Setting her hand on his arm, Gerrard led her through the guests; only she was aware of his glamour, the contradiction between his outward languid elegance as he nodded to others, and the tension in the muscles beneath her fingers, the rampant possessiveness in the hand covering hers on his sleeve.
She plastered a light smile over her clenched teeth. Bloody-minded, arrogant, obstreporous man! She was only trying to make all right with his family-
It hit her. Suddenly, just like that, in the middle of Lady Sommerville’s ballroom.
The scales fell from her eyes with a resounding crash. She halted abruptly, almost swaying from the shock.
Gerrard smoothly shifted; long fingers closing about her elbow, he propelled her on. “We’re leaving.”
“Now?” A species of panic clutched at her stomach. She looked for Millicent. “But it’s not yet ten.”
“Close enough. Millicent will know we’ve left. Horatia will drive her home.”
It was a routine they’d followed for the last week, but…She needed to think. Desperately needed time to straighten her tangled thoughts.
Her frighteningly dizzying novel thoughts.
In no mood to brook any resistance, Gerrard escorted her out of the ballroom and down the stairs. In the foyer, they waited while his carriage was summoned, then he handed her in and joined her. The door was shut, the horses given the office. The carriage rattled out along the road, and they were alone, sitting side by side in the warm dark.
Teeth gritted, he held his demons down, soothed them with the fact that she was with him, beside him, unharmed, and would remain so, with him, from now on. Until he’d finished the portrait, extricated her from the web of suspicion in Cornwall-and carried her off and married her.
That was his plan, and it was set in stone. Immutable, not open to modification.
Thank heavens Timms had, in her inimitable fashion, warned him. If she hadn’t met him in the corridor that evening and twitted him over allowing Jacqueline to remain in ignorance of his intentions, if Timms hadn’t mentioned the conversation she and Minnie had had with Jacqueline, he’d never have guessed what Jacqueline was about, what was behind her seeking to spend time with other men-and his reaction would have been a great deal less controlled.
Given how fraught, how provoked he’d still felt, even guessing her reasons, the gods only knew what horrors Timms and her teasing had averted.
Sitting in the carriage as it rocked along, excruciatingly aware of Jacqueline beside him, warm, feminine, the perfect answer to his every desire, no matter how deep or dark, guilt seeped through him; the blame for her uncertainty over his intentions lay squarely at his door.
He’d shied away from speaking-of his wish to marry her and even more of his need to marry her-and part of that, definitely, had been a craven wish to protect his own heart, by not acknowledging it, to conceal the vulnerability he felt over loving her.
Be that as it may, he still couldn’t speak, not until the portrait was finished, and she-her winning free of the suspicions over her mother’s death-no longer depended on him, on his talents, and his exercising those in her cause. Waiting was still the honorable way forward.
Imagining it-putting his proposal to the test, laying his future at her feet-sent apprehension snaking down his spine. To him his future might be immutable, but it would only be so if she agreed.
He still had no real idea of her feelings, felt no certainty over how she would react. Did she love him? He still didn’t know.
Drawing in a breath, he shifted to glance at her. She’d been staring straight ahead, unusually silent. The flare from a street lamp fleetingly lit her face. Her expression looked…unreadable.
He frowned. “I expect the portrait to take two, possibly three, more days to complete. After that, I suggest we return to Cornwall with all speed. We set the stage before we left-no sense delaying and letting the questions we successfully raised fade from people’s minds.”
Through the gloom, Jacqueline studied his face. “Only three days?” She hadn’t seen the portrait in the last day or so, hadn’t realized he was so close to finishing it.
He nodded, and looked ahead. “I’d appreciate it if you could remain at the house over that time. In case I need to check a line or adjust the shading.”
She felt her expression harden. “And you’ll be able to concentrate better if you know I’m in the house, and not gallivanting about falling prey to gentlemen cads?”
His jaw tightened. A fraught moment passed, then he nodded. “Precisely.”
He glanced, sharply, at her; even through the dimness she felt the lancing quality of his gaze. “Three days, and the portrait will be finished…” His voice faded; he cleared his throat and looked away. “As for what’s between us, we’ll talk of that later.”
She narrowed her eyes, glared through the gloom, but he was looking out of the window. Later? Damn him! He was intending to marry her.
Just thinking the words left her shaken, as if the earth had tilted beneath her feet. In some ways it had.
Everyone else had seen it; only she hadn’t.
She wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that.
The carriage rocked to a halt in Brook Street. He descended to the pavement and handed her down, then escorted her up the steps and into the front hall.
Masters shut the door behind them. Jacqueline smiled at him. “Aunt Millicent will return later. I doubt she’ll be late.”
“Indeed, miss-she rarely is.” Masters bowed and retreated.
Gerrard took her arm. Grasping her skirts, she climbed the stairs beside him.
In the gallery, she paused. Drawing breath, she faced him. “I’m really not feeling all that well-a bit…unsteady.” True enough; her wits were whirling giddily. “I know you’re in a rush to complete the portrait, but I wonder if you can manage without me for tonight.”
The lamps were turned low, yet even in the weak light, the concern that filled his eyes, his whole face, was visible. His grip on her arm firmed, as if he thought she might faint. “Damn! I knew I was pushing you too hard. You should have said.”
That last was uttered through gritted teeth, but there was enough self-censure in his tone for her to let it pass; he was irate with himself, not her.
“Come-let’s get you to bed.” He glanced at her as he steered her along the corridor. “It isn’t something you ate?”
She shook her head. It was something she’d heard, something she’d realized. “I’m just…overtired.” And she needed time alone to think.
His lips set; he opened her door and guided her in. She’d expected him to ring for her maid and leave her. Instead, he led her to her dressing stool, sat her gently down, and proceeded to pull the pins from her hair.
She stared at him in the mirror. “Ah…my maid can do that. You should go to the studio.”
He shook his head. “I want to see you settled.”
She tried twice more to get him to leave, to no avail. Then, to her even greater astonishment, after tucking her into bed, he hesitated, frowning down at her, then shrugged out of his coat. “I’ll sleep with you for a while. The portrait will go faster if I take a break, and without you…”
The suspicion that he knew she wasn’t truly ill and was calling her bluff, as it were, occurred only to be dismissed; the look on his face was a transparent medley of concern and worry.
Guilt jabbed at her, but she desperately needed time to think. How she was to accomplish that with him lying naked beside her…
He slid under the covers and reached for her. She half expected him to make love to her; instead, he gathered her gently into his arms, settling her against his warmth. He bent his head, searched for her lips, but there was no passion in his kiss, only gentleness.
“Go to sleep.”