Desires of a Baron (17 page)

“
I suppose,” Seth muttered, falling back into his chair. “Was it my turn or yours?”

“
Seth, have you ever asked her?”

“
Not exactly. I tried to help her find a husband before she told me to stop because no respectable man would want her.”

That wasn’t true. Giles wanted her. Then again, was he really considered respectable? “Did you stop?”

“Yes.” He lowered his lashes. “You don’t think my father is like those men from Shrewsbury do you?’

It took Giles only a second to take his meaning. “No.” Honestly, he didn’t know, but it was bad enough not knowing who his father was, painting him as a rapist only made it worse.

Seth moved his piece.

“
Is your curiosity satisfied, then?”

“
Not completely, but well enough for today, I suppose.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Three Days Later

Lucy was beside herself with worry. She’d gone out in the morning to purchase provisions and the last of the fabric for her new gown with the wages she’d been paid only to return to a vacant apartment. A quick search of the library that was closed for the day filled her chest with panic. Seth wasn’t there, either.

She didn’t even know where to begin to look nor did she know what danger might be out there waiting for him. In the weeks they’d been living in London, they’d either been in the library or with one of the Appletons. Never alone. No matter. She needed to find him and assure herself that he was all right. Who knows what kind of trouble a boy of his age might find for himself.

She rushed out the door of the library and locked it behind her, then dashed down the street to Giles’ house. She was only going to find him because he lived the closest, she assured herself, although deep in her heart she knew that wasn’t the only reason.

Heedless to the angry shouts of the carriage drivers and riders in the streets, Lucy tore down the street and straight to Giles’ house where she flew up the steps and pounded on his bright red door.

A moment later, the door swung open, revealing not a stodgy, greying butler as she’d expected, but Giles himself.

“I need help,” she exclaimed without preamble.

Giles’ strong hands closed around her upper arms and guided her inside his house. “What’s wrong?” he asked, wiping away a tear on her right cheek she didn’t even know she’d shed.

“Seth,” she cried. “He’s gone.”

Something flickered over Giles’ face that she couldn’t recognize and just as soon as it was gone, his hand was at the small of her back, and guiding her forward. Were she not worried about her son she might have melted at the natural feeling of his touch. Instead, it soothed her in a way she didn’t think was possible at the moment. On her back, his hand moved up and down rhythmically. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. His touch alone was enough to calm her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered at last, steering her into the room his mother said he kept locked. “I thought you knew.”

Before she could ask what he meant her eyes fell on her son’s form as he sat on a stool in front of a canvas.

She was overcome with emotion and ran to him, not sure whether she should hug him or beat him. “What are you doing here?”

“
Painting.”

Lucy blinked back her tears and looked to the white canvas he’d gestured to. “Is it a cloud?” she suggested with a sniffle.

“No. I’m not sure what I’ll paint on this one.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “I tried to do an estate with rolling hills and trees with the last one, but it doesn’t look right.”

Lucy squinted at the unrecognizable picture he’d indicated and pursed her lips. “Just how many times have you come here to paint?”

“Two,” Seth admitted with a visible swallow. “I mean this is my second. I came the first time you went with Simon, too.”

“
First time,” she mindlessly repeated. Now she knew what he’d done all day when he’d claimed not to feel well and said he didn’t wish to go to the museum with her and Simon. “You’ve been coming here every Monday and Thursday, then?” So much was now making sense in her mind. He always seemed breathless when she returned from her morning errands. He was probably tired from having run back to the library to beat her. She glanced around the room at all of the paintings and drawings. Now the emergence of the sketchbook made sense, too.

“
I’m sorry,” Giles said from behind her, his voice so soft and quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “I thought you knew he was coming here.”

She whirled around. “Well, I did not.” Flushing with shame at her outburst, she ran her open palms over her face. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that. You did no wrong.”

Giles’ face remained expressionless. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I should have asked him if you knew.”

“
No,” Lucy corrected. “
He
should have asked before coming instead of lying to me.” She turned toward Seth, her anger with him firmly in place now that she knew he was safe. “Why did you come here anyway?”

“
When? The first time?”

Or
any
time? “You can start with that time.”

“
Simon said he planned to take you to a museum and that I probably wouldn’t like to go.”

She could accept that. Given the choice she’d have rather spent the day with Giles, too. “And the other times?”

“Because you were gone. I just thought—” He broke off with a shrug.

“
That you’d come prevail upon Lord Norcourt to entertain you?”

Seth blushed. “I wasn’t bothering him.”

Lucy snorted. “I’m sure you weren’t.”

“
He wasn’t,” Giles said, shocking her to the toes and stealing her breath.

“
Surely you’re just being kind,” she said once she’d recovered.

“
No. He’s no bother.”

Lucy searched his face for some hint that he was hiding something, but if he was, he’d mastered a way to hide it. Her eyes traveled down to his white shirt and noticed the top button was undone and his coat, waistcoat, and cravat were all discarded with his cuffs rolled up around his elbows, revealing his strong forearms. He was quite dashing in a strangely disheveled sort of way. She blushed. “Thank you for allowing him to spend time here and being kind about it, but I know you have other things to do and I’ll make sure he doesn’t trouble you again.”

“It’s no trouble,” Giles said, his tone even and calm like it usually was. “He’s welcome to stay—and so are you.”

Lucy’s mouth went dry.
Stay?
She couldn’t stay. “Oh, I couldn’t,” she stammered. “I mean, I
shouldn’t
.” She squeezed her eyes shut. She’d do well to stop talking. “I can’t.”

“
All right, then you go home and I’ll stay,” Seth said casually.

Frowning, Lucy said, “That won’t be happening.”

“Then stay,” Seth said, a hint of a plea in his voice.

