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The Duke’s Bargain

Page 66

by I. Benott

Arthur, however, was becoming increasingly aware that he had looked up rather more often than was strictly necessary.

Chapter 20

Eliza let out a quiet sigh and lowered the charcoal into her lap. The page before her remained stubbornly unimpressed by her efforts.

After studying the page for several moments, she surrendered with a small shake of her head. She set the book carefully beside her on the sofa. Though she had only attended two art lessons, her tutor's words had already imprinted themselves upon her mind.

"You must know your subject to capture its vibrance. You must understand it before you can truly paint it."

Perhaps that was why she had chosen to sketch the study rather than the two gentlemen occupying it. The room, she was beginning to understand. Its purpose was evident in every neatly stacked ledger, every campaign map pinned meticulously to the walls, every shelf lined with books on subjects she had never imagined anyone would willingly read. It was orderly, practical and quietly imposing, much like its owner.

Arthur and Laurence, however...

She knew only fragments of each.

Assumptions.

Glimpses.

Another difficulty presented itself. She frowned down at the unfinished sketch. Ordinarily she talked to herself whilst she worked, asking questions aloud, debating colours, complaining when a line refused to behave or praising herself whenever one finally did.

Today, she had denied herself that small comfort. The quiet scratch of Arthur's and Laurence's quills was the only sound in the room besides the occasional turning of parchment, and she had no wish to disturb either gentleman. Every thought that would ordinarily have escaped her lips remained trapped inside her head instead, making her entire process feel strangely unfamiliar.

Perhaps, she thought, she ought to leave them to their work.

She could continue her sketch another day.

The forest bordering the Winworth estate had been calling to her ever since her arrival, its trees visible from almost every upstairs window. Perhaps this afternoon she might finally venture amongst them, discover where the little pathways disappeared to, and see whether there were streams or wildflowers hidden beneath their canopy. She imagined it must be wonderfully peaceful. The thought had scarcely settled before Arthur rose so abruptly that the legs of his chair scraped sharply across the oak floor.

His quill slipped from his fingers, leaving a streak of ink across the parchment as it struck the desk.

Without a word, he crossed the room in three purposeful strides and stopped beside the window.

Eliza blinked. She had heard nothing.

Yet Arthur stood perfectly still, his gaze fixed beyond the glass, every line of his body suddenly alert.

Only a few moments later did she hear it. The distant thunder of galloping hooves. Faint at first, before growing steadily louder.

Laurence had risen too.

Gone was the easy smile that rarely left his face. Laurence's shoulders had straightened instinctively, and for the first time since she had met him, every trace of mischief had disappeared from his expression. The two men exchanged only the briefest glance, yet something seemed to pass silently between them that required no words at all.

Eliza found herself standing almost without thinking.

Crossing to the window above the sofa, she leaned forward just enough to glimpse at the long gravel drive winding towards the iron gates. A horse and rider flashed briefly in the looking glass before disappearing beneath the portico at the front of the house, the animal still stamping impatiently as stable hands hurried to meet it.

The room seemed to change.

Only moments ago it had been filled with nothing more alarming than charcoal and correspondence. Now the air itself felt heavier.

Stiller. She looked back towards Laurence.

His face remained composed, but the warmth that so often softened his features had vanished entirely, replaced by calm vigilance. A knot tightened quietly in her stomach.

Whatever had brought a courier to Winworth at such speed could not bode well.

Three firm knocks echoed through the study.