Page 74 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
Suzannah floated inside. She wore a silvery Ankara pearl silk evening gown, which gave off a shimmering iridescent sparkle as she moved through the room. She removed her evening gloves, handing them to a waiting maid, as she came toward the room’s focal point.
There stood a tall canvas in the center of the room with a white sheet draped over it. Suzannah had been fiercely protecting it for the last few months, allowing no one to see it. The train of her gown swept behind her as she turned to the crowd. A slender diadem of sapphires rested on the wild waves of her coiffure. She was his countess, and today she looked every bit of it. Kit could not deny the swell of pride he felt in that moment to call Suzannah his wife.
“I would like to thank all of you for coming tonight.” Suzannah spoke clearly, but Kit heard the note of raw emotion in her voice. “We’ve had quite a change in our world these last few months, a shift toward a new future in this house. As you may know, I met my husband when he hired me to paint his portrait.” Suzannah’s gaze touched his, and her lovely eyes softened. Kit’s hands shook as he set his glass of punch down. He barely dared to breathe.
“He asked for me to paint the truth. To show London the kind of man he was now, what society had made him after seven years of transportation to Australia for a crime he didn’t commit.”
Kit was dizzy now, his nerves running riot within him. He reminded himself that it was over. Balfour was dead and Walsh had been sentenced to transportation. One man was gone and the other was dead. There was nothing left to fear. Suzannah’s portrait shouldn’t frighten him, but somehow it did. He had demanded the truth from her, but now he found he was not ready for it. That old Kit, the man full of only rage and vengeance, was gone, and he never wanted to see that old version of himself again.
“It is my pleasure to unveil this portrait of my husband.” Suzannah reached up to grasp the sheet with one hand and pulled it down. The white fabric billowed like a ship’s sail a moment before settling at Suzannah’s feet. Not daring to look, Kit heard the gasps of men and women around him. Dread squeezing his heart, Kit finally raised his gaze, prepared to face the truth.
Warren reached out and grasped his arm, holding him steady as his knees buckled. It was not a portrait of him brooding and shirtless with his scars on full display. It was of him seated at a breakfast table in lively conversation with his friends. He and Darius were laughing. Suzannah had captured Darius’s gentle affection, Vincent’s quiet charm, Warren and Felix’s teasing banter, and Lionel’s amusement.
The colors, the expressions, the emotions she had captured were so real that for a moment it was like staring into a mirror. On the mantel behind Kit she’d painted a ship, much like the one that had taken him to Australia, and on the table, next to a vase of colorful exotic flowers, was a small ivory elephant. She hadn’t tried to hide what he’d been through, but she hadn’t let those experiences define him. This was his new truth—the man who’d survived so much had now found joy again. She’d painted him with love, with compassion, withtruth.
“What do you call your painting, my lady?” one of the guests asked.
Suzannah bit her lip, and then, unable to help herself, she broke into a wide smile.
“I call itThe Rogues of Devil’s Square.”
Kit found he was smiling back, so full of love for her that he couldn’t think past the thought that he wanted to kiss her right there in front of everyone.
“The king will have to have a portrait made now,” Vincent chuckled from Kit’s side. “I hear he’s craving to convey a more approachable image. He’ll be mad with jealousy until she paints him like that.”
“Then everyone in London will want her to paint them,” added Darius.
Kit kept his gaze on his wife, his heart bursting. How could so much change so fast in such a short time? From darkness to light, from hopelessness to hope? A new sense of wonder filled him at how unpredictable life could be in the best of ways.
“She deserves to be seen for who she is,” he replied. “To be recognized for the spark of genius and magic within her.”
“Everyone deserves that,” Vincent said and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Including you.”
Magic was indeed in the room tonight. Magic born of love, loyalty, and trust. Kit couldn’t have asked for anything more.
Suzannah passed through the crowd until she stood beside him.
“Well?” she asked.
“Wellll...” He drew out the word with a teasing, indecisive tone. “I think you’ve proven how brilliant you are, my darling.”
“You truly like it?”
He pulled her into his arms, kissing her and wishing they were alone so he could do more than that. “You gave me my life back, my friends, my heart... my hope.” His throat tightened. “You gave meeverything, Suzannah. How can I ever repay that debt?”
His little painter smiled impishly. “I suppose by loving me until the end of everything.”
“And beyond even that,” he promised.
“Good.” She locked her arm through his. “Now that’s settled, we had better leave or we’ll miss the play.”
Kit kissed the top of her head and shouted to the room, “Do you hear that? Time to leave, everyone! The coaches are waiting outside. I expect it will be a packed house tonight.”
Outside, the stars above glittered and the sounds of merriment echoed down the street. Soon, the curtain would rise in the theater on Drury Lane...
* * *
Darius excusedhimself from the crowd of friends outside Kit’s home and quickly crossed the street, using his cane only sparingly now. He had recovered from his wounds but was still a bit stiff in the mornings and evenings. It turns out getting shot wasn’t the best thing for a man’s constitution. He walked up the steps to his home, and Mr. Chelsea opened the door.
