Page 18 of Drawn to the Duke
It was a chilly night, and rain had made the tree trunk slippery. But it hadn’t been so long before since Selina had climbed a tree. And it was easier to do it in a nightgown that afforded ease of movement than a morning gown, which was what she’d worn the last time she’d climbed a tree to rescue a kitten.
Soon, she was safely on the dew-laden grass and hurrying across the lawn.
Just the feeling of the fresh, icy air against her skin, and the sense of liberty—even though her heart was racing with fear and her mind was alert to the dangers of her mission—made her feel alive.
She couldn’t remember feeling this infused with purpose. It wasn’t just that she was doing what she ought not—and Selina had forever been chastised for her unladylike choices—but she was courting danger as their very future hinged upon Selina successfully executing her mission.
For the first time since she’d finished her first drawing for Samuel, to replace his inferior effort, she felt filled with pride and purpose.
She was not just the useless hanger-on her menfolk painted her.
She was important.
However, a short while later, shivering beneath Lord Chauncy’s bed, she felt more cold and doubtful than important and purposeful.
For what if her plan went horribly wrong? What if Lord Chauncy slept with his face buried in his pillow?
What if he locked his bedroom door and window?
Was shereallymad? Were her unchecked impulses as unladylike and beyond the pale as Anna’s?
Selina’s initial hopes were that Lord Chauncy would be delayed long enough for her to get her breathing and teeth chattering under control. But as more time went by, she feared she might drift off to sleep—even cold and damp as she was on a hard, albeit rug-strew floor.
Had Lord Chauncy been detained by another game of whist? Had he fallen asleep over his brandy as Edward was wont to do?
CHAPTER 12
In fact, Selina did drift off to sleep. But voices in the corridor just outside the door woke her.
She tensed, gripping her drawing implements, praying there were no telltale signs of her presence as she heard Lord Chauncy’s soft tread upon the floorboards as he prepared for bed.
After a quick knock, his valet entered the room, and Selina heard the desultory male chatter as the man, Stevens, undressed his master, and folded his clothing.
Just the usual exchange between master and servant.
Until Stevens asked, “The drawing will be ready for the courier tomorrow, my lord? Is it a fair likeness?”
“I have not seen it, but I trust it will be. I wanted it tonight.”
Selina held her breath. Lord Chauncy must be very anxious to prove to his intended bride he was every bit as handsome as renowned. Perhaps his future wife was a lady of sceptical tendencies?
Stevens was speaking again. “This portraitist? Can he be trusted?”
This made her tense, frowning as she tried to make sense of the words. Trusted?
“He is hardly heroic material, but his speed with a pencil is all that’s required. Tomorrow I shall see what he is capable of, though I am a little concerned that he is perhaps not as quick as I’d been led to believe.”
Selina tensed even more. Surely His Grace would not be looking over Edward’s shoulder? And why was speed important? Good art took time.
Though not when the pencil was in Selina’s hands.
The valet was speaking once more. “You have it on good authority that he can render a perfect likeness in seconds. Remember, he is likely to be daunted when in the presence of such a great man as you, Your Grace. He’ll be striving for perfection over speed.”
Lord Chauncy grunted. “I need both. Well, it was always going to be an imperfect solution, but the idea was as good as I could come up with, given the situation.”
Selina was still puzzling over his words as the valet departed and she heard Lord Chauncy climb into the large four-poster.
She was wide awake now, fully alert to the sounds that would indicate sleep.
