To Capture Love (3 page)

Stone nodded impatiently and released his grip.

The curator glanced around, fingers nervously smoothing down his cravat. Stone followed his line of sight, hesitating a moment when he saw Miss Pauline Blackburn looking as lovely as ever. Had she seen the sculpture yet? Did she appreciate it or was she disgusted by it? No, she would have loved it, he knew. He must talk to her, later, after he congratulated the sculptor.

“Where is he?”

The curator’s wide eyes remained fixed across the room. “You’re gazing in the right direction, my lord.”

Stone frowned. The only one who had caught his attention was Miss Blackburn. Beside her were her army 13

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followers. Was one of them the artist?

“Which one?” he asked with impatience.

“Do you see Miss Blackburn, my lord?” the curator asked.

“Yes, but which of the fellows beside her is Black?”

As he said the words, he paused. Black. Blackburn.

At that moment, she glanced up at him. And he knew. He had bumped into her on the way to the museum because she had been rushing to keep her appointment with him. The soldiers who fawned over her were enticed to help inspire this work. His gaze swung to the curator, who nodded.

“She’s the artist, my lord. I’m sorry for having deceived you.”

The rest of the man’s words drifted away and Stone felt himself shrink. He recalled every set-down he had given her. The scolding about her preoccupation with her wardrobe. The lecture at her home on her lack of depth in understanding war. A wave of shame swept over him, and turning on his heels, he quickly quit the room.

Pauline watched him leave and shuddered. She rushed to the curator to ask what his lordship had said about the statues.

“He only wanted to meet the artist,” the curator said, chewing on his already swelling lip. “He said naught else.”

He began to bemoan his career again and Pauline left him, ignoring the noise of the spectators, the compliments that flowed about her work. None of it mattered as much as the disappointment she had seen on Lord Ashford’s face when he looked at her. She wished she could curl up into a ball and spend the rest of her life in hiding. She felt as if her whole world had crumbled.

Much later, after all the guests had departed, Pauline stayed behind, wandering around the museum until she arrived at the gallery housing the classical sculpture collection of Charles Townley and other Egyptian antiquities.

She sat on a tall chair, not noticing any of the beauty about her, her mind filled with questions. What could she have done differently? Which strike of the chisel had taken her in the wrong direction? How had she mistaken Geoffrey’s character in her depiction? Her maid sat 14

To Capture Love

quietly beside her as the museum emptied of visitors.

Much later, the front doors opened and his lordship’s voice echoed in the empty hall and her cold body quivered to life.

The guard on duty let Stone in and he approached the display of his brother, lighted now only by candlelight.

He stood silently, entranced by the artfully brilliant depiction of Geoffrey. All his love for his brother swelled inside him. He had returned to the museum because he couldn’t stay away from this piece.

“Do you like it, my lord?”

Miss Pauline Blackburn stood in the doorway, alone, but for a maid and the anxious curator. The lady appeared much like a graceful Greek goddess cast in marble. He wondered if she knew the effect she had on men, and then supposed not, for he had been entirely mistaken in her character. She seemed as unaware of the beauty she possessed, as of the beauty of her creations.

“I wanted to be sure the statue was exactly as you saw your brother.” She stepped into the room, looking adorably uncertain, and melted Stone’s heart.

He strode up to her, hardly noticing his limping gait, and took her hands, kissing each one in gentle homage.

“How could you not know that you have given Geoffrey back to me? I’m sorry if I upset you by leaving so abruptly, but you must not doubt your amazing accomplishment for one moment longer. You’ve captured him perfectly,” he finished in a gruff voice.

“My Lord,” Pauline began, but Stone laid a gentle finger on her lips.

“Would you do me the honor of calling me Stone?” he begged.

She blushed and he wanted to kiss her. A glance up showed the maid watching them wide eyed beside a suddenly cheery curator. The man caught Stone’s impatient head tilt and with a delighted grin, he hurried out, ushering the maid ahead of him. Though they left the door wide open, their departure did give Stone and Pauline a semblance of privacy.

Pauline turned from following Stone’s line of sight and her lips curved up in an amused smile. “Stone,” she said, sounding breathless. “I’m glad you like the statues. I 15

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wanted to be certain I had captured your brother just as you remembered and loved him.”

He tilted her chin up to better study her beloved face.

“You’ve not only aptly captured him, but myself as well,”

he whispered and gave in to the temptation that had been plaguing him for weeks.

He had intended to kiss her softly, reverently, in gratitude, but the moment his lips grazed hers, gratitude evaporated, and desire flared. Her lips parted, perhaps in shock, but Stone didn’t care. He invaded, intending to make his unabashed claim to this precious woman. No longer would he play second fiddle to his friends, her art, or to his absurd doubts about her. His hands nudged her forward until not a spec of alabaster dust could divide them.

By the time he withdrew from that soul-searing kiss, Pauline gasped in shock. Her knees would have collapsed but for his holding her up. Like flashes of starburst, wherever their bodies met, happiness sparkled the length of her.

How could she have been willing to abandon ever experiencing this feeling? Her mother was right. Her work was indeed not sufficient to sustain her the rest of her life. And she could not, would not allow this man to slip from her world a second time.

“Be warned, Stone,” she began, determined to make her intentions as plain as she dared, “I am addicted to my art. And if this is the payment you give for your commissions, I will never stop working for you.”

He chuckled, as if her dry humor delighted him. “As tempting as that offer is, I would like to make a counter proposal. You, my love, may craft your amazing statues for any one you wish. But since stone is your preferred art form, as Lady Ashford, you may work on me for the rest of my life.”

The devilish gleam in his gaze alerted and thrilled her before his lips descended to stake his claim on her, as she had him.

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