Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon (35 page)

Maddeningly, the smirk on Aidan’s face
remained ever present. Emma hadn’t discovered a means for removing
it, but at least occasionally it changed in tone.

So often in her experience,
it came across as meaning
I’m higher in
the instep than you and I know it
or
possibly
Everyone in this room is a
crashing bore and I wish to escape at the first
opportunity
. But throughout all of
yesterday afternoon, when she’d looked up in the library and caught
him smirking across the top of his book at her, it had said
something different.

Emma wasn’t entirely sure
yet
what
it said.
Maybe
I am actually enjoying reading a
book but I don’t wish to let anyone know it
. That seemed altogether more likely than the other thought
that had crossed her mind—the one which said it might mean
I like spending time with you, despite
myself
. While such a sentiment may come
eventually, now was too soon for such a change to have occurred.
Wasn’t it?

When the sun had started to wane and
they could no longer read without straining their eyes in the
candlelight, she’d been amazed to discover he didn’t immediately
rush off to do something else. She’d held every expectation that he
would dash off at the first opportunity, desperate to escape her
and the humdrum pastime she preferred—but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d
sat with her in the library, discussing what they’d
read.

It had turned into a rather rousing
discussion, as Aidan had vehemently agreed with Robinson Crusoe’s
attempts to become the master of all around him. They debated the
finer merits of his reading to that point for well over an hour.
All the while, Aidan refused to concede that one could not simply
declare oneself a master and have it be so. Likewise, Emma refused
to believe a man such as Aidan could believe such a thing,
considering the fact that he had likely decided he was the master
of all around him (as only seemed logical, given his temperament)
and yet his sister had taken her fate into her own hands—an act
which, undoubtedly, as the master of all around him, he would not
have allowed.

It was only after their discussion had
grown so heated that David poked his head into the library to see
if he should come to Emma’s aid, which garnered yet another smirk
from Aidan, that it became clear to her.

Aidan wasn’t arguing with her because
he believed the point he was so desperately trying to beat into her
head. He was arguing with her because he found some sort of
perverse pleasure in the act of arguing.

Emma wasn’t entirely
certain whether this propensity for discord spread so far that
Aidan would enjoy arguing with anyone at all, or if he merely took
pleasure in arguing with
her
, but it didn’t particularly
matter. Once she’d discovered the reason for his belligerence,
she’d stopped trying to prove her point.

One could not convince a donkey to do
what a donkey did not want to do, after all. Why bother
trying?

Except, she
had
enjoyed herself in
debating with him. A bit too much, actually. While most gentlemen
would only speak civilly, making certain never to rouse a lady’s
ire, he seemed to take great pleasure in piquing her temper. It was
exhilarating to be able to speak her mind and not have it instantly
dismissed as being mere drivel, simply because it came from the
mind of a woman.

The pleasure they each took from their
argument didn’t mean they were falling in love with one another,
but at least they were finding some common ground.

After they’d ended their time in the
library, they’d gone about the remainder of the evening with the
other houseguests. Aidan had sat with her to play whist, and if she
was not mistaken, he even flirted with her a time or two. It was
slightly difficult to tell for more than one reason. Of course,
there was his ever-present smirk, which masked whatever lay
beneath. But there was also the fact that Emma had so rarely been
flirted with, so she wasn’t entirely certain she’d recognize such
behavior if she saw it.

Then this morning, he’d come out to
help with Morgan and Kingley’s lessons. Sir Henry had begged off,
claiming a headache, but Mr. Deering had gladly taken over anything
the baronet would have done. He focused so much on his interactions
with the dog, however, that it almost felt as though it was just
the three of them working—Emma, Morgan, and Aidan. Emma had found
herself more than just a little charmed by the manner in which
Aidan so willingly helped his sister whenever he could. His desire
to be at her service was almost problematic, as he wanted to do
things for her which clearly, she and Kingley could manage without
Aidan’s interference. Yet, over the course of their lessons, he
began to relax and allow his sister to prove how capable she
was.

It would take time—for all of them.
Morgan and Kingley must learn how to work together, but Aidan and
Lord Trenowyth must learn to trust them.

After they’d completed the day’s
lessons and were making their way across the lawn to the house
again, Emma received her greatest surprise yet.

Her hand was upon Aidan’s arm, and
Morgan and Kingley were several paces ahead of them. Aidan slowed,
allowing his sister to put more distance between them. After Morgan
took several more steps, he spoke. “I’d hoped we might try artwork
today.”

“
Artwork?” If she’d had a
drink, Emma was certain she would have spit it out from shock. “I
can assure you, I’m a dreadful artist. No governess my parents
hired could bear to look at the atrocities I created.”

“
You can’t possibly be as
bad as all that.”

She was certain it was amusement she
heard ringing through his tone.

“
I can assure you, it is
even worse than you can imagine.”

“
While that may be,” he
said slowly, allowing a chuckle to come through, “perhaps you
simply haven’t had the right teacher. Or maybe you haven’t tried
using the right medium.”

“
Father hired six
governesses and a painting master. Not one of them could find any
use for me. We tried watercolors, pastels, coal—even
embroidery.”

At that, he stopped and stared at her
with disbelief. “You can’t even embroider?”

“
Why do you think I spend
so much time reading?” Emma shook her head with a laugh. “It isn’t
that I try to be abysmal at artistic endeavors. I just
am.”

