Page 90 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“I need to take those down,” Raph said.
“Don’t you dare.” Matilda raised a brow. Raph had painted the works on the wall for her. “Everyone adores them.”
Several people coughed, including the innkeeper.
“I cannot believe,” Drew said, looking to Matilda, “that you agreed to marry him after seeing these.”
“Mrs. Dart.” Raph attempted to croon, but it came out more like a bark. “Do you have any power over my brother to make him cease his prattling?”
Mrs. Dart sat next to Drew, drinking only a small glass of wine she’d barely touched. “None at all, I’m afraid. The man does as he pleases. I merely record his schedule. Speaking of which, my lord.” She turned to Drew. “You must compose and send out your response to Hatchfield tomorrow.” Her gaze flicked to his empty tankard.
Drew looked her straight in the eye and called for another, and when she looked away, his gaze exploded, from steely calm to panicked… something. “What in hell are you wearing?”
Mrs. Dart turned slowly, the force of death in her eyes. “A very beautiful gown loaned to me by your sister-in-law. A necessity, as I do not own anything frivolous. Should I have attired myself as if for a funeral?”
“No.” Drew looked into the dregs of his tankard. “As always, you’re perfectly correct, Mrs. Dart.”
Theo rolled his eyes and pushed to standing, his chair screeching across the floor behind him. “But where is Cordelia?”
Mr. Castle raised his drink. “I believe she retired upstairs with my wife. To discuss funding for something or other.”
“Thank you!” Theo bowed his gratitude and found the stairs. His wife. Working on her wedding day. He’d soon remedy that. He found the door to the Castles’ room and knocked, and it flew open before he’d even finished.
“Ah, Lord Theodore,” Mrs. Castle said, wiping a smear of paint from her cheek, “I was just leaving.”
“Cordelia?”
“Inside, dressing.” She slapped his shoulder. “Do stop scowling, my lord. Come in and see for yourself. I’m returning downstairs.” She slipped through the cracked door and down the stairs, and Theo crept inside.
A man stood farther in, framed by the window, his hat pulled low, his greatcoat and jacket too large and gaping open, revealing—
“Cordelia? Are those my clothes?”
She grinned. “They are. From the first time we met.”
“And what are you doing with them?”
Her grin grew. “Making an escape. Care to come with me?”
“Yes.” He’d go anywhere with her. “But why are my clotheshere? And why are we escaping?”
She took his hands and pulled him across the room where an easel stood. So preoccupied with the sight of his wife in trousers, he’d not noticed it until now.
“Look,” she said. “Mrs. Castle is painting it of me. She’s doing a series. Women dressed as men. Quite the scandal, don’t you think. A statement about power and—”
Theo groaned, turning her explanation into a laugh.
Itwasa scandal. The portrait was true to life in every way, including Cordelia’s curves and the feminine pout of her lips. Her hair was hidden inside the hat, but there was no doubt the figure on the canvas was a woman.
“Hell. How much does she want for it?”
“A question I do not have an answer to.”
He pulled her toward the door. “Let’s go ask her. I can’t let that painting rest in just anyone’s hands.”
She dug her heels into the floor. “No. No. We’re escaping, remember? You can talk to Mrs. Castle about the painting later.”
“I suppose,” he grumbled. “Why are we escaping again?”
