Julian West was walking toward them from the other end of the hall. He held a fair-haired young girl, who looked to be no more than eleven or twelve years old, by the hand. “Ah, here you are, Cam. Amelia wouldn’t rest until we found you. Good afternoon, Lady Eleanor,” he added, with a polite bow.
Eleanor gave him a nod, her face as stiff and cold as Venus’s. He might act the gentleman if he pleased, but she hadn’t forgotten his infamous behavior toward her sister. Charlotte still hadn’t told her the whole story, but she knew enough.
Julian West was as guilty as the bee that stung Cupid.
She half-turned away from him to indicate her displeasure, but she couldn’t resist a peek at him from the corner of her eye, just to see if he . . .
Yes, blast it. Unbearably handsome, much as his cousin was. Tall, with dark, tousled hair and a wide, infectious smile. Goodness. She didn’t approve of Charlotte’s behavior in the least, but even Eleanor could understand how a man such as this could tempt a lady into an indiscretion.
She swept a resentful gaze over Camden and Julian West. How maddening the two of them should look so absurdly handsome standing there together, as if they were a painting themselves, rendered in vibrant colors and loving detail by a besotted artist’s brush. Zeus and Apollo, perhaps?
Eleanor curled her lip.Zeus and Apollo, indeed.More like Lucifer and his mirror image.
“Uncle Julian said we might see the pictures today, Denny.”
Eleanor peered down at the girl, who appeared to be speaking to Camden West.
Denny?
Mr. West held out his hand to her. “It’s odd, Julian, but I don’t recall you saying you intended to visit the Royal Academy’s exhibition today. Whatever could have tempted you here, I wonder?”
Julian shrugged. “Nothing less than a love of art, cousin, and a concern for Amelia’s classical education.”
The girl, Amelia, took Mr. West’s hand. In her other hand she held an artist’s box. She looked up at Eleanor with a shy smile, then turned her attention back to Camden West. “I’ve brought my box with me. Mightn’t I stay, and copy some pictures?”
Amelia looked from one adult to the next, her dark eyes pleading, and Eleanor had the strangest urge to sink to her knees, take the child in her arms and reassure her that yes, of course she might stay. She hadn’t the vaguest notion who this child might be, but she pled so prettily, and she was so positively cherubic, with her cloud of blonde hair and her dark, intelligent eyes.
Eleanor couldn’t imagine how anyone could refuse her anything.
Except perhaps Camden West, who, like Lucifer, must hate cherubs, and would no doubt send this one back from where she’d come—
“Well, I suppose we can’t send you away without a sketch or two.” He ruffled her hair. “Can we, minx?”
Eleanor gaped at him, dumbfounded. He’d sounded almost . . . human. No, more than that. Worse than that. His soft, teasing voice made her skin prickle with awareness, as if someone had slipped a finger inside her gown to stroke her neck.
He looked as if he couldn’t bear to disappoint the child, either. He chucked her under the chin, then placed a gentle hand on her head and turned her toward Eleanor. “Since you will stay, Amelia, you must make your curtsy to Lady Eleanor Sutherland. My lady, this is my sister, Miss Amelia West.”
His sister?How odd. Lucifer didn’t have a sister, did he?
She hadn’t any time to sort it out, however, for Amelia West sank into a dainty curtsy before her. “How do you do, Lady Eleanor?”
For the first time since Mr. West arrived in Mayfair to collect her this morning, the steel stiffening Eleanor’s spine began to melt. She held out her hand to the little girl. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss West.”
Amelia wrapped her small fingers around Eleanor’s. “Are you a real lady?”
“Amelia,” Julian West began, but Eleanor shook her head at him. She leaned down so she could look into the child’s face. “Yes. My father was an earl.”
Amelia hesitated for a moment, then said in a rush, “What does it feel like, to be a real lady?”
“Hmmm.” Eleanor closed her eyes and kept her face grave as she pretended to give this question the utmost consideration. After a moment she opened them. “I think,” she said, smiling at Amelia, “it feels quite the same as not being one.”
Amelia’s eyes opened wide in surprise, then she laughed. “How silly. It doesn’t really!”
Eleanor, charmed by the girl’s reaction, couldn’t help but return the laugh. “Oh, yes. Really.”
Her smile faded, however, as soon as she straightened and caught the look of pleased surprise on Camden West’s face. Eleanor’s heart lurched in her chest. She’d forgotten herself for a moment, and she couldn’t afford to do so again. She’d managed to annoy him with her chatter today, and she didn’t intend to lose the ground she’d gained.
Mr. West offered his arm. “Shall we go view Mr. Lawrence’s work? His portrait of the Duke of York is said to be a good likeness.”
