Page 56 of Enticing the Devil

Chapter Twenty

Beynon wanted to throw something. Tossing the chair through the nearest window might be properly satisfying to his current mood. But the relief would be temporary.

Lady Anne’s reaction to their situation was essentially what he’d expected. He knew damned well she wouldn’t want to marry him. He had to admit to himself it was partly the reason he’d gone to get the special license without telling her. He’d spent every minute since leaving her last night preparing himself for her righteous anger and dismay.

No. It wasn’t her reaction that had gotten him to such a high temper.

It was that bloody bastard who called himself her father. The man was more of a monster than Beynon’s own sire. Considering the prior Earl of Wright had fathered a handful of illegitimate children out of spite and vengeance, that wasn’t an easy feat to manage.

Beynon still regretted not breaking the lord’s prominent nose.

“I’m sorry, Beynon.” Colin’s level voice interrupted another rise of temper.

“It doesn’t matter,” Beynon grumbled, releasing his white-knuckle grip on the chair. “She knows what must be done. She’ll see it through.”

She had no choice.

He hated that the phrase kept repeating in his head. But it was the god-awful truth.

“You don’t have to look upon this situation as a death knell,” the earl noted calmly. “Many marriages begun under such circumstances have managed to thrive. And there is something undeniable between you and Lady Anne. If you focus on that—”

“Enough, Colin,” Beynon interrupted. “It is what it is.”

He left the room in angry strides. People were starting to gather downstairs in preparation for the evening’s event. He stalked past all of them, noting Anne was nowhere in sight.

He calmed his almost panicked need to find her with the acknowledgement that he’d see her shortly at the evening event. An event he sure as hell couldn’t attend in his current state.

After a quick bath, a shave, and a fresh set of clothes, Beynon felt only marginally calmer. The fury he still felt had been pushed as far down as he could manage as he told himself that the only good thing that might come of this debacle was that Lady Anne would never again have to suffer her father’s cruelty.

In his hurry to get to her side, he cut through the Earl of Harte’s portrait gallery on his way back downstairs. He’d forgotten that all of the competitors’ paintings would be on display, and despite his rush, he found himself slowing.

He was suddenly desperately curious to view her painting of him.

He hadn’t even glanced at it that day in the garden. He’d been far too intensely focused on the lady herself. After their heated kiss, it had taken all of his willpower to stop himself from touching her—kissing her—the way he really wanted to. To distract himself, he’d trained his focus on watching her as she’d finished his portrait.

It had been fascinating—and not entirely effective in cooling his ardor. Her expression had been so quietly intent. Her eyes vivid and captivating. Her movements so confident and graceful. When it had finally been his turn at the easel, he’d been determined to capture the vibrance and tenacity she usually kept so carefully subdued.

As he stopped now in front of the portrait she’d done of him, an edgy dread rushed through him. Twisting his stomach into a knot.

The painting was lovely. The talent and skill undeniable.

From the vivid greens and golds of the background and the accents of color in the flowers creeping into view around the edge to the use of light and how faithfully she rendered his likeness. It was a beautiful scene.

But what cut through him so sharply was the realization that this was how she saw him.

Rustic. Unrefined. Not a country gentleman of leisure but a field laborer at rest. He could even see a flock of sheep dotting the hills in the background.

And she was right. About all of it. The unpolished boots, the open collar and rolled sleeves. The careless locks of his too-long hair. And most true of all—the bold, ungentlemanly stare. Nothing else in the world could have shown him his true place so well as Lady Anne’s painting.

He suddenly wanted to smash it to pieces.

“I’d intended to give you a stern talking to for your disloyalty, but I’m rethinking that plan since you’re looking verra murderous at the moment.”

Beynon tensed as the first sound of his impertinent sister’s voice. But he didn’t shift his gaze from Lady Anne’s painting. “What do you want, Caillie?”

Despite the forbidding tone of his voice, the brave girl stepped closer until she stood beside him. “I wanted to yell at you for going to London without me.”

Confused, Beynon slid a quick sideways glance to the girl to find her staring rather intently at his portrait, her head tipped slightly to one side. “It was an urgent matter. And a personal one. There was no reason for you to come along.”

---