Page 56 of Lady Constantine & the Sins of Lord Kilgore
“You’re too young to understand,” she said on a sigh while battling to control her tongue.
“Is it because he didn’t come home last night?” Peter asked.
“That and more,” she said, the sigh escaping. “You don’t happen to know where he was, do you?”
“No. He said he’s not telling me things because I’ve proven to be loyal to you, as well as to him.”
“Oh dear, was he quite vexed with you?”
Peter shook his head. “No. He said he was very glad that I should be loyal to you because you were a far better person than he and deserved my loyalty far more than he did.”
Hearing that Callum thought himself unworthy of loyalty deepened her sadness. “Is he here this morning, Peter?” she asked, taking the letter that White handed her and scanning it briefly. A small sense of relief followed by a burst of worry swept through her. Thanks to this letter from Frederica, Constantine now knew for certain where Callum had been the last two nights, and that was fighting in the cellar at the Orcus Society. She was glad to know where he had been but was concerned that he would get hurt further. Frederica also had talked to Blythe, who had said she would make some inquiries to see if anyone knew a Trask or Tate.
“He’s not,” Peter said, gaining her attention once more. “But a snooty man named Monsieur Lamont is here, and he claims you are expecting him.”
Heavens! She’d utterly forgotten Monsieur Lamont was coming to paint her. “White, show Monsieur Lamont to Callum’s painting studio and tell him I will be there forthwith.”
“Cal won’t like you in there,” Peter said, looking wary as White nodded and departed.
“That’s exactly what I’m hoping,” she said, grabbing a scone off the tray that White had brought to her. “Peter, are Callum’s nightmares often violent?”
Peter’s eyes widened, but he nodded.
That had to be why Callum had wanted her out of his bedchamber. To protect her. “The nightmares… I assume they are of his time at the asylum?”
Another nod came from Peter.
She inhaled a long, slow breath. “Do you know, are they of anything specific?”
The look of wariness that settled on Peter’s face made her regret asking him. She’d put him in a terrible position. “Never mind, Peter. I will ask him.”Again.
“I think that best,” Peter said. “Cal said he was pleased with my loyalty to you, but he’d not be pleased with me telling you things likethat.”
Things like that.It sounded so very ominous. She felt a weight of worry press down on her. “I better go see to Monsieur Lamont.”
“Would you like me to come with you?” Peter asked.
She smiled at his obvious concern for her. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
She reached the painting studio, but found that White and Monsieur Lamont had not reached it yet. Opening the door, she sucked in an appreciative breath at the magnificent light streaming into the room. She could imagine Callum in here painting, and it made her smile. Dust particles floated in the air, and an empty easel stood in the corner. Monsieur Lamont greeted her from the doorway, making her jump. She swung toward the man, and her mouth parted in surprise.
Oh, Guinevere was wicked! Monsieur Lamont looked like a young Greek god with thick golden hair and eyes the color of the ocean. After they exchanged a greeting, she said, “I’m told that you paint daring portraits.” A blush warmed her cheeks, but she forced herself to continue. “I’d like to be made to look desirable to my husband.”
“If your husband cannot see that you’re desirable, then he is blind, my lady.”
“It’s quite a bit more complicated than that,” she said.
He snorted. “It always is. Will he be angered if I paint you looking as alluring as I see you? Some men are very possessive.”
She bit her lip, it only occurring to her now how unfair it had been to put Monsieur Lamont in this situation. “I’m actually hoping your painting inspires his jealousy. He’s an artist, too, and I’d like him to want to paint me, to even spend time with me, himself.”
“Ahh.” He drew the word out so that it filled the room with his understanding. “I can help you, but would you change your gown to one that perhaps cuts low in the front?”
“I don’t have any gowns that cut low.”
He frowned for a moment, then clapped his hands. “A white gown! A simple one.”
She smiled. “Yes, I have that.”
