dedicated to his art than his family was a bit . . . demoralizing, shall we say.”
She sucked in a surprised breath. Tate had always been such a paragon in her mind. Was Colin saying that he’d had more regard for painting than for his child? “But by working, he was providing for you, was he not? Perhaps that was what he worried about in the early days.”
He nodded, looking down for a moment before meeting her gaze again. “Yes, though it might have been helpful if he had more sense with the commissions he was earning. It wasn’a long before I realized that if the accounts were to be paid and our bills not lost, it was up to me to see to it.”
Beatrice offered him a sympathetic smile. “Is that how you came to be the responsible barrister?”
Even as her heart went out to him, she could scarcely make herself believe that his legendary father could have such a failing. Everything she had heard about him had been in the vein of charming, affable, and eccentric. A little odd, as artists can sometimes be, but a great addition to any social event. She had been devastated that he had died just as she was to make her debut.
“I suppose one could say I spent my whole life in training.”
“Did things not change when your father remarried?” She knew little about Tate’s second wife, other than the fact she had died several years earlier.
“They did, actually. She was determined to get my father’s life in order and to provide a good upbringing for her two children and me. But old habits die hard, I suppose. After four years alone with my father, letting go of the worry dinna come easy.”
He was so sweet with her, so easy to be with, it was hard to imagine him as the stoic little boy he described. Her own childhood had been so carefree; it made her heart clench to imagine his staidness. She set down her pencil, picked up her brush, and began mixing paints on her palette. “Tell me about her children. Do you get along?”
It was the perfect question to ask to break the tension that had tightened his jaw and beetled his brow. “Very well. They are quite a bit younger than me, but they have always been sweet-tempered and good company. Although they were both terribly unhappy with me for leaving them behind in Scotland while I made my grand debut, so to speak.”
“Now, that I can understand. I hated never being able to join in the fun when Evie was out in society. Ironic, really, since she would have rather been anywhere else.”
He chuckled. “I think I’m with your sister on this one. As for you, I think you would like Cora. She has always been fascinated with Father’s work and would sneak up to his studio after bedtime to watch him paint sometimes. She got caught more often than not, sent to bed with a scolding, but it never stopped her from trying again.”
Happy with the color on her palette, she took a deep breath, set the bristles against the canvas, and made her first stroke. “A girl after my own heart, apparently. And your stepbrother?”
She glanced up just in time to catch a look of disgust contort his features. “I’m so sorry. Are you on bad terms with him?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that I hate that term. They are as much my brother and sister as your siblings are to you.”
“Yes, of course. I didn’t intend to insult you.”
“No, I dinna think you did. But when half the family you have in the world is distanced by the word ‘step,’ it tends to become distasteful. We were raised together from when I was nine, and my life became infinitely better when they came along.”
That was quite possibly the sweetest thing Beatrice had ever heard. Her heart softened toward the two children she had never even met. “I’m so glad to hear it. What is your brother’s name?”
Any remaining stiffness fled completely from his shoulders. “Rhys. He’s a born leader. I could easily see him running the estate, or even making his way into politics. He argues almost as well as I do,” he said with a wink. “If he had gotten his way, he’d be here in London with me now. Luckily, I convinced him that Cora and Gran needed a man in the house to keep them safe.”
“The same Gran who fought the bear?”
He laughed, beautiful amusement lighting his features. “The very one. A more terrifying woman, I have never known.”
“I don’t believe you. You positively glow when you speak of her.”
“She is one of a kind. Half Scottish, half Irish, and with twice the superstition of either people. When I first saw you, her fanciful descriptions of forest nymphs immediately came to mind.”
She paused midstroke, her eyes flitting to his. The sweet smile on his perfect lips made her belly do a little flip. “Forest nymph? Me?”
“Absolutely. The luminescent skin, those huge blue eyes, hair like moonbeams—it all seemed to fit.”
Hair like
“Perhaps,” he allowed, the warmth of his gaze heating her insides from clear across the room. “But I’m glad for the way we met. It was pure, in a way.”
“Pure?” she echoed, knitting her brow at his choice of words as she worked on his outline.
“Neither of us knew a single thing about the other. The only thing I knew for sure was that you were beautiful and damn entertaining, and I dinna want to leave you to go meet a horde of strangers I dinna care about.”
The strangest sensation bloomed in her heart, carried by each beat to the rest of her body, until she felt as though she were floating in a cool lake. She swallowed, slowly raising her gaze. The way he was looking at her, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist and there was only the two of them, held her riveted in place. She licked her lips. “I’m glad for it as well.”
“Are you, now?”
She nodded. “I don’t know if I would have had the nerve to talk to you if we’d met after I learned who your father was.”
“Nonsense,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve nerve enough to do anything you set your mind to.”
Perhaps he was right. But was that a good thing? Coming from his lips, it certainly seemed like it, even if many of society wouldn’t agree. She thought of the letters to the magazine, biting her lip against sharing her secret with him. Yes, if anyone would approve, it would be him, but she wasn’t ready to share such a secret just yet.
Feeling light and happy, she grinned. “You, Sir Colin, are a shameless flatterer. It’s a wonder my head doesn’t float away.”
“I haven’a flattering bone in my body—just ask my siblings. I am exceedingly good at speaking the truth, however. And I’m delighted to hear you approve.”
For the next half hour, Colin watched in fascination as Beatrice went about the task of committing his countenance to canvas. It was
Colin held perfectly still, not wanting to distract her work. He liked watching her this way. She was so at ease, as if standing in front of an easel was her natural state of being. She was strong and spirited, not at all the wilting violet, as she had put it, that one might expect from one so petite. And best of all, he affected her. He could see it, anytime he complimented her, or stood too close, or met her gaze—she felt for him as much as he did her.
Could he really be so lucky? Could the woman who was about as close to his perfect match as he could think of truly be standing right in front of him? She was clever and sweet, beautiful and talented. She had the fortune that he required, but it was not at all what he saw when he looked at her.
To him, she was simply his
Slowly, deliberately, he straightened and began walking toward her. She glanced up, a single brow raised.
