Page 78 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
Raph’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. They stood together and found their way to the entrance hall. Six covered paintings leaned against the wall.
“Which one?” Raph asked.
Zander knelt, lifted a small one, and handed it over. Raph didn’t even spare a single glance for the painting. He immediately turned it over and tore at the back.
“Careful!” Zander cried. Too late. The damage to the backing was done and a small piece of parchment found, Raph’s name scrawled across it.
“Bollocks,” Raph whispered.
“Hell,” Zander hissed.
Raph’s hands shook, but he held the parchment gently and looked toward the stairs. “Maggie must know.”
“Naturally.” Zander yawned, exhaustion stealing over even the shaking excitement of their find.
Raph clapped him on his back, winced, then pulled his hand away, inspecting the palm and wiping it on his trousers. “Why don’t you go upstairs and clean up, yes?”
“Yes. Don’t wait for me.” He gave a weak grin and retreated. Don’t wait for him because he had no place in the triumphant conversation. He’d never earn his inheritance or his letter. But… he’d found the paintings, and hell, that felt good. He’d finally helped. It was all he’d ever wanted—to be useful, not a burden.
Miracle of miracles, Raph did not consider him a burden, a stone, a nuisance, or a failure. All those things Zander had always thought himself. Tilted the world a bit, it did. The light outside the window turned gray as he savored his brother’s words. Everything he’d always wanted.
Except now… now he wanted something else. Someone else. But did she want him?
She’d chased him once. Did she run from him now?
Perhaps it was his time to give chase, to show her how much he loved her, needed her, to be the sort of knight his dragon needed.
Twenty-Four
Fiona had lost track of the number of times she’d walked around the square and meandered through the small garden at its center. Every time she passed close to her home’s front door she paused, pondered going in, retreated, needing more time to gather her thoughts.
There would never be enough time, and cowardice made her wiggly. What she’d said to her parents that morning… she’d meant it, and she would not regret having said it. She must face them. So, with resolute steps, she made her way to the door and pushed inside. The same warmth as every other time before, the same glow. Her home, at least, still welcomed her. But would her family?
She took steady breaths as she approached the parlor from which firelight flickered, shadowed on the opposite hallway wall. They were always there of an evening. They would be there now.
And they were. Mama and Papa playing cards by the fire, Posey curled up with a book near the window. When she cleared her throat, they turned and looked. Mama dropped her cards, and Papa knocked over a wineglass as he jolted to his feet. Posey froze entirely, eyes wide, book forgotten.
Then they were on her, arms folding round her, exclamations so close to her ear they deafened her.
“You’re home.”
“You’re safe.”
“Did you find him?”
Who said what she could not say? They all spoke at the same time, warm hands pulling her farther in the room, pressing her down onto the same settee Zander had draped her across when she’d pretended to faint weeks earlier.
She looked up at their concerned faces and cried, hiding her face and wetting her palms.
A heavy thud made her jump, and she looked up, sniffling, to see her father’s face in front of her own, misery-etched with swimming eyes. “I am so sorry, my dear.” He held his palms up to her, open and curved and… offering. “It was all my fault. I have not listened to you. I have not taken you seriously. Your paintings for that woman. Your taking up with that lord… it is all my fault.”
She wrapped his hands in her own and shook them. “I… I forgive you. As long as you do not make me pick up another paintbrush ever again.”
His gaze dropped to their hands crushed tight between them. “No. Not if you do not want.”
She looked up at her mother, at Posey. “I understand. I do. That we must walk a careful line, as careful as any of the ton in order to keep their patronage. I am not as silly or clueless as you all think.”
“No!” Posey sank to the settee beside her. “I do not think you silly. I think you see the world in a different way than most. I think that is a strength. And I looked at your sketches.”
