The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(76)

Certainly, he regarded her more closely, almost as if he were surprised. “It’s a pretty name,” he allowed. “But you don’t seem terribly serene to me.”

“I’m not,” she said ruefully. “I’m in disgrace.”

“Why?”

“My engagement has been broken.”

“By you?”

“Officially,” she confessed. “But in fact, he did it.”

The artist gazed at her, frowning faintly. “What a fatwit.”

“Yes, but he’s been more than generous in allowing me to do the crying off and so save what’s left of my reputation.”

“Good Lord. What on earth did you do?”

She sighed. “Nothing. I danced three times instead of two with Lord Daxton, but only because we both forgot. And,” she admitted in the interests of honesty, “I may have flirted with him a little.”

“Well, he’s a fun person to be with. I’d probably flirt with him myself if the circumstances were right.”

She laughed. “You say the oddest things.”

“I’m a pretty odd person.”

“Do you paint as a living?” she asked curiously.

“Not sure it would count as a living. It lets us eat but doesn’t keep the bailiffs off my back.”

“Us?”

“Siblings,” he said disparagingly.

For some reason she was pleased he hadn’t meant wife and children. “Do you have many siblings?”

“Two brothers, two sisters, but one of the sisters is married, thank God. You?”

“One older brother, one older, married sister, and three younger sisters.” She frowned. “Why do you paint at the castle? There are better views in the environs of Blackhaven, surely, than this orchard.”

He cast her a sardonic glance. “Did I mention the bailiffs? I’m hiding.”

“Really?” she said, intrigued all over again.

“Sadly, yes.”

“I’ll tell them you’ve gone to Scotland, if that would help?”

“It might,” he said, gratefully. “Thank you.”

“We might need the rest of the town to tell the same story, of course, but… Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m delighting in you, which is quite different.”

She cast him an uncertain glance. His teasing was verging on flirting, which she really couldn’t allow, especially given her disgrace. Besides which, he was a stranger of whom she knew nothing, and an artist to boot. She doubted anyone would consider him respectable let alone safe.

“It’s a good thing and quite harmless,” he assured her, reaching up to pluck a solitary leaf off an apple tree branch. It was pale, golden brown and, halting his step, he held it up to her hair. “Almost.”

“Almost what?” she asked, bewildered.

“The same color.”

“Is that good?” she asked with a hint of defiance.

“Exact would be better,” he said. “For the leaf.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “You talk a lot of nonsense, you know.”

“So I’ve been told.” His gaze dipped from her eyes to the region of her lips, and her breath caught.

“I should go.” Although she meant it to be decisive and forbidding, the words sounded as reluctant as she felt about leaving the eccentric stranger just yet.

“Must you?” He sounded flatteringly disappointed. Slowly, his gaze lifted back to hers.

He had rather beautiful eyes for a man, large and dark and yet always with that shade of laughter, as if he was never serious about the world. They caused a thrilling little twist in her stomach, as though a flock of butterflies had just taken wing.

She swallowed. “Yes, I must,” she said firmly.

“Then meet me again tomorrow.”

I can’t.

“Here?” he suggested.

She raised her eyebrows. “If you’re still hiding from your bailiffs.”

“Until tomorrow, then.” He raised his hand to her cheek, his fingertips just brushing her skin. A smile flickered across his lips and was gone as he lowered his head.

Her heart turned over, for his intention was obvious. She couldn’t allow this… But if she’d ever truly meant to avoid it, he was too quick. His mouth fastened to hers, gentle and sweet and melting. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and then it was over.

He raised his head, waiting, it seemed, for her reaction.

“Why did you do that?” she blurted.

“Well, I don’t often get the chance to kiss the women I really want to paint.”

She frowned. “I don’t know if I should be insulted or flattered.”

“Neither. I never flatter, you know, and I’d certainly never insult you. Until tomorrow.”

Forcing herself, she hurried away from him. At the end of the path, she couldn’t help turning back, but he’d already gone.

*

Rupert Gaunt, the impoverished Marquis of Tamar, walked back to Blackhaven from the castle with his vision full of the girl, Serena. She’d intrigued him first by the way she ran up the orchard hill and spun around with the sheer joy of living. There had been such energy in her, such a sense of escape and freedom that he’d found himself smiling. And then she’d run down the hill again before assuming a much more sedate posture that had almost made him laugh out loud.