Page 75 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
What had he written in his letters? He’d seen no sign of them when he’d inspected the backs of the paintings, but that meant nothing. What did they say? What could they say to make it better? Nothing. And Zander would never know the words written for him, never be able to earn them.
At least he had Fiona to look at, the sweet plump curve of her cheek, the pink bow of her mouth, those shoulders straight strong, and little bits of paint dotting her gown, her cheeks, her fingers clutched in her lap.
The paintings bumped against his shin. The letters bumped against his mind.
Her gaze slipped from the sights outside the window to him, and she smiled, a slight thing, a mere turnup of the corner of her mouth, and he returned it.
“You’re a bloody clever woman,” he said, pushing back the growing cadence in his head—letters, letters, letters.
She blinked, clearly startled, and blushed. “Me? Clever?” The question in her voice seemed pleased, and that sly turnup of her lips curved even more.
He nodded slowly. His grin grew wicked as his gaze slid to the paintings. She blushed, but she did not turn away from him.
From the other side of the baron, Theo groaned. “Could you please save the lovemaking until you’re well in private? Bloody Lady Cordelia was right. The two of youarein love.” He scoffed.
“Lord Theodore,” Lady Balantine said, “do you scoff at the name of love?”
“Everyone should,” he assured her.
Zander let them bicker and continued gazing into his dragon’s green eyes. And she gazed right back, and who knew how many hours brought them to the edge of London. He spent every one of them looking at her, fighting back the urge to rip off the drop cloth and rip into the backs of the paintings. Only when the carriage rolled to a stop outside of a row of terrace homes he now recognized, did she break the gaze-held chain between them as she stepped out of the carriage.
He moved to stand. “I’ll escort you inside.”
“No.” She waved him away and shut the door between them. “I must face them alone. They are not best pleased with me.”
“I understand why,” he grumbled. He had been upset with her, too. He wanted to kiss her cheek to tell her he would clean himself up and visit later because he did, after all, need to talk to her father, but he could barely form the words because his body was so tired. And painted green, his head still pounding. And the letters. The letters still pounded in his brain, making thoughts of much else close to impossible.
So he did as she wished and retook his seat before the carriage set off again. It did not take them long to bring him to Maggie’s door.
“Why are we here?” Zander asked. “We must help her ladyship unload our cargo.”
“And I’ll do so,” Theo said. “You, however, must clean yourself up. I will take Lady Balantine and her son back to her place and help her unload there. I’ll hire a couple of runners, too, to keep this one straight.” He elbowed Herbert.
Herbert elbowed him back. Theo merely glowered at him, not even flinching or blinking when the man’s elbow hit his ribs. Herbert shrank away from him.
“Lady Balantine needs guarding. Just in case.”
Zander did not disagree.
“Not going to hurt my mother,” Herbert mumbled.
“You hurt my brother.” Theo crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t trust you. Nobody should, and until I’m quite certain you’re going to keep your mouth shut—”
“I will,” Herbert insisted. “My mother says she will ruin me if I don’t.”
“And you won’t hurt her for that?” Zander asked.
“I’m a thief, not a murderer.”
“Slippery slope, dear fellow,” Theo said.
Zander had no doubt Theo had some sort of cartoon in mind, something to blackmail the man with. He also had no doubt Theo knew someone, a group of nefarious someones, who would guard the dowager closely. Zander might be something akin to a thief, but his brother was unscrupulous, rather close to not having a heart.
“I’ll clean up, then. Make sure the paintings are safe.” His hand rested on the top of the largest one’s frame. “Then I’ll come help you.” He gave Lady Balantine a reassuring smile and left the coach, one painting under each arm. He entered the townhouse and shut the door with his entire body, resting his forehead against the cool wood with closed eyes.
“Lord Lysander.” Maggie and Tobias’s butler had a voice like a squeaky hinge.
Zander jumped. “Ah, Barnett. Could you retrieve some paintings for me from the coach outside? There are three more.”
