Page 39 of Pursued Beyond Treachery
Her head jerked back in surprise. Where had he gotten the idea that she did not want to dance with him? “I very much want to dance with you, only I worry there will not be room for us.”
He nodded. “Let us find a quieter parlor then. I know there have been several set aside for guests.”
John wanted to spend time alone… with her. Well not completely alone. There would be guests milling about. The idea appealed to her. At least she’d not embarrass herself again in front of all the esteemed guests.
Chapter 13
The light touch of Susannah’s hand on his arm did strange things to Johnathan’s mind. Like butterflies dancing along his skin, each brush of her fingers seeped through his sleeves and left the hair on his arm standing on end.
“This way.” He directed them toward the closest sitting room. Inside there were several people socializing in small groups, but at least the music was not so loud. A table in the corner was laid out with tea, coffee, and tiny sandwiches. “Will this do? There are others.”
“No, no this will do nicely.” She smiled up at him and turned the butterflies on his skin to fire pulsing through his veins. He swallowed hard. If he did not get control of his feelings he’d not be able to carry on any sort of conversation tonight.
After collecting some refreshments, they sat in matching mahogany chairs. Johnathan searched his mind for a topic of discussion when he noticed that every few seconds Susannah glanced down at her dress.
“Is something amiss?”
She shook her head. “I am not used to wearing white and I worry I will stain my dress. How do gentlemen wear such white cravats and not stain them?”
“W-we do. All the time. But a good valet knows exactly how to launder them correctly.”
Her mouth formed an oh but she said nothing more. He searched for another topic, but nothing came to mind that did not include his three specialties, and he would not bore her with those. There was always the weather. That seemed to work for many people.
“Dreary weather we’ve been having.”
She nodded in agreement.
That had gotten him nowhere. Susannah was not the normal London miss who talked on end about useless subjects. He needed something to draw her out.
“W-what is your f-favorite flower?” he blurted out before he lost his nerve.
She paused, setting the sandwich she’d been nibbling back on the plate. He felt ridiculous. He knew it was cowslip. Why had he asked such an inane question?
“Roses.” She ducked her head. “Pink ones are my particular favorite, but all of them are beautiful.”
His fingers curled tight around his plate. All this time he’d assumed it was a common field flower. Why? Just because she picked them often did not equate to her adoring them.
“I especially love the ones that have a strong fragrance. They smell like how love should feel.” Her eyes slowly rose to meet his, and his mind stopped working.
Just having the word love floating between them was enough to stop his tongue, but the intent way her eyes trapped his made it impossible to even swallow, much less speak. He wanted to ask how a rose's smell resembled the feel of love. Why she’d even saysuch a thing? If she had ever been in love? Was she in love? With whom?
But nothing came out.
She set down her plate on the beautifully carved coffee table in front of them. “Have you painted anything interesting lately?”
So much for staying away from his fallback discussions. “I have. H-have you s-seen the w-wedding portrait”—he stopped and took a deep breath, composing his thoughts so he could control the words— “I did for the Stanfords?”
She leaned forward. “Yes. The way you mixed the cobalt to highlight Lady Stanford’s eyes is magnificent, and the detail.” She let out a happy sigh. “Each hair seemed to have a life of its own.”
His chest puffed out with pride. She’d noticed the painstaking work he’d put into the gift.
“But what have you done recently?” she asked.
He opened his mouth then realized what his last project had been. No, he could not tell her he’d painted her without permission. He needed another project to relay, but none came to mind. He’d been so obsessed with getting the light on the side of her neck and hair just right that he’d worked on nothing else for months.
“I—” His teacup rattled and he focused on subduing his trembling. “A portrait.”
“Really? Is it someone I know?”
