Page 25 of Love Unraveled
Lady Thornwood was the first to step out. Bentley eased past Gaston and took her hand, bowing elegantly over it. Bentley proceeded to help Miss Langdon, who blushed when he leaned in to say something to her. It seemed the man was an incorrigible flirt. Gaston stepped forward before Bentley could turn his charms on Sophie, who of course was the last to alight.
Her skin rich against her red dress, the sun catching the amber in her eyes, Sophie was truly the most stunning woman he’d ever known. She’d always been a beauty, but time had ripened her into a breathtaking creature worthy of any artist’s canvas. She smiled at him as she took his proffered hand, and he fought excitement. With all that lay between them, he knew it was all for show, so he could not fathom how she managed to have such an effect upon him.
He offered his arm, and she hesitated. He raised an eyebrow, daring her to refuse him, and she sighed dramatically before placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. Even through the gloves, the warmth of her hand heated his body. He covered her hand with his, as though he could trap her there. He almost laughed out loud. Sophie was no butterfly to be captured. More a lion to be caged until it could be trusted not to bite.
With a woman on each arm, Bentley led the way across the courtyard. The trio’s laughter floated back to them, but Gaston had no interest in what amused them. He cared only about one thing. That Sophie relax so he might uncover the truth about her feelings for him. Then and now. She had been his beacon throughout the years. It seemed he was not ready to relinquish her hold, even though he knew hope was a cruel mistress.
“You are quiet,ma chérie.” He spoke softly so as not to upset her with his use of the endearment.
“As are you,” she said without looking at him. Instead, head held high, she looked straight ahead, walking regally without a glance at the crowds surrounding them.
“Perhaps we should have chosen a more suitable venue for an outing.” His vantage point due to height gave him a prime view of her assets, and his body was responding. He wished they were in a more private setting.
“And what is wrong with this one, Mr. Durand?”
She spoke in English, and he swallowed a retort in French, hating both the language and his fake name on her lips. It would not do to constantly ruffle her feathers. Before he could answer, Bentley turned around and handed them a catalog.
“I have paid for us all.”
Bentley proclaimed it as though it was a generous moment, when in fact this was not an exclusive event. At a shilling, many people could afford to attend. It was the reason for the sheer number of people pushing toward the foyer. Gaston used the crowd as an opportunity to put his arm around Sophie’s waist and steer her off to the side.
“We are losing the others,” she said, standing on tiptoe, trying to see over everyone.
“I know,” he said and smiled at her. He loved the fire that lit her eyes when she knew she’d been bested again. He squeezed her waist. “You are safe with me.”
“Am I?” she asked, her eyes lingering on his lips.
He shifted uncomfortably. The little coquette knew what she was doing. The throng thinned slightly, and he moved them toward the steep, winding staircase. People descended the narrow stairway as others ascended, so he had no choice but to let Sophie slip from his grasp and precede him up the stairs. The view from behind was tremendously enjoyable. It was difficult to resist the urge to trace the curves of her body. He wanted to put his hands on her deliciously plump derriere. He now understood why this vertiginous architectural feat was jokingly referred to as “the stare-case.”
As though she could sense his licentious imaginings, she looked over her shoulder at him and promptly lost her footing. There was a collective gasp around them as she fell backward. His heart stopped for a fleeting second, but he managed to smoothly catch her while keeping her head from hitting the rail. Her eyes huge, she stared at him, gasping for air, her chest heaving.Merde! He could take her right here, right now.
The world around him came back to life, and suddenly conscious of the scene they were creating, Sophie wiggled. Gaston helped her stand, ensuring she was stable before he let go and instantly regretting the loss of her in his arms. “Ça va?” he asked, and she bristled.
“Yes, I am perfectly fine,” she said and turned to continue the long climb to the exhibition room.
He sighed and followed. The others waited for them at the entrance.
“We’ve had a peek, but it’s so crowded we decided to wait for you.” Lady Thornwood hooked her arm in Sophie’s before he could manage to do the same. “In truth,” she said, leaning into Sophie, “I was in need of time to catch my breath after climbing those stairs.”
They both laughed, and Gaston noted again Sophie’s ease in the company of her friends. It reminded him of what they’d once shared. Would they ever know such companionship again?
“The pictures are numbered as they are placed in the room. The first number is over the door,” Lady Thornwood continued, as oblivious to his disappointment as she was to Sophie’s pleasure. Sophie gave him a triumphant look over her shoulder, and he had no choice but to follow them through the arched entrance like one of the lapdogs milling about with its owner.
The ceiling was a good thirty feet high, and the sun, shining from above through glass panes, lit the large room. His eyes tracked downward, the walls barely visible behind the vast number of paintings hung from the ceiling to about seating height. It was visually spectacular and incredibly loud. No wonder Sophie was so smug about their outing. She knew how impossible it would be to have a private moment in such a place.
He found her staring at a painting featured in the center of one wall. Lady Thornwood, standing a few feet away, was reading her catalog and glancing up periodically to scan the walls. He wedged his way in beside Sophie, but she didn’t appear to notice him. He peered at the number, then flipped the pages in his catalog. The painting’s label read, “148 Blind-man’s BuffD. Wilkie,R. A.”
“I do not like it,” Sophie said loud enough for him to hear.
He stared at her grim expression, then back at the painting. The focus of the painting was a blindfolded man, hands out, seeking the people in the room. The others were scattered about, some hidden, some appearing to be taunting the blindfolded man. It was a masterful composition, and he could not see why it lacked appeal, or why she was so rigid in response to it. “Why?”
“It is…” She waved her hand around and turned to him, her eyes watery. “…chaotique, no? The furniture overturned, the women, the children hiding. The glee in some of the others’ eyes.”
“But it’s only a parlor game. A simple bit of fun caught on canvas.”
She shook her head. “No, I do not like it.”
She sucked in her bottom lip as she stared at it again, and it struck Gaston what it was she saw.Chaotic.She was not seeing a child’s game; she was seeing a memory. The day he’d arrived in time to save her from the mobs but not in time to save her mother. He wanted to take Sophie into his arms and hold her until her hurt faded.
