Page 26 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
“I would not even be second, my lord. Her sons would come before me. But you see, what matters to me is that in my heart, she would always come first. I can imagine no happier life than to always hold near what I love most.”
“Then I wish you your happiness, painter. But I suspect you’ll not find it with my mother.”
Claire was aware of the friction in the air, hovering between the two men. She wanted it to go away. “Westcliffe, I’ve been looking over the invitations you gave me. Were there any in particular you wished to accept?”
His gaze came again to rest on her. “Whichever suits you.”
“I don’t know these people. I never had a Season. Even at our wedding, I walked among strangers. I cannot discern which balls would be the most favorable to attend.”
He seemed to give the matter considerable thought before saying, “The Duke and Duchess of Greystone. I believe theirs is next week. It will no doubt be the most well attended.”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “Then we shall start there.”
He furrowed his brow. “Did you attend no balls?”
She shook her head. “No. When would I have? I was married before what would have been my first Season.”
His thumb began stroking her nape again, and her eyes almost drifted closed in wonder at the sweet sensation. “Sometimes I overlook how very young you were when we married. So this will be your first Season as well. I assume you dance.”
“Yes. Father hired a teacher. I’m not sure why. I suppose to prepare me to take my place—” Beside you. Not where she wanted to lead the conversation now. “I’m grateful. Do you dance?”
“On occasion.”
She could not help but notice that his gaze continually drifted down to her lips, which caused them to tingle in anticipation, as though he’d lowered his head to once again take her mouth. She seemed unable to stop her tongue from slipping out to soothe them, and she could see the smoldering passion in his eyes when she did. Did it take so little to arouse him? Only she wanted so much more: love, respect, trust. She wanted him to want her to be his wife again, only she had no idea how to gain that.
But at least they were talking. Late into the night. And he had kissed her. Surely, if he found her repulsive, he’d have not lingered.
“I received word from Beth this morning,” she said. “She will arrive on the morrow.”
“I’ll not be available until sometime in the afternoon. I have an investor’s meeting.”
“In what did you invest?”
She saw his hesitation, and she realized that he was not accustomed to sharing much of himself. Did he fear her hurting him again? Did he fear another betrayal? How lonely it must be always to guard one’s words, to constantly shelter one’s heart. Was Claire exclusively to blame? Or was there more? Was there a reason beyond his age difference that he’d always seemed at the edge of his family? He came to Lyons Place at Christmas. Why did he not go to Grantwood Manor?
“Railways,” he finally muttered, and she’d almost forgotten the question. “And shipping.”
“I’ve never traveled on the railway. Have you?”
“Yes, it’s quite remarkable.”
“Where did you go?”
“To the seaside. To Brighton.”
“You are such a man of the world. Perhaps I shall give it a go someday.”
He gave a barely perceptible nod as though he couldn’t imagine that she would carry through on the notion. He had such little faith in her. Perhaps she and Beth would go next week, just to show him that she had grown bolder. She craved his attention. Such a silly thing really.
“Will you be available for dinner tomorrow? It would make Beth feel most welcome.”
“I shall strive to be here.”
“Lovely. I’ll have Cook prepare your favorites.”
Abruptly, Westcliffe jerked his attention to Leo. Claire did the same and saw the young artist was leaning casually against the bedpost.
“If you’re finished for the day, you could have alerted us,” Westcliffe snapped.
