Flirting With Fortune

madly in love with her sister. There may have been a few bumps in the road, but she never doubted the intensity of their feelings—or the truth of them.

“I just wonder if—” Bea paused, struggling with the right words to say. It was difficult to admit she had been so blind, so utterly oblivious. “If I wasn’t too hasty in agreeing to marry.”

All exasperation and humor vanished from her sister’s face. “And why would you think such a thing? I’ve seen the way he looks at you—as far as I could tell, it didn’t seem as though things could be hasty enough.”

Lust, pure and simple. Regardless of all else, she was attracted to him in a way she had never been to another man. More than handsome, well beyond normal—he was in a class wholly unto himself. “Attraction is hardly the same thing as love. Unfortunately, they are all too easily confused.”

“Such sage, wise words from one so young,” Evie said, the corners of her lips turned up. “Would you like to talk it over? I’m a dreadful listener, but for your sake I shall try.”

She had intended to keep the truth of it to herself until she heard from Colin, but blast it all, she wanted an ally. She wanted someone who could look at it objectively and then side with her. At the very least, she wanted reassurance that her pain wasn’t unfounded.

“He’s a fortune hunter.”

“A what?”

“A fortune hunter. One who wants nothing more than a moneyed wife so he can fill his coffers and—”

“I know what a fortune hunter is, Bea.” She rolled her eyes and picked up a piece of Pomona green silk taffeta, turning it in her hands. “I simply don’t believe the charge. Are you quite certain?”

“Ask your husband.”

“Benedict?”

“Do you have another?” At Evie’s sarcastic glare, Beatrice relented. “He did a little investigating for me to verify the truth of it.”

“And what is the truth?”

“That he owes ten thousand pounds against his estate, and he didn’t think to mention this to me before, you know, asking me to marry him.”

Evie cringed, biting her lip. “Oh my. I suppose such a truth doesn’t exactly cast his motives in the best of lights. What did he have to say for himself?”

The pain of their last conversation assailed her. The hopelessness of ever being able to trust him, of being able to believe that he truly fell for Beatrice, pulled at her belly. “The usual. He loves me; he felt that my dowry was nothing more than a happy coincidence, et cetera, et cetera.”

“The devil is in the ‘et cetera,’ sister-mine.” Her voice was soft and kind—if that didn’t speak to the gravity of the situation, Beatrice didn’t know what did.

“He swears he fell for me the person, not me the heiress. That we are each other’s perfect match, perfectly suited in every way. And . . .” She trailed off, thinking of his searing last kiss, of the heat of his breath across her cheek, caressing her ear.

“I don’t know what, exactly, you intended to say after ‘and,’” Evie said, her brow raised halfway up her forehead, “but based on the heat of your very rare blush, I’m not certain I wish to know.”

The warmth in Beatrice’s cheeks must have been more visible than she realized. A genuine grin, what felt like the first in a week, came to her lips. “Suffice it to say, though I may doubt his motives, I can’t honestly say I doubt his attraction.”

“Oh good Lord in heaven, if we need to move up the wedding, you need to tell me this instant, Beatrice Eloise Moore.”

She hadn’t meant to burst out with horrified laughter, but she could hardly do otherwise in the face of her sister’s aghast expression. “No, though it is almost worth it for me to say yes just to see my very levelheaded sister have a fit of vapors.”

“So glad I could provide you with such entertainment.” Her straight-faced, flat-toned response made her sarcasm abundantly clear. “Now, back to the issue at hand. Without reducing me to vapors,” she said, lifting a brow, “what does your heart say?”

“That he lied. That he manipulated me. That he betrayed my trust in a way that could never be fixed.”

“Well. I must say, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Why haven’t you broken the contract? I know there will be scandal, but it is a lesser evil than a lifetime of misery.”

She thought of his portrait, half finished in her studio. Every feature exactingly reproduced, each angle laid out with her brush with as tender a touch as her own hands upon his skin. She shook her head, swallowing back the unnamable emotion that clogged her throat. “I don’t know. He asked, and I let him have a chance to somehow prove himself.”

“You don’t know? I don’t believe that for a second. You’re the one who always knows everything.”

“I wish. This time around, I have been the worst of oblivious fools. When he was near, it was as though everything else in the world faded away. It was just him and me, alone in the world together. I saw only him, heard only him.” Tasted him, smelled him, felt him—his presence had consumed her every sense. She still didn’t know what happened to her normally astute self when he was near.

“I see,” Evie said slowly, eyeing Bea with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. “You’re in love.”

“Was.” The single word broke her heart, tearing at the hopes that she had harbored.

“Are. Why else would you be giving him a chance?”

The words floated in the air like Chinese lanterns, bright and optimistic, but destined to burn out and crash to the ground. Beatrice sighed and came to her feet, turning away from her sister’s all too knowing gaze.

“It doesn’t matter if I am or not. If he can’t prove that he truly loves me for me, then there is no future for us.”

Evie stood as well, coming to where Beatrice stood and slipping an arm around her. “Then let us hope,” she said, compassion gentling her voice and loosening the loneliness Bea had felt since Colin left, “that he specializes in the impossible.”

* * *

Blowing his hair from his forehead, Colin stood and set his hands to his hips, surveying the mess before him. The studio, the bedchambers, and now the attic had been searched from top to bottom. Not surprisingly, he hadn’t found any paintings. Nor chests of gold or hidden jewels, for that matter.

Bloody hell.

He blew out a frustrated breath, sending a puff of crystallized air to the attic rafters. Two hours in the freezing cold, three sneezing fits, one startled mouse, and exactly zero items of worth to show for it.

It just didn’t make any bloody sense. According to his family, Father was working on a fix to their problems. God only knew what, exactly, that fix was, seeing how the studio was all but empty. Which he already knew. Shortly after the creditors showed up on the doorstep, Colin had done much the same thing, searching the house for anything of value to sell.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise—he knew full well that Father hadn’t taken on any new clients in the months leading to his death. And even if he had, the portrait would belong to the customer. But he had hoped against hope that Father’s fix would have involved a brilliant . . . something. Colin didn’t know what. Another portrait of one of the royals, perhaps?

It wasn’t as though a normal painting would raise enough funds, after all. If Father was planning to paint them out of debt, it would have to be something so spectacular, it could bring ten thousand pounds.

Not unheard of for the old masters, but as celebrated as his father was, his pieces were not yet that valuable—particularly since they were commissioned to depict specific people.

However, as morbid as such a thought was, the fact that his father was now gone would have instantly made his paintings more valuable. Whether it would be valuable enough was a whole different issue—but at least it was a chance.

The resentment boiled up within him once more. Irrationally, he cursed his father beneath his breath. Colin had spent half his life cleaning up his father’s messes. Irate visits from their creditors, empty cupboards and dry lamps from his father’s forgetfulness to order more of what they needed. And now this. He couldn’t have died, leaving things in order. It wouldn’t have been his father if he had.

He wanted to rail at the man, to take him by the collar and demand to know why he had lacked all regard