Page 5 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
“As am I. Though I do not paint,” she began to say. He smiled, and for a second, he hesitated, feeling a strong desire to tell her that it was his favorite mode of creation. But just as he decided that he ought to say something else instead, Henry and his sister appeared.
“Pray tell, would you care for a cup of tea, Sidney?” his sister inquired. “There is a delightful tearoom almost directly across the street from here.”
Sidney drew in a breath. An art gallery was one thing—there the people attending it had endless other things to stare at. A tearoom too—well, that was too much for one morning.
“Thank you, Amy,” he began slowly. “But I think I would prefer not to. I had quite enough for breakfast to keep me on my feet till lunchtime.”
He tried to make his tone sound light. Amy grinned.
“Of course, brother. Well, then, when we have all walked through the room once, perhaps we ought to go to the coach. It looks like rain out there and I wish to be at home so that I can practice the piano while it’s light enough outside to read the music.”
Sidney smiled. “Of course, sister.” He would have added that they could depart whenever she desired to, but the thought of the pale-haired young woman made him stop before he could say that. He turned towards her, planning to introduce his sister to her. He realized that he did not know the young lady’s name, so he could not make an introduction. She had drifted off towards the paintings, a red-haired young lady gripping her arm firmly.
“I have not yet looked at the paintings of those ruins there,” his sister murmured. She glanced over to the door, where one small wall hosted paintings that seemed devoted to landscapes and ruins.
“Yes, quite so,” he murmured. He felt a little saddened by the young lady’s departure—it had been delightful to talk to her, even so briefly.
Amy turned to Henry, and he said something gentle, making Amy laugh warmly. Then they were already crossing towards the paintings of animals. Sidney looked around, his heart thudding. His mysterious companion had vanished into thin air.
Perhaps it’s better that way,he thought harshly to himself as he watched Amy and Henry walking clockwise around the space. Perhaps it was better that her lovely, charming smile could not prey on his mind too much.
He glanced around the room again, but he could not catch sight of her. His heart hurt a little, which surprised him.
You’re a fool,he told himself firmly.You said naught more than a few words to her. That does not mean a thing to her, and it should not to you.
He blushed at his own foolishness. The young woman was a visitor just like he was. She was here to see the artefacts and that was all.
Perhaps it is better that you ignore me,he said silently to the image of the young woman he’d just spoken with, which was still seared into his mind.I am not what you seek, not at all.
She was beautiful, but she was also doubtless as concerned with social matters and with acting as thetondictated she should. Nobody was honest about what they felt in high society. She was doubtless the same—insincere and cold.
He looked around and found a bench in the hallway with a padded cover. He went out and sat down, feeling weary. He had not realized how draining it would be, venturing into society. He was so tense and alert that his energy was being used up too fast.
“You did an excessively good job,” Henry’s voice reminded Sidney warmly. “You deserve a bit of fun now and again.”
Sidney swallowed hard. “I disagree,” he managed to say. The idea of his deserving any manner of pleasant thing almost burned him with fear. He was disfigured and horrible and he did not feel as though he deserved anything.
As they rode back in the coach, the image of the young girl’s face slipped into his mind, as if it was an answer to his question. He pushed it away. He was scarred, he was hideous, and he had no right to do so much as think of her. His lips set into a hard line, and he stared out of the coach, watching the gray buildings and streets roll past below a gray sky.
Chapter 2
“Camilla, dear...what is it?” Anastasia asked in a low voice, turning a wide-eyed blue gaze at her friend. She tucked a strand of pale golden hair out of her eye and frowned at her red-haired friend beside her. Camilla had come to join her the instant two people had joined her and the scarred gentleman; her arm wrapped through Anastasia’s as though she was about to drown.
“My dear friend!” Camilla hissed; her expression concerned. “I had to come and rescue you.”
“From what?” Anastasia asked, blinking her pale blue eyes confusedly. She looked around the gallery where she stood. There was no fire, and no footpads or bandits had leapt out from behind the pillars. Or, if they had, she had not noticed them.
“From that man!” Camilla whispered urgently. “He looks like a terrible sort. I could not bear to see him exchange a word with you.” Her dark eyes widened with urgent fear.
“That man...?” Anastasia blinked again, looking around. There were quite a few men at the gallery, walking about in fashionable velvet coats and long trousers. But nobody seemed dangerous. Just behind them, their chaperone, Martha, walked. Nobody had approached them, and she could not imagine what had made her friend fearful.
“The one with the scar! He was horrible.”
“Him?” Anastasia shook her head confusedly. “No. He was quite affable. He talked about the paintings.” She gazed dreamily up at the portraits they had discussed together. There were so few people willing to chat at art galleries that she had been glad to stop and talk about the artworks with somebody. Camilla had been talking to a mutual friend in the doorway and she had missed being able to share comments with someone.
“But that scar!” Camilla repeated. Her long oval face was a picture of shock. Her deep russet hair was piled up on her head in a fashionable chignon; her pale pink dress a cheerful clash with the spicy color of it. Her hazel eyes were wide, framed with black lashes and her lovely face was still distorted by her shocked look that she directed towards Anastasia.
“He had some scars, yes,” Anastasia said lightly. “But his insights into the work were interesting. Shall we go over there?” she gestured at the wall where the landscapes were.
