Page 32 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“I won’t tell you again, Rosalind. If you ever humiliate me like that—” he said, but Rosalind had heard enough.
She pushed him away, causing him to stumble, as she turned and pushed her way through the throng. He cursed her, but she had no care for his words, and disappearing behind the marble columns, she hurried towards the doors leading out onto the terrace. Tears were running down her cheeks, and she could think only of Sebastian, and the solace of his company.
The sweet scent of cigar smoke hung in the air, and for a moment, Rosalind feared she might find the earl in the company of other men. But he was alone, standing at the far end of the terrace, in the very place she had left him. As she approached, drying her eyes on a handkerchief, he turned to her with a smile.
“I didn’t know if you’d return,” he said, and she sighed.
“I…there was a disagreement. The duke and I…oh, it doesn’t matter. Can we go down into the garden? I don’t want them finding me out here,” she said, and Sebastian offered her his arm.
The evening was still, the stars bright in the sky, the moon of which they had spoken so poetically, hanging large and waxy above them. They made their way down the terrace steps, finding themselves on the lawn, the shrubbery still filled with the muffled giggles and whispers of courting couples, a pair of whom emerged right in front of them, as they walked along a paved path towards a fountain at the far end of the garden.
“Don’t tell anyone, will you?” the woman exclaimed, shrieking with laughter, as the man pulled her back into the shrubbery.
“Was he very cruel to you? The duke, I mean,” Sebastian asked, and Rosalind sighed.
“Yes, he was, but I don’t know what that means. I feel so foolish. Are all men like that?” she asked.
She had known the answer before asking the question. All men were not like the Duke of Northridge. Sebastian was proof of that, and he shook his head and smiled at her.
“I think you’ll know if he was. Did it feel so?” he asked, and Rosalind nodded.
“He told me I’d humiliated him by dancing with you,” she said, feeling ashamed to admit it.
“You probably did. But if he was a good and honorable man, you’d have had no reason to do so. A man like that deserves to be humiliated. He’s not used to it, of course, but he deserves it. I hope you don’t feel guilty,” Sebastian said.
They had reached the fountain, now, where a marbled cherub spouted forth a stream of water into the open mouth of a large fish, wrought in the same stone. They sat down on a seat at the edge, and Rosalind traced a trail with her fingers across the water.
“I don’t know how I feel. I don’t feel guilty, no. I just wish things were different, that’s all,” she said, glancing up at him.
His gaze reminded her of Dionysus. It was the same look she had given him, the deep, thoughtful eyes. What was he thinking now? To her surprise, he took her hand in hers. There was something reassuring in his touch, and now he edged a little closer to her, leaning forward, just as it was in her painting.
“They could be different. You don’t have to be enthralled to him, Rosalind. You’re still so young. I hate to think…oh, it’s a wickedness, it truly is,” he exclaimed, shaking his head.
“You don’t need to feel sorry for me,” Rosalind said, but now he reached up and brushed the hair back from her face, tracing a trail with his fingers across her cheek.
A shiver ran through her, but she did not withdraw from his touch or pull her hand away. There was comfort in this moment. She felt safe with him, even as she knew the scandal it could bring forth. She edged closer to him along the marble seat, the gaze of the cherub fixed on them. As Sebastian drew her into his embrace, their lips meeting in a kiss.
“But I do feel sorry for you, and if I can do something, anything for you, I will,” he whispered, as their lips parted, their foreheads resting against one another’s.
A sudden and unexpected passion seized Rosalind. She clung to him, smothering him in kisses, their lips pressed together in the surprise of a newly discovered desire. He represented everything she would never have: a man who understood her, who could care for her, who could love her. Rosalind did not feel loved.
Her parents could be cold, and Richard had never once uttered such words or made a show of romance. Her friendship with Elizabeth meant a great deal to her, and she cared deeply for Molly, too. But it was not the same as knowing what she desired. She had feelings for Sebastian she had never known.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. Realizing the imposition of her touch only drew her further into his embrace. And as their lips met again, Rosalind pictured the portrait of Ariadne and Dionysus.
She had painted them in the guise and gaze of lovers, their lips about to meet. But in the painting, they were forever frozen in the moment of anticipation. She had often imagined that moment for herself, but experiencing it now was different to her imaginings.
There had been no chance to think, only the overwhelming desire to do, and as their lips parted, Rosalind breathed a deep sigh, fearing she would never know such a touch again.
“It’s I who should be sorry,” Sebastian replied, even as he smiled at her, their hands clasped together, each breathless from the suddenness of their passionate exertion.
“It’s… I’ve never…” Rosalind stammered, and Sebastian nodded.
“It doesn’t matter. There has to be a first time for everything, doesn’t there?” he replied.
How often Rosalind had imagined this moment. She remembered the first time she had seen a kiss. It was in the depiction of a painting, and her mother had hurriedly ushered her past it. It hung in the salon of some grand woman with whom they had gone to take tea. She had only been seven years old, but the memory had stayed with her.
She had wanted to ask what they were doing, but her mother had told her it was not proper, and still Rosalind had been fascinated. She had asked one of the maids, demonstrating the action on the palm of her hand. The maid had blushed and told her the couple in the painting were probably kissing. Ever since that moment, Rosalind, too, had wondered what it would be like to share a kiss.
