Part 43 (2/2)

In far less time than one might have imagined, Esme stood clean, elegantly coiffed and attired in an evening gown of demure white silk-presentable for company once again.

She'd hoped with the Season over, she might be able to put all the entertaining behind her for the year. But then Claire had decided to host one of her autumn country parties, inviting the usual gathering of friends and family, in addition to a few new acquaintances from London.

Esme sighed inwardly, wis.h.i.+ng she could spend a quiet evening with just the family, then retire early with a good book.

Instead, she straightened her shoulders, fixed a smile on her lips and headed downstairs.

”Might I procure a beverage for you, Lady Esme?”

Esme glanced up from where she sat on the end of the long drawing room sofa and looked into the eager gray eyes of Lord Eversley.

Only minutes before, the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies after dinner, strolling in on a wave of companionable talk, the faint lingering aromas of cigar smoke and port wine drifting in as well.

Esme had been listening with only partial attention to the other women's discussion of fas.h.i.+on when the men entered and Lord Eversley approached to make her a very elegant bow.

He'd been seated next to her at dinner, his conversation both pleasant and interesting. He was attractive, personable, well-mannered and intelligent-in short, everything any sane young woman could want in a husband. Plus, he was heir to an earldom and a fortune that was impressive even by her family's standards.

Eversley had been one of her most attentive suitors this past Season and his presence here obviously amounted to Claire and Mallory's rather badly disguised attempt to further the relations.h.i.+p. A little nudge in the right direction, she could hear them saying, and wedding bells would ring.

She ought to be cross with them. Really she should. But she knew they only meant well. They just wanted her to be as happily married as they were. If only they would believe her when she said that she wasn't interested in a husband.

Not right now.

Not for a good long while if she had any say in the matter.

Luckily, her oldest brother, Edward, was in no hurry to get her off his hands, content to let her remain here at home for as many years as she liked.

The time would come when she needed to marry. Until then, she would have to find ways to avoid the overtures of interested young men, even ones as thoroughly eligible as Lord Eversley.

”Thank you,” she said in answer to his question, ”but I already had tea.”

”Ah,” he said, linking his hands at his back. ”A stroll, then, perhaps? The gardens here at Braebourne are quite splendid, even by lantern light.”

”Indeed they are. Again, I am afraid I must refuse. Another time perhaps? I have walked a great deal today, you understand, and my feet are far too weary for another outing at present.”

Her feet were never weary-everyone in the family knew she could beat paths through the fields like a seasoned foot soldier-but Lord Eversley didn't need to be apprised of that fact. Hopefully none of the others were listening and would give her away.

Yet apparently someone else was listening. Lettice Waxhaven-another of the London guests, who happened to have made her debut along with Esme this past spring-leaned forward at just that moment, a fierce gleam in her pale blue eyes. ”Yes, where were you this afternoon, Lady Esme? We were all of us wondering, what could be so fascinating that you would vanish for the entirety of the afternoon?”

Esme hid her dislike for the other young woman behind a tight smile. Why her mother and Lettice's mother had to be old childhood friends who had been unexpectedly reacquainted this Season, she didn't know. It was because of the renewal of that friends.h.i.+p that Esme found herself far too often in Lettice's company.

”I was just out,” Esme said. ”Walking and sketching.”

”Really? Pray tell, what is it you sketch?” Lettice asked as if she were actually interested-which she was clearly not.

But Esme wasn't thinking about Lettice's false sincerity. Instead, she was caught up in memories of the beautiful naked man by the lake and the drawings of him that she'd done while he slept. Suddenly she was grateful for the room's warmth, since it disguised the flush that crept over her neck and cheeks.

”Nature,” she answered with a seemingly careless shrug. ”Plants and animals. Anything that takes my fancy at the time.”

And oh my, had the glorious stranger taken her fancy.

”Lady Esme is quite the accomplished artist,” Lord Eversley said with enthusiasm. ”I had the great good fortune to view a few of her watercolors when we were last in Town.” He smiled at her, clearly admiring. ”She is a marvel.”

Lettice's mouth tightened, her eyes narrowing. It was no secret-at least not to Esme-that Lettice had long ago set her cap at Lord Eversley and that so far he had failed to take notice of her. Esme would have felt sorry for her were Lettice a nicer person.

Lettice blinked and rearranged her features into a sweet smile, as if realizing that she'd let slip the well-practiced air of kind innocence she wore like a mask. ”Oh, I should so like to see your sketches. Perhaps you might show them to us?”

”Yes, Lady Esme,” Eversley agreed. ”I too would greatly enjoy a chance to view your newest work.”

”Oh, that is most kind,” Esme said, hedging. ”But I suspect you would find my efforts disappointing.”

”Impossible,” Eversley disagreed. ”You are too good an artist to ever draw anything that could be deemed disappointing.”

”You give me far too much credit, Lord Eversley. What I drew today amounts to nothing of importance. Just a few random studies, that's all.”

Nude studies of an unforgettable male.

Sleek limbs corded with muscle.

A powerful, hair-roughened chest.

Narrow hips.

Taut b.u.t.tocks.

Impressive genitalia-at least she found it impressive, considering it was the first real, flesh-and-blood set she'd ever seen.

And his face . . .

Planes and angles that begged for an artist's attention, rugged yet refined, bold and unabashed.

Captivating.

”Truly, they're mostly rubbish and I have no wish to offend anyone's eyes with the viewing,” she said, hoping Eversley would take the hint and let that be the end of it.

Instead, he persisted. ”You are too modest, Lady Esme. Why do you not let me be the judge?”

”Who is modest?” her brother Lawrence said, joining the conversation. A few others turned their heads to listen as well.

”Lady Esme,” Eversley explained. ”Miss Waxhaven and I are trying to persuade her to show off the sketches she did today, but she is too shy.”

Leo, Lawrence's twin, laughed from where he sat next to his wife, Thalia. ”Our Esme? Shy about her art? That doesn't sound likely.”

”Yes, she's usually raring to share,” Lord Drake Byron agreed.

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