Page 23
Nine
Brighton Seafront-Promenade
TWO DAYS LATER ~ MIDMORNING
Cassius scooped up a handful of pebbles and, contemplating the play of the ocean’s waves along the shoreline, began tossing them one at a time into the foamy waters. A brisk breeze teased the sea, creating small white peaks and ruffling his hair.
Several gulls, carried by the wind’s currents, floated gracefully over the pristine greenish-blue water, sunlight glittering like a million diamonds on the choppy surface.
Frustrated at his inability to still get the lighting exactly right on his storm seascape painting, he’d put aside his brushes and decided a brisk walk and fresh air along the shore might inspire him.
Only bothering to slip on a hunting jacket, he’d grabbed an apple to eat on the way and walked straight from his studio to the beach. He tossed another smooth black pebble into the gently rolling waves, followed by an equally smooth gray stone.
While perfection eluded his seascape, he was quite pleased with how Beatrice Fairfax’s portraits were coming along. Without consent from either her or Lord Highbury, Cassius had elected to secretly create a full-sized portrait as he’d contemplated doing the other day.
He suspected there’d be hell to pay if Highbury found out, and he bloody well did not know what he’d do with the portrait after the art exhibition.
Regardless, it was an injustice to confine Beatrice’s unique beauty to a tiny, three-inch miniature. She deserved to be displayed in all her rare glory, even if it was only at the show in London.
He hadn’t decided if he’d allow Beatrice to see the full-sized portrait.
It was her right, of course.
But Cassius felt certain she would object. He’d glimpsed the swiftly hidden mutiny in her glance the other day. She wasn’t as amendable to having her likeness replicated as she affected. Her reticence was caused by more than the duress and coercion from her uncle too, but Cassius couldn’t identify what her reluctance stemmed from, besides the obvious.
She didn’t want an arranged marriage.
He knew full well he overstepped the bounds with this clandestine project, but as he wasn’t charging a fee to paint the portrait and he was still in need of paintings for the British Institution, he justified his actions.
Cassius Nathan Everett Westbrook, that’s a bloody stretch and you deuced well know it.
Curving his mouth into a self-deprecatory smile, he pitched the rest of the pebbles into the sea.
Aye, no small amount of truth there.
Woof.
Woof. Woof.
Half-turning toward the barking dog, he spied Beatrice Fairfax walking toward him, her ever-faithful canine companions at her side. Her eyes widened the merest bit upon seeing him, and he vowed her cheeks reddened.
Was her flushed face because of their last encounter when she’d stuck her tongue out at him?
She reminded him of his spirited sister, Althelia, but he doubted Beatrice Fairfax had ever dared stick her tongue out at anyone before, not even as a lass. Nay, she seemed the type who did her utmost to obey and remain as invisible as possible.
What a tyrant Highbury must be.
Upon seeing Cassius, Nala fairly danced in excitement, but the lead fastened to the boarhound’s collar kept her at her mistress’s side.
Cassius set off in their direction.
Woof. Woof.
Nala wagged her tail so hard that her back end wiggled and, given the hound’s immense size, that was something to behold.
Not to be outdone, Teddy pranced about.
Yap. Yappity, yap, yap.