With narrowed eyes, Aidan’s smirk
widened to a smile. “Nonetheless, we read yesterday. Today, we
shall attempt artwork. Unless…”

“
Unless?” She raised a
single eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I’d prefer to go hawking with
the others? Because in all honesty, while I’m a poor shot, I think
I stand a better chance in that endeavor than I do in creating what
anyone might term as being
art.
”

“
I would never have
imagined you as a falconer, Emma.” Then Aidan chuckled. He bent
lower to whisper in her ear. “What I’d hoped to imply was, unless
you have changed your mind and no longer require love.” The arm
she’d been holding wrapped behind her waist, drawing her closer
until the musk of his cologne wafted over her nostrils. “I’d be
perfectly content to forgo your requirement and whisk you off to
the hermitage instead—where we could continue where we were
interrupted before.”

He barely touched her, his fingers
just tickling against her ribcage and his arm only brushing her
side, and yet she couldn’t stop the goose flesh from rippling over
every inch of her flesh from the slight contact. Or perhaps it was
more from the dark intent of his words.

His eyes had turned the shade of the
midnight sky, and the heat of his lips hovered near
hers.

It would be easy to become lost in his
silky promise.

Emma shook her head and pushed her
hands against his chest until he backed away. “We’re falling in
love, and that’s that.”

“
All right.” The smirk had
returned, unsurprisingly.

Of course it had. She shouldn’t have
expected anything else. The thought of seeing his face without the
smirk—well, she couldn’t imagine it.

A husky laugh escaped her. “Very well.
You may attempt to turn me into an accomplished artist this
afternoon, but don’t say I didn’t warn you about my lack of skill
in that particular area. Artistry is quite possibly the feminine
pursuit in which I can be found most wanting.”

He put her hand over his arm again and
resumed their journey to the main house. “Why don’t we allow me to
be the judge of your skill?”

“
And you won’t regret not
going with the others? We could, you know. I wouldn’t
mind.”

For a long moment, he merely stared at
her, his head turned toward her instead of looking where they were
walking. “Your brother-in-law will allow me to return and go
hawking with him any time I wish. I’d prefer to spend the day with
only you.”

Surprising as it was, even to her,
Emma believed him. Maybe there was hope for them to have a love
match, after all. Maybe there could be more than just the spark of
lust that so readily kindled between them. “If you wish,” she
replied.

And so, after they took luncheon with
the rest of the houseguests, the two of them went together to sit
in the rose garden with canvases and easels while the others went
off in the direction of the dovecote. Even Morgan went along with
Kingley on one side and Sir Henry on the other.

Aidan set up an easel for Emma and
gave her a brief instruction on the use of watercolors before
leaving her on her own while he started on his own piece. They
created in silence for quite some time, but with every stroke of
her brush, the canvas before her came closer to resembling a great
greenish-black blob. She sighed in resignation.

Aidan looked around his easel.
“Problem?”

“
I daresay you ought to
judge for yourself, oh master of artistry.” Emma stepped back so he
could come around and get a good view of her mess.

He visibly blanched when he saw it,
which had been a regular response from her governesses over the
years. “You seem to have muddied the whole canvas as though it were
your palette.”

“
I told you I’m a rather
dreadful artist.”

Aidan turned to her and lifted a
skeptical brow. “Are you certain you didn’t do this purposefully?
It is so bad it would seem it has to be intentional.”

Emma couldn’t stop herself
from laughing at his accusation, whether he was serious or joking.
She
thought
he was
joking. Maybe. “I promise I would never do anything of the
sort.”

“
Hmm.” Before she could
defend herself again, Aidan had removed the canvas from the easel
and replaced it with a new one. He turned to her with both hands
held out. “Surrender your brush and paints.”

“
Gladly,” Emma said,
pushing them toward him as though they were poisoned.

Her relief only lasted a moment,
because he quickly replaced them with a box of pastels.

“
These will be far more
difficult for you to create such a muddied effect. Just use one at
a time, blending a bit here and there.”

Then he turned and went back to his
own easel, picking up another box of pastels and resuming his work.
Emma frowned, not that he would see it. He was too absorbed in his
own creation to notice her discontent.

Since sulking about it was pointless,
she decided to set to work on another attempt.

After nearly thirty minutes of
ineffectual strokes with her various pastels, she had what was
supposed to be one of the pink roses on the bush next to her but
which appeared far more like a mal-shaped parasol. But maybe taking
a step back would help it to look better. Didn’t artists tend to do
that, to view their pieces from various distances? She took a step
back, and then another—but now it didn’t even look like a parasol.
It might seem more like a pink storm cloud.

While she examined her piece, Aidan’s
grin flashed in the corner of her eye.

“
Well?” she said, putting
her hands on her hips. “You might as well come and see it for what
it is.”

He moved to stand beside her and
stared at the canvas. After a moment, he cocked his head to the
side and stared again.

Emma pursed her lips. “Go on. I
promise you can’t say anything worse than Miss Throckmorton did
when I was thirteen.”

Instead of speaking, he nodded—and
that same smirk was back on his face. “I suppose now is when I
admit you were right.”

A great peal of laughter escaped
Emma’s lips, and she nodded. “I suppose that will do.”

When he took the canvas down from her
easel, a slight moment of panic hitched in her chest.

“
You’re not going to ask me
to try again, are you?”

He turned to her, but his smirk had
fled. Emma recognized the look in his eye. It was the same
expression he bore each time he kissed her, the same one he’d had
in his eye as he’d unnerved her from across the drawing room. Her
breath hitched when he moved closer.