Page 57 of Harpy of the Ton
The thought of Bella enduring a day with those rascals lifted his spirits, and he flipped the pages of his notebook until he came to a blank page and began his sketch again. This time heplaced the features at irregular intervals, moving the focal point to one side to draw the eye away from the center.
Much better. Any piece of art needed to contain an element of surprise—hidden corners and pathways that were unnoticeable at first glance. Something to provide interest for its inhabitants—particularly ladies who were so easily bored.
A muffled cry came from outside the study. Roberta tormenting her twin again, no doubt. Last week she’d hidden a spider among his underclothes. Smiling to himself, he continued.
Then the cry came again—a low wail of anguish.
Little buggers.
He rose and exited the study as another cry came.
But it came from downstairs.
Spoiled madam—perhaps the blanket was too scratchy, or the sofa too hard.
“No! leave me alone—please!”
His skin tightened at the fear in her voice, and he descended the stairs and pushed open the parlor door.
She lay on the sofa, the blanket on the floor—she must have thrown it off. Then she cried out, her breath misting in the air.
“Burning! It’s burning!”
Perhaps her conscience visited her in her sleep, and she was reliving the moment she’d burned his possessions.
“The fire!”
He placed a hand on her forehead. Her skin was cold. Then he took her hand, and she snatched it free.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried.
“Bella, you’re freezing.” He reached for her again, and she thrust out her arm to fend him off.
“No, I beg you have mercy, Your Grace!”
“Bella!” he cried, giving her a shake. Her eyes snapped open, at first unfocused, then they cleared and focused on him.
“Wh-who are you?” she asked. “Y-you’re not…” She shuddered, and her gaze darted about the room, as if she were searching for her tormentor. At length, she stilled, and he drew her into his arms.
“Who was it?” he asked. “Who did you see?”
“I saw…” Her brow furrowed in concentration. “He…” Then she shook her head.
“What did he look like?”
“A-a man. A lord. It was so vivid! B-but I can’t remember. I try to picture him, but it’s slipping away.”
“Did you know him?”
“I-I thought I did.”
“Do you knowme?”
Sapphire eyes glazed with tears focused on him. Then she nodded.
“You’re my husband. Lord save me—you’re my husband.”
She pulled free from his grasp, and his gut twisted at the disgust in her voice. He reached for the blanket, but before he could wrap it around her, she snatched it off him.
