than the book image. Happy with what she had so far, she was ready for the lion. Standing, she stretched her back then returned to her chest. She had a few sketches of lions she could use to determine the perfect position.
Lifting out a stack of animal sketches, she brought them back to her table when a knock sounded. Her heart skipped a beat, and she ran to the door. It couldn’t be him, but hope rose hard.
Throwing open the door, she gazed upon a very wet Andrew. “Oh, no. Hurry, come in and warm yourself by the fire.”
