Lady Jillian was the lady in the painting. Of that Samuel was now certain. First, she’d lost all color when he first mentioned it, but recovered rather quickly. When he grasped her hand for the waltz, she shook as if cold. The final proof was the birthmark on her right breast. It couldn’t be seen while they spoke, but now that they stood closer and he glanced down, it was there, just beneath where her bodice gaped. He should not have looked, but he needed to be certain.
There was always the possibility that both the model and Lady Jillian possessed the same, crescent-shaped mark, but highly doubtful. And though she lied to him, Sam well understood why she had. If Society became aware, she’d be ruined, and it would be far worse than simply being caught kissing in the gardens, which is why he didn’t question her further. At least he wouldn’t in a ballroom full of people, but eventually he would learn the why and how that portrait had come to be.
For now, the woman he had fantasized about was in his arms, and they were waltzing, and he didn’t give a damn whether His Grace approved or not.
She’d also gone quiet the moment he complimented her, as if she were shocked. Surely that couldn’t be the case. Gentlemen had probably been throwing such compliments toward since her first Season. Well, unless all the gentlemen in London were fools, which was quite possible. She was old enough to have married, and she was the daughter of a duke, so why did she remain unattached? Not that he had any complaints, as it left her free for him to come to know better. But for now, he’d simply be content holding her as they waltzed from one end of the ballroom to the other.
Not only beautiful, but graceful as well. He didn’t have to adjust his steps because they matched perfectly. Nor did he truly need to lead. It was if they were one, moving together, neither leading nor following. Would it be the same if he had her in bed?
He shut that thought down immediately. Yes, he had fantasized about bedding the woman in the portrait, but now that he knew she was real, he’d need to go about this properly, which would be damned difficult when His Grace was her disapproving father.
The waltz ended and though Samuel was reluctant to let her go, he took a step back. “Shall I return you to your father or brother?”
Lady Jillian cast a quick glance to where father stood. His face, a sea of anger. “My brother, please.”
He offered his elbow and then led her back to his group.
“Thank you for the waltz, Mr. Storm.”
“It was my pleasure, Lady Jillian, and I do hope to have the honor again.”
She glanced down as pink spots blossomed on her cheeks. Why was she not used to compliments? What the hell was wrong with the gentlemen in Town?
He relinquished her over to her brother, and the two bid them goodbye. Samuel watched as they made their way through the room, in the opposite direction of His Grace, who watched his daughter with a frown then turned and skewered Samuel with a look that would send a lesser man running.
Bloody hell! He’d only danced with Eldridge’s daughter. One would think he tossed up her skirts in the middle of the ballroom.
Thorn and Anna had moved on, leaving him alone with Felding and his wife. As he did not know them well, he was just about to take his leave and seek out his brother when Felding said, “Call on me tomorrow.”
Was the marquess giving him an order?
“We need to discuss the matter of a certain portrait that shall not be discussed here.”
She needed fresh air and to gain control of her emotions. Panic, like she hadn’t experienced since Phillipa Johansen, Feldings’ youngest sister, showed her the painting two and a half years ago, nearly engulfed her. As it was imperative that she never show any emotion in the ballroom, Jillian pulled her brother out to the gardens as soon as they reached a door. Her father was already angry with her for dancing with Mr. Storm, of that she was certain, but if her expression changed even the slightest from the false, yet pleasant smile she’d long ago perfected, she’d never hear the end of it. She was a lady, his daughter, and did not suffer from the same hysterical weaknesses of other females.
But Samuel Storm had a painting!
“Sometimes I just want to run away. Change my name and start over,” Jillian said to her brother, as she settled on a bench at the back of the garden.
“It’s not so bad, is it?”
“That’s easy for you to say. You aren’t the only daughter of Eldridge.”
“He only wants what’s best for you.” Henry settled beside her and took her hand in his.
“No, he wants what’s best for him--connections. And each time I don’t land the gentleman he’s determined should be his son-in-law, he continually reminds me of my failings until another is chosen that I must win.” Jillian let her shoulders droop in defeat of what her life was to be. “It’s been nearly unbearable living with him since I failed to secure Roxburg. Had he married anyone else, it might not be so difficult, but the fact that Roxburg chose a Valentine over me has Father angrier than normal.”
“Is there no one you have wished for yourself?”
“I don’t allow myself to contemplate who I’d wish to have for a husband. Father will pick him, and I’ll need to make the best of it.”
Henry turned more fully toward her. “I knew father was demanding, I just didn’t realize that he’d given you no choice.”
Jillian laughed dryly. “I haven’t even been given a choice of what I’m to wear since I was sixteen.” She wasn’t surprised Henry had no idea how nearly every nuance of her life was controlled. There were seven years between them, and they’d never been close. He’d been sent off to school when she was barely out of leading strings, and his visits home were few.
“Perhaps if you had friends these gatherings would be more enjoyable.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t understand. I can’t afford to let anyone close. People will only use you if you do.”
He turned more fully toward her. “These emotions have nothing to do with Father or the gentleman he may or may not marry you to.”
She blinked at him and wiped a tear.
“Do you fear Storm has a painting?”
Humiliation washed through her. She’d been so stupid and blindly trusting then. And, she had learned a hard lesson that nobody could ever be trusted.
“It may only be a resemblance,” Henry offered.
“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“What do you intend to do?”
She had no answer. It wasn’t as if she could come right out and ask Mr. Storm. Then he’d know for certain that she’d posed.
“Sometimes I wish I was a Valentine.” Jillian sighed. “They don’t care who Father is. They have confidence and, despite their circumstances, have thumbed their noses at Society.”
“Then beg their forgiveness and perhaps a friendship might form.” He leaned in. “As Lady Felding already knows your most protected secret, chances are, her siblings do as well.”
The idea of anyone knowing of, or having viewed any of those paintings made her ill. “I did tonight, when I spoke with Lady Felding.” Jillian crumbled the handkerchief in her hand. “She was kind. Kinder than she should have been, but I can’t hope that any of them will ever befriend me.”
Her brother stared at her for a moment and then sighed. “Very well. Forget friends. If you could have your pick of husband, without Father’s interference, who would it be.”
“I don’t know any gentlemen well enough to know if I wish to be married to them. Though, the ones Father has suggested hold no interest for me.”
He nodded. “Then, who has caught your eye that you’d be interested in furthering an acquaintance?”
She blinked at him.
“If you could have your pick of who you’d like to court you to see if an interest, affection, or even love developed, who would it be?”
“Samuel Storm,” she said without thought, surprising even herself. She couldn’t trust him. He might have one of the paintings, and he could completely ruin her. Yet, there was something about him that intrigued her. It was more than a handsome face, but the sincerity and kindness in his emerald eyes.
“I knew Storm in school. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do with his life, being a younger son, but he’s a worthy gentleman.” Henry smiled at her. “We shall see how we can make that occur.”
“Fairy dreams, Henry. The moment he calls on me, if he were so inclined, Father will have him removed.” Jillian stood and swiped a tear from her cheek. “I cannot dream so large. Father will decide on my husband, and I will do as ordered and land the lord by whatever means I have at my disposal. It’s my lot in life, and conversations like this only make me wish for what I can’t have.”