The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(74)
He winced at his mistake. “But they’re in a garden, growing under a tree.”
“For sale in a basket at market,” she corrected.
“Of course they are. I can see that now. All of your time spent with great works of art has clearly influenced—”
He broke off at the sound of Isabelle’s laughter.
“I meant no insult. Your paintings show great enthusiasm.”
Her laughter increased until she was clinging to his arm and tears gleamed in her eyes. “Enthusiasm,” she repeated on a cackle. “I don’t believe any museum showings are in my future.”
“Perhaps not, but I enjoy your paintings.”
“You, sir, may keep my precious works of art to grace the walls of your fine home.”
“An honor to be sure. Should I hang the blobs of red in the main hall for everyone who visits to admire or the blobs of blue? The red, I think.” He smiled and shook himself out of the coat that had been overly warm all afternoon. There was no need for formality with her. There was no formal nature to anything between them anymore. Ever since they had put an end to their dispute earlier in the week, an easiness had settled around them, luring Fallon deeper into what he logically knew were dangerous waters. Hang logic. Isabelle was fresh air after a lifetime of enclosed spaces.
Fallon had only the next ten minutes to see that she had everything she needed before he must leave again—that’s what he had told himself in the hall, anyway. But then he’d entered the room, and every inclination to return to his desk had crumbled. To say that she was distracting was an understatement. For the moment, the Spare Heirs Society disappeared from his thoughts, and all that existed was her and her truly awful yet somehow endearing paintings.
She cleaned the paint from her fingers with a cloth and moved to investigate the bowl of fruit left on the small table, taking a strawberry. “The painting worked to keep the ennui at bay from too much time spent alone—it helped me today anyway. Tomorrow I’ll be lost once more now that I know my skill with artwork ends at viewing it.” She gave him a dramatic sigh that would have been more effective if not for the twinkle in her eye. “You have me at quite the disadvantage, you know. Keeping me locked away in your bedchamber while you go about your day, only coming to visit when it suits you to do so.” Her voice was wistful as she painted the picture of her captivity. And in the next second, she punctuated it by taking a large bite of the berry in her hand.
He watched her lick sweet red strawberry juice from the corner of her mouth and abandon the stem on the table. “Now you make it sound like you’re a kept woman. That’s hardly the case. You’re clearly an artist.”
She gave an excited gasp and looked at him with wide eyes before taking a few steps backward with her arms out to the sides. “This is what it’s like to be a kept woman! I’m trapped here alone waiting for you to return and entertain me while I gaze at the world outside my little window, lounging about in dresses you bought for me.” She threw herself onto his bed in a dramatic display of what she must assume was mistress-like behavior. “Funny, I always envisioned it being more scandalous than this. I wonder how such women fill their days.”
“This is scandalous. As you pointed out, you’re locked in my bedchamber with me. Which is why you can’t send notes to your friends via pigeon or the post for that matter. If anyone discovers that you’ve been hiding here…” You’ll be forced to be my wife, he finished to himself.
Isabelle might think it dramatic to be a kept woman, but she deserved the kind of grand love match to a passionate lord that she’d always dreamed of. He couldn’t steal that away from her.
“No one will find out.” She absentmindedly twirled a lock of hair around her finger and stared up at the canopy above her head.
There were thousands of reasons why he should not take another step toward her, but just now all of the grounds he had to stay away sounded like cause to hold her close. She was beautiful, had claimed love toward him, and was here alone with him. Perhaps she was right, and no one would find out the details. He’d kept her presence a secret already. What were a few more secrets added to the stack at this point?
When he remained silent, she added, “You’ve kept my stay quiet. I only converse with one maid, the cook, and your housekeeper.”
Once again she was right. He took a step toward her, unable to look away while she was sprawled across his bed. “I should go,” he murmured, not truly meaning his words.
She sat up to look at him. “Don’t leave.”
He reached for her, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’m fairly certain captors don’t lounge about dungeon cells with their prisoners.”
“And what about gentlemen with kept ladies?” There was a curiosity in her gaze that made him want to throw open all of the doors and show her every secret he knew.
“That’s quite different,” he murmured.
“Is there any role to play in between captor and keeper-of-a-mistress in which you’re my friend and you stay to keep me company during my confinement? Any proper gentleman would do so.”
“A proper gentleman wouldn’t bring you to his own bedchamber and then remain locked away with you, but I’ve never claimed to be such.”
“You’ll stay then?”
“For now.” He only had a secret society to govern. He could disappear for a few minutes. He’d never neglected his work before he met Isabelle, but now he found he couldn’t walk away just yet. Of course, neither could he loom over her, staring as if she were a piece of meat on a platter. He wanted to dive into everything that passed between them and swim about in the warmth of her happy heart. Her kind spirit would wash over the blackness of his soul, and in turn he would satisfy the curiosity that rippled through her eyes every time she looked at him.