Lucy looked to Giles. He shrugged. Which, was tremendously unhelpful, because it told her absolutely nothing about how he really felt. “We should go home,” Lucy stated firmly.

“You don’t have to.”

Lucy didn’t know who was more surprised by his words, her or Giles whose wide eyes and raised eyebrows gave away that he hadn’t meant to voice them. “It’s all right,” she said. “I appreciate your generosity toward Seth, but we can’t trouble you any further.”

His hand reached out to stop her. “It’s no trouble.” This time his voice was solid and sure. “Stay.”

“
Yes, let’s stay.”

She barely heard Seth’s voice as he continued on about learning to paint over the loud thump of her beating heart.

“All right,” she whispered.

A grin wider than she’d ever seen split Giles’ face and his hand tightened a fraction. Blushing, he released her. “Do you paint?”

“No.”

“
That’s all right.” He walked over to a scuffed up oak bureau that was positioned just a few feet away from where Lucy stood. “I’ll show you.”

An excited shiver skated up Lucy’s spine.

“You never showed me,” she heard Seth say followed immediately by Giles replying, “You’re not a lady.”

***

Giles could no more believe he’d invited her to stay than he could believe she’d agreed. “Brushes,” he barked. He cleared his throat and retrieved a small metal palate from the drawer. He gripped the material in one hand and snatched an empty cup from the top with the other. “Over here.”

Lucy followed him to the easel he’d positioned in front of the window. It was his favorite. He’d always liked open windows. It had been too dark in the boys’ room at the orphanage. He shuddered and set the brushes and cup down with an indelicate tap.

Grabbing the dry canvas on top of the easel with his right hand, he tapped the fingertips on his left hand on top of the stool. “Sit here.”

Lucy sat and repositioned her skirts while he turned to snatch her a fresh canvas. He caught Seth’s eye, but the amused boy didn’t say anything, just wagged his eyebrows. Giles couldn’t begin to understand why and continued about his business.

“What would you like to paint?”

“
I don’t know.” Lucy tucked a tendril of her dark hair behind her ear and looked around the room at all the different portraits he had lining the room. He really should get rid of some of them. “I never thought about it before.” She met his eyes. “Apparently subjects never seem to elude your mind.”

Giles reached for the last unoccupied stool and dragged it over toward her and sat down. “Sometimes I have more ideas than I could possibly paint in a lifetime.” He reached for her hand and began removing her gloves so she wouldn’t soil them. “Other days my mind is as dry as the bottom of a paint jar that was left out without the cap.” A giggle passed her lips, doing odd things to his insides. He released her hand and cleared his throat. “Have you a fondness for—” he scanned the room to see what he’d painted that she might like— “sunsets or horses, rivers or mountains, farms or buckets—”

“Buckets?” she asked, craning her neck.

He pointed to the far end of the room where a canvas with a watering pail sitting atop a chipped and scratched wooden table was resting against the wall.

“Why a bucket?”

Her voice held no condemnation, so he answered truthfully. “I painted that the day I came back from your house in Shrewsbury. You’d asked me to fetch some water…” He trailed off unable to voice the rest.

“I see.”

Giles busied himself with opening jars of paints before she could see anything else.

“Have you ever painted a human form?” she wondered.

“
No. I tried once, but I find it difficult.” He reached for the tan jar and removed the top. “You might do fine though.”

“
I doubt it,” she said with a little giggle.

“
You’ll only know if you try.” Another lock of her dark hair had fallen across her face. He carefully pushed it behind her ear. “Who would you like to paint? Simon?” he croaked, praying she wouldn’t agree to wasting his materials in such a way.

“
No.” She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the left. “I think I’d rather paint you.”

All the air left his lungs in one swift
whoosh
. Him. She wanted to paint
him.
Unable to form the words to ask her why, he sat still and watched her go about selecting which brush she thought she might need.

“
Are you going to give me instruction, or will I have to ask Seth how to paint with such splendor.”

“
Pencil,” he croaked. Clumsily, he reached for the pencil that was near the paints. “Draw it first.”

Lucy took the pencil from him and brought the point to the canvas, a small smile curving her lips as she glided her pencil around to make a perfect oval. “I think I should start with faces before attempting anything more complex.”

Giles didn’t care what she started with—even cacti that resembled unmentionables if that’s what she wanted. He just enjoyed sitting next to her as she did it.

She tapped the end of the pencil against her lips as if she were trying to remember where facial features were located.

“I’m right here, if you need to cheat,” he whispered.

Her cheeks grew a fetching pink and she turned to look at him. He stayed still while she studied his face. “May I?”

Giles bit the inside of his mouth. He had no idea what she was asking, but not wanting to make a fool of himself by asking, nodded.

A second later, she lifted her delicate fingers to his skin. With her fingertips, she traced the contours of his face. His cheekbones, chin and jaw. She turned to the canvas and drew lines inside the oval. They were a little darker than he might have made them, but he couldn’t bring himself to correct her. He’d just have to mention something about using more paint to cover them when she was ready.

She turned back to him and tentatively touched him again. This time she felt his eyebrows and around his eye socket, then down his nose. Who knew being touched thus could excite him so. When she’d finished drawing in the outline of his eyes and nose, she brought her fingers to his lips, inflicting the worst torture imaginable on him as her fingers brushed over them then traced the outside edge. His groin hardened instantly and his lips ached to kiss her fingers—even just ever-so-lightly, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he shifted just enough to hide the way his erection tented his trousers and he trained his eyes on the canvas.

Without touching him again, she drew two flaring swoops down from either side of his chin, which he presumed was to be his neck, then she set the pencil down and reached toward the brushes that were in the water.

“Which am I supposed to use.”