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“I recommend cornflower blue, my lord.” Lord Cassius made the suggestion as confidently as if he addressed a peer.
Perhaps he did.
Only younger sons of dukes and marquesses bore the honorific lord before their given name.
Just who was Lord Cassius Westbrook?
Giving him a sharp look, Uncle Cedric considered the suggestion. “Why?”
“That shade will pair well with her coloring, brightening her eyes, softening her freckles, and complementing her hair.” He sent Beatrice a reassuring glance. “Besides, you specified she appear noble. Blue has long been associated with regalness and royalty.”
“I c-can hear y-you, you kn-know.” Beatrice didn’t know where she summoned the gumption to be so bold, but no one enjoyed being discussed like they weren’t there or were a commodity to present to buyers.
“I’d hold my tongue, gel.” Uncle Cedric speared her with a wrath-filled glower before directing his attention back to Lord Cassius. “You’re the artist. I’d dress her in chartreuse if you thought it would make her more attractive.”
Heat scoured Beatrice’s cheeks as she signaled Nala to come to her side. The hound complied instantly. Teddy trotted over and, with his chocolate brown eyes, silently begged her to pick him up. She did at once, to hide the distress her uncle’s unkindness caused her in front of a stranger.
“You mistake me.” A steeliness entered Lord Cassius’s tenor. “I never implied Miss Fairfax needed enhancement. For I assure you, the canvas shall adore her, should she choose to wear wren brown or mourning gray. I also suggest no jewelry or cosmetics and that she wear her hair down.”
Beatrice hid a pleased smile in Teddy’s shoulder.
No one had ever championed her before, nor complimented her appearance.
“Hmph.” Uncle grunted his doubt. “I don’t want her to look like the Virgin Mary, Westbrook—not that she could with that hair.”
He flicked his hand disparagingly toward her head.
“I assure you, my lord, the likeness shall be acceptable to your strict standards.” Again, a less than deferential tone infused Lord Cassius’s flinty response.
“Next week, Friday?” Uncle clasped his hands behind his back, a hint of irritation hardening his jaw. “Same time?”
“No. Morning.” Lord Cassius collected his paintbrushes and as he wrapped them in a linen cloth, shook his head. “The lighting is much better. More flattering. Besides, my studio can get quite warm in the afternoon.”
Lord Cassius glanced at Beatrice. “Ten?”
He asked her. Not Uncle, but her.
“Yes.” She dared a nod and refused to look in her uncle’s direction, certain she’d find nothing but contempt etched upon his features. At least she hadn’t stuttered when she answered.
“Get yourself into the house and clean up, Beatrice.” Uncle Cedric raised an eyebrow. “You look like common riffraff. Millborn, return the emeralds to my study.”
“Yes, my lord,” Millborn said in her usual subservient manner.
Beatrice half-turned to go, but Lord Cassius hailed her.
“Miss Fairfax?”
“Yes, Lord Cassius?”
He swept his mouth upward into a charming grin. “We were not properly introduced.”
She darted a glance toward Uncle Cedric, who had the good grace to flush to his hairline.
No doubt he hadn’t considered her worthy of an introduction.
“I am Lord Cassius Westbrook, youngest son of the Duke of Latham.”
That answered that question.
He flashed a grin, so startling in its beauty, Beatrice couldn’t help but blink. Her heart forgot to beat for an instant, and her breath hung suspended. Surely the earth ceased rotating as well.
“Well, one of his two youngest sons,” he said. “I have a twin.”
Good Lord.
There were two of them?
She dipped into a curtsy, quite pleased she didn’t wobble in the least. “I-I look forward t-to our next meeting, sir.”
“As do I.” He grinned again, and she could almost believe he meant it.
Beatrice had barely stuttered while speaking to him.
Her heart sang all the way back to the house, which was just silly because she still meant to sabotage Lord Cassius Westbrook’s painting. Even if he was the most alluring figure of masculinity that she’d ever set eyes upon.
