Flirting With Fortune

females, but only made her grind her teeth.

“I didn’t realize you were an artist, Lady Beatrice,” Colin said, taking her by surprise. He most certainly did know that she was a painter. She liked where he was going with this.

Blinking innocently, she tilted her head and smiled. “Why, yes! I am not only a painter myself, but a most fervent admirer of your father.”

His face revealed nothing, but his eyes betrayed his delight in her playing along. “Well, if that is the case, perhaps I can interest you in a private tour of the exhibit before it opens to the public.”

Rescuing her from Godfrey’s invitation and offering her the opportunity of a lifetime? If her mother wouldn’t faint on the spot, she could have kissed the man.

“Thank you, Sir Colin. I am honored to accept your generous invitation.”

* * *

“I’m afraid you may have permanently endeared yourself to my sisters.”

Colin gave her a brief grin before accepting his hat from a footman, who then retreated to his post beside the door. Based on his calls to the women on his list earlier, she shouldn’t have accompanied him on his way out, but it seemed that little stood between her and something she wanted. He rather liked that about her. And he was exceedingly glad for a moment of semiprivacy with her, however brief.

“Well, if she was going to defend Scotland, it was the least I could do. Patriotic duty, et cetera, et cetera.”

She tilted her head a bit, her bright blue gaze never leaving his. “You may discount your kindness, but I’m not going to let you get away without a proper thank-you.”

A proper thank-you? Her voice was quiet, her eyes focused solely on him, and for a fleeting moment, he had a vision of her rising on her toes and brushing her lips to his. He swallowed, his blood heating at the thought. “Think nothing of it.”

“I think much of it,” she insisted, holding out her hand to him. “And I thank you.”

He reached forward, gathering her slender fingers in his hand. There it was again—that tingle of awareness that slipped over his skin whenever he touched her, even through the fabric of their gloves.

He lifted her hand to his lips, inhaling her lilac scent along with the subtle hints of linseed oil. He paused just shy of his mouth and murmured, “You are most welcome, my lady.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, and she tightened her fingers for a moment, a gesture that no one but he would notice.

“I bid you good day, sir. I’m very much looking forward to our tour.”

Reluctantly releasing her, he stepped back and set his hat over his still-damp hair. “As am I, my lady.” With a slight bow, he turned and headed for the door, keeping his expression neutral for the servant’s sake.

As ill-advised as it might be, he already knew he would do anything in his power to ensure that the private tour at the gallery with Beatrice was exactly that: private.

Chapter Seven

Stepping into the airy rooms that housed his father’s memorial exhibit, Colin was suddenly very glad that he had decided to arrive early. The emotions that assailed him were not completely unexpected, but somehow they still came as a surprise. He turned in a circle, taking in the more than twenty pieces that had been brought together for the event.

No matter what his father had done wrong in his life, he had done his paintings exceedingly right. Colin breathed in a deep lungful of air, pushing against the steel band that seemed to have wrapped around his ribs. It was an odd sort of blissful agony to see the paintings, as bright and vibrant as ever despite the fact Father was gone.

He breathed out, exhaling the pain and regret away with it. This was to be a good day. All he had thought about since the moment he awoke was seeing Beatrice again, with no one between them but a single chaperone. Certainly not that jackass Godfrey. Seeing the man’s face when Beatrice accepted Colin’s invitation had been worth the impromptu proposal a thousand times over—and even that didn’t compare to the thrill of Beatrice’s acceptance.

For some reason, he loved the idea of a little more stolen time with her.

And though the gallery wasn’t nearly as intimate as his aunt’s portrait hall, it was a vast improvement over Beatrice’s crowded drawing room. The space was quiet and bright, two feats he would not have thought possible in this part of London. The plain white of the walls left nothing to distract the viewer’s attention from the highlighted masterpieces. Coming from so many different collections, the frames were a bit of a mishmash, some glinting gold, others silver, and a few polished wood ones mixed in. He rather liked the eclectic feel of the groupings.

He wandered forward, his footsteps echoing in the open space, which was devoid of all but a handful of potted plants and a few strategically placed benches. He could almost feel his father’s presence in the starkness of the room. When he worked, Father wanted nothing cluttering his creative space. His studio was always clean and orderly, in complete contrast to the house itself.

“Sir Colin?”

Colin glanced to the door and smiled, warmth infusing the emptiness inside his heart. God, but she was lovely.

“My lady. I’m honored you could join me today.” He strode forward to greet her properly and was treated to the whispered hint of lilac.

She looked perfectly divine today, in her simple muslin gown and light green spencer jacket. An easy smile curled her lips as she slipped off the jacket, the movement highlighting the delicate rise of her collarbone. “I’m beyond delighted to be here.”

Without the ball gown or opulent furnishings, she was completely approachable—almost the total opposite of what he would expect of the daughter of a marquis. In the diffused daylight streaming in from the open windows, he realized her dark blue eyes held the slightest suggestion of green toward the pupil.

She gestured to a mousy young woman behind her whose presence he’d hardly registered. “Is there a place for my maid to rest while we look around?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, leading them to one of the benches in the corridor outside the gallery. The girl promptly pulled a book from a pocket of her coat and settled in to read. He couldn’t have asked for a more perfect chaperone.

“I would have thought you might have brought one or both of your sisters today.”

“Oh no—they would never have been able to resist chattering, which would have ruined the whole experience. I love them, but I do not want to be listening to their commentary while viewing such dignified works.”

“And your parents didn’t mind letting you join me with only a maid?”

She shook her head. “I convinced them it was more or less just another visit to a museum or gallery. They knew the committee staff would be here as well.”

It was a gift horse, really, and Colin didn’t intend to look it in the mouth.

Offering his elbow, he led Beatrice back to the exhibit. “I was just getting my bearings when you arrived. Mr. Swanson informed me that all but two of the pieces are in place. One from Wales, which is en route as we speak, and the royal portrait of King George, which will arrive shortly before the exhibit’s official opening.”

“What an honor for you and your family that the prince has agreed to lend the painting. You must be very proud.”

He was, actually. Regardless of anything else, his father had come from nothing and had succeeded in earning not only royal favor, but the baronetcy as well. He knew that the title was perhaps not of major significance to someone of Beatrice’s status, but he appreciated her sentiment. “I am. Thank you.”

Her smile was unstudied and natural, revealing a quarter-turned front tooth that somehow suited her, as if it were rebelling against the straight and narrow. “I cannot tell you how much I have looked forward to this