She glanced toward the clock on the drawing room's mantel. "It's but one in the morning, and you know I rarely stop painting before three. And I don't need to be fresh tomorrow, because I'm not going to the breakfast."
"How about if we compromise and you paint until three o'clock tomorrow afternoon? That sounds fair, doesn't it? It's the event of the season."
"The Summer Exhibition is the event of my life." He was such a brother. She decided to change the subject. "Have you asked Mr. Delaney's advice yet regarding property management?"
"I've been too busy. And why do you care?" His eyes narrowed speculatively. "Juliana asked me about that, too. You're not interested in Mr. Delaney, are you?"
She wondered whether he would consider that a good thing or a bad one. "Interested in what way?"
"As a suitor. A potential husband."
She still couldn't tell what he was thinking. Better to play it safe, she decided; better he should get to know Sean before she admitted anything. "Of course not. I just remembered you'd said you wanted to talk to him, and I wondered if you had yet, that's all." She hoped that when he did talk to Sean he'd be impressed, which would save her from having to tell him who had posed for her portrait. "Now leave me alone, Griffin. I need to paint. And I'm not going to Lady Hartley's breakfast."
"I'll send our regrets," he gritted out, and then, as he walked off, Corinna heard him mutter, "Why do women always seem to get the best of me?"
Fog-free for the first time all day, she returned to her easel to appraise her picture. It really was coming along brilliantly, she thought, smiling. Just brilliantly.
But oh, my.
This was one extremely sensual painting.
Maybe no one besides the committee should see it before it was hung in the Summer Exhibition. It was her best work ever, but someone might express shock and talk her out of submitting it. Griffin especially—even though he wouldn't be able to tell it was Sean, he might not be entirely thrilled that his sister had painted such a portrait. After all was said and done, after she'd been honored by its selection, it would be a different story. He'd be proud of her then, surely. But before then…
Thanks heavens Lady A had offered to go with her to deliver it. She'd have to cover it up so the dear woman wouldn't be able to examine it in the carriage. Then somehow get through the submission process without her ever seeing it.
How she'd manage that, she couldn't imagine, but she'd worry about that later. After the painting was finished, after she'd changed Sean's hair and eyes.
Until then, she wanted him just as he looked now, she thought, raising her brush to the canvas and letting the fog close in again.
FORTY-ONE
"DID YOU NOT sleep well?" Deirdre asked solicitously when Sean slammed into the breakfast room again Sunday morning.
"I didn't sleep at all."
He'd spent the entire night alternating between worrying about his company and arguing with himself over whether to devastate Corinna now or allow her to paint in peace.
There was nothing he could do about the former that he wasn't already doing. He knew that. As for the latter, he also knew what was best for Corinna. But it didn't feel best for him.
The gravel had torn his insides to a pulp.
Still deliberating and ignoring Deirdre, he gulped down coffee and little else, then stomped upstairs to play nephew to Lincolnshire.
Coming to a halt in the earl's doorway, he listened to the man's ragged snores for a long minute, calming down somewhat. "How is he doing?" he finally asked Mrs. Skeffington quietly.
Sadness etched on her kind, plain face, the nurse shook her head.
The ragged snores ceased, making them both turn. "Cainewood?" Lincolnshire croaked.
"I'm here, Uncle." Sean walked closer and touched the man's hand, wincing when his fingers left indentations in the swollen flesh. "It's Sean."
Lincolnshire slitted his eyes, but just for a bare moment. "Cainewood?"
"He's not here, Uncle. But I am."
"Wake me…when…Cainewood…arrives," he wheezed again, and drifted off.
Sean looked to Mrs. Skeffington. "He thought I was Cainewood. Is he delirious, then?"
"Not delirious, but very tired. He was up quite late last night, closeted with his solicitor. And I fear…" She sighed and shook her head again. "I cannot say it."
Sean also feared the earl's end was near. "I cannot say it, either," he muttered, wondering why that should be so depressing. Life would be much easier when this was over. Maybe not happier, but surely easier. "Why would he want to see Cainewood?"
She shrugged. "Lord Lincolnshire asked for the marquess last night. Instructed Mr. Lawless to summon him first thing in the morning. I expect he wants to say good-bye. They've been neighbors for thirty years, after all, since the marquess was born." She forced a smile and patted Sean's hand with her own sturdy one. "I'll watch your uncle, Mr. Hamilton. You go paint. There's nothing you can do for him now."
"I cannot…well, perhaps I will." The earl didn't seem to want or need him right at the moment. He wouldn't paint, of course, but perhaps he would leave for a while. Go talk to Corinna or return to his offices. See if any reports had come in yet from outside London. "Please ask my wife to send for me if my uncle has need of me. She'll know where to find me."
He went downstairs and asked a footman to see that his curricle was brought around. As he headed for the door, the knocker banged, and Quincy opened it to reveal Corinna's brother.
Cainewood stood stiffly, his arms folded behind him. He looked impatient, or maybe furious. Sean didn't know him well enough to be sure which, but he was exhausted out of his mind—and he knew he'd taken liberties with
