Page 12 of Lady Constantine & the Sins of Lord Kilgore
“Lord Kilgore, did you follow me?”
Her blunt question not only surprised him but he found he liked her directness and her lack of practiced coquettishness very much. “Yes,” he replied, clearing his throat at the sound of how husky her nearness had made it. She arched her brows questioningly.
That one little gesture made him laugh, but the perfect arch of her dark brows also engaged his painter’s mind. The ballroom disappeared, and he could see only her. Gold flecked her eyes, and her thick lashes were like black veils, hiding, he suspected, not so very well, a woman with tattered confidence. Her nose turned up slightly, and she had a perfect bow-shaped upper lip. He’d missed that detail before. Her skin was flawless, and the white gown she wore complemented her perfectly.
“Lord Kilgore?” she asked again, and he knew very well he was gawking.
He wanted to paint her. In fact, he was dying to suddenly. Would she let him? He could not ask yet. So instead, he offered another truth. “I have never cared for the color white until tonight.”
Her brows dipped together. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your gown,” he said, gesturing at her, “is white.”
“You like it?” she asked, her tone disbelieving.
He nodded, though that might have been stretching the truth a bit. He wished he could see more of her skin. “I thought white bland, unimaginative, but seeing you in white…” He had to pause because his desire was rising so rapidly, he was in danger of picking her up, throwing her over his shoulder, and leaving. And that certainly would ruin her and, undoubtedly, him forever.
Either it was his wild imagination, which it damn well could be, or she was leaning in, and she looked rather eager to hear what he was going to say. The thought of her eager for other things made him almost groan.
“You were saying about white?” she asked so damned innocently.
Maybe she was a lamb to the slaughter, but he’d control his inner wolf for now. “I see now that white is the color of promise, a blank canvas to start over with. You make white ravishing. You warm it.”
“Oh…”
He was sure she thought him a fool.
And then that same blinding smile came to her face. “Oh. I see.” And he believed she just might. She flushed. “That’s the loveliest compliment anyone has ever given me.”
That knowledge made him inexplicably angry. She should have been given unending compliments by now. Then he thought of Lady Cavendish and her cutting remarks, and he glanced toward her group, finding them all staring. He did not want to give them the show they longed for, the one he was supposed to. An idea occurred to him. “Do you like art?”
She nodded. “Yes, but I don’t have an eye for it and don’t know much about it.”
It was the answer he’d been hoping for. “I have a studio with many paintings by well-known artists, and some of mine that no one knows,” he said, a laugh escaping him. “If you’d like to come tomorrow for a visit…”
An understanding smile lit her eyes, as if she knew his secret fear that his art would never be worthy of someone viewing it other than him.
“I’d like to come to your studio and seeyourpaintings,” she said softly. “What time?”
“Could you make it at two in the afternoon?”
“I believe so.”
He gave her the address quickly as the music for a dance started, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if her company was taken for this dance, but then he thought of the gossip it would start if he did so, especially after they’d stood there talking for so long.
Wishing he didn’t have to, he bowed to take his leave. “I look forward to tomorrow.” And the powerful truth of his words shocked him.
Chapter Five
January 1839
Present day
London, England
A stranger, who Constantine swore was wearing the livery of her butler, Mr. Northcutt, opened the door of Constantine’s home. Well, she supposed it was really her and Callum’s home now that he had returned. At the thought, she glanced at Callum, who was being carried by the lad Peter—Peter Black, as he’d informed her at the church after Callum had fainted. Peter held Callum’s legs, and Carrington held Callum from under his arms.
“Who are you?” Constantine demanded, turning back to the stranger blocking her entrance into her home. He gave a tug on the jacket that appeared two sizes too small. He looked like a giant out of a fairy tale. She couldn’t even say if she was shocked by this because she felt nearly numb from everything that had already transpired since Callum had arrived at the church.
