Page 34 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

When he turned toward her, his smile did not meet those incredible blue eyes. “Nonsense. We should get to understand each other. Understanding each other will ensure our relationship is believable.” He sighed. “However, my reason may sound ridiculous.”

Nothing that mattered to him would sound ridiculous to her. “You can trust me, Victor.”

Time stretched between them. The horses slowed their pace, the gentle breeze brushing against their skin stilled, and even the birds in the copse of trees ahead halted their song. The weight—the importance—of Victor’s answer dangled in the silence, and Juliana held her breath in anticipation.

His eyes locked with hers, and her heart fluttered at what she saw in them. “Yes. I believe I can. The easy answer would be that I love art, the process of creating something from nothing. And that would be true—but only the partial truth.” He smiled at her. “You are so untouched by theton, Juliana—free from the artifice common among people of my station. Perhaps that’s why I like you so much. Many people born into the aristocracy lack purpose. Men languish away their days at their clubs, women their social circles, balls, routs, and garden parties. Their lives are those of idleness and often indulgence.”

“I would argue not all people of the aristocracy are so indolent. What of the Duke of Ashton and his clinic?” Drake also came to mind, but she didn’t want Victor to think she perceived his words as a personal attack against her family.

“Ah, you are correct to take me to task with my statement. There are exceptions, including your brother and his duchess. But Ashton spent time in America, and your brother did not grow up under the strict scrutiny of theton. But let us hope they will inspire others to follow their example. They are swaying my own father to fight for reform in Lords.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted. Please continue.”

His expression, although not quite indulgent, conveyed his patience. “When I was young, I would stare at the portraits of my forefathers for hours, wondering who they were and what they had accomplished. Other than a few who had effected changes in the law—which I might add were often for their own benefit rather than the good of all humanity—I only knew them as the first Lord Cartwright, or the second, and so on. Their only legacies were leaving sons to inherit the title upon their deaths. And although I have been reared to follow in their footsteps andsire a son to follow me, I wonder if that is all I am destined for. When I die, will my life even have mattered?”

The pain in his eyes lanced her heart, and she wanted to pull him into her arms and comfort him. Her words would have to suffice. “Of course it will.”

The wan smile he gave her conveyed his doubts. “This is why your brother’s faith in me is so important. I want to leave something tangible behind that lasts after I die. To use color and texture to evoke thought, emotion. Something people will gaze at years later and say, ‘Look how Victor Pratt captured the light in Miss Merrick’s eyes, the playfulness of her smile.’ I want to be remembered. To have mattered. And that is why I wanted to become an artist.”

He laughed, the sound forced and brittle. “I told you it was ridiculous. But thank goodness, we’ve arrived at our destination.”

Contrary to Victor’s assertion, Juliana found his answer leagues from ridiculous, and the fact that he trusted her enough to share it gave her heart hope.

CHAPTER 11

At their destination, Victor busied himself setting up his easel, canvas, and paints while Juliana watched. His thoughts flitted like dancing shadows between worry and trust over his confession. Was he wrong to trust her, to expose his heart so fully? Adalyn had been the only other person he’d ever shared his dreams with. And that had ended badly.

It wasn’t that Adalyn had laughed at him. In fact, when he’d bared his soul to her about wanting to have his life mean something, she understood completely. Medicine and saving lives being her own admirable ambition.

Victor believed they had connected on a deep level—had a future together. How wrong he had been.

But what of Juliana now that he had bared that part of his soul to her? Had been wrong again? He hadn’t lied when he said he believed he could trust her. Maybe it was because he wanted to trust her—needed to trust her—to trustsomeone. The pressure from his mother to force him into a marriage to Lydia magnified his need to break free and carve his own path.

He didn’t want to be like everyone else.

Who better to help him than a duke—and a duke’s sister?

Determined to prove his worth with the portrait of Juliana, he placed his hands on his hips and assessed the area, taking special note of how the light filtered in through the trees. “Over here, I think.” After positioning the horse, he instructed Juliana to stand at the horse’s head. “If you would remove your gloves and bonnet. You have lovely hands, and I want to capture how the light reflects off your hair.”

Color rose to Juliana’s cheeks, and Victor hoped to capture that as well.

“Do you ever paint from your sketches?” Juliana asked, handing her bonnet to the footman.

“At times. But having the subject before me results in a far superior depiction. For example, here, in addition to the light on your hair, I can see your blush, the exact color and shading on your face.”

“Oh!” She raised her hands to her cheeks.

Mixing some paints, he smiled to himself. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s lovely. I want to paint you that way.” When he returned his attention to her, he tilted his head, studying her and placing an index finger against his lips.

Her gaze dipped toward the action.

Victor wasn’t conceited, but he was honest, and he knew ladies considered him handsome. Juliana was attracted to him, which would make their ruse all the more believable. But he’d have to tread lightly; he had no intention of hurting her.

“How should I...?” She lifted her hand toward the horse’s muzzle.

He stepped forward, palms up. “With your permission, allow me to position you.”

After she gave a nod, Victor placed her right hand flat on Sunshine’s neck. “To soothe and assure her all is well.” The sensation from the warmth of her skin caught him off-guard. How had he not noticed it when he’d danced with her monthsago? Had he imagined it? Next, he took her left hand in his, placing it on Sunshine’s muzzle, and the same frisson of excitement spread up his arm.

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