Page 41 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

Chapter 14

The door rattled again with Warren’s efforts to let himself into the room, and Bentley looked to his guest, who appeared just as concerned as he felt. Clearing his throat, he called, “I’m busy at the moment.”

Warren’s voice was muffled through the door. “If you’re painting, I won’t bother you. I promise I’ll sit quietly and drink my tea like a good boy.”

Could he not do so in any other room, then?

“Just a moment,” Bentley called. “I’m rather tied up at present.”

Hattie stood, her arms spread out as if to ask what she was meant to do. Bentley hadn’t the faintest idea of how to put off his cousin. Well…if he could draw Warren to a different room, perhaps that would give Hattie the opportunity to slip outside unseen.

“You know the longer you wait to let me in, the greater my curiosity grows. I’m simply dying to know what it is you are painting so secretively.” Warren laughed, the sound booming. “It almost makes me question if you are painting at all, or if you are hiding a woman in there.”

Hattie scowled at the door, and Bentley swallowed a chuckle. Her reaction was so charming.

“I’m wiping my hands clean,” Bentley called.

Jumping to her feet, Hattie crossed to the window and unlatched it. She tried to slide it open, but it didn’t appear to be cooperating. Throwing a glance at him over her shoulder, she widened her eyes. “Come, help me. How far is the drop, do you think?”

Surely she couldn’t seriously be considering climbing from his window. That was the behavior of ruffians, not gently bred ladies. “Five feet at least, I’d guess.”

Her nose scrunched up. “Can you get it open?”

The door rattled again, and Bentley rushed over to the window, taking it in his hands and doing his best to quietly slide it open. Cold air crawled through the space, and Hattie poked her head outside.

“You can’t be serious,” Bentley whispered. “That wouldn’t be proper. We can devise another way.”

She looked at him sharply, eyes wide. “What other way?” After one small moment of silence, she nodded. “Precisely. Here, help me down.”

Bentley wanted to argue further but the minx was already halfway through the window, her leg thrown over the side.

“Do not injure yourself,” he admonished. The distance to the ground was nearly as far as she was tall.

Hattie sent him a scowl before throwing her other leg over the windowsill, and Bentley leaned forward, sliding his hands around her waist and holding her, helping to lower her to the ground. The earth sloped downward slightly, and she jumped, freeing herself of his grasp. It was rather a blessing the shrubbery didn’t extend to this point of the house. But even then, the walls were covered in vines and she was sure to have scratched herself.

Glancing up triumphantly, she lifted her skirts from the ground. “Don’t let him in until I’ve reached the trees,” she said quietly.

“When will you return?”

Blowing a strand of hair from her forehead, she said, “I can come Wednesday at the soonest.”

“And if my cousin is here?”

“I’ll come up with something,” she said, unbothered. “Next time we shan’t be unprepared.”

Bentley couldn’t help but chuckle as Hattie turned and fled across the lawn, disappearing within the grove of trees. He shut the window and crossed immediately to the door, unlocking it and letting it swing open before he walked back to the easel. Gratefully, the thing was facing away from the door so Warren would be unable to see the beginning of Hattie’s portrait.

Not that it was discernible yet.

“That was unlike you,” Warren said, letting himself inside and crossing to the chair Hattie had recently vacated. Bentley hoped that the seat had cooled with the air from the open window.

“You know I am a private person,” Bentley countered. “My art is no exception.”

“So if I ask to see the painting that kept your door locked, you won’t show me?”

“No, I won’t. And I expect you to respect that.”

Warren grinned, settling into the leather chair. “Of course I won’t press you. I’m just having a bit of fun.”

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