SEAN HAD decided that the day he'd brought Lincolnshire to Hamilton's studio hadn't been the longest one of his life, after all.
This damn ball felt at least a week longer.
Escorting Deirdre off the dance floor, he noticed Corinna standing by the open French doors. She caught his eye, motioning her head toward the Billingsgates' garden before slipping outside.
Sean brought Deirdre in the same direction, walking her back to Lincolnshire. "Are you enjoying the fresh air, Uncle?"
"Very much. And…I enjoyed…seeing you dance."
"We enjoyed the dance, too." For the dear gent's benefit, Sean smiled at his sister and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm feeling a wee bit overheated after that, though, I'm afraid. Would you mind keeping my wife company while I step outdoors for a moment?"
"Not at all," Lincolnshire said, reaching for Deirdre's hand.
Leaving the two of them, Sean entered the garden, knowing he probably shouldn't, and immediately spotted Corinna on a path lit with twinkling lanterns. Beckoning for him to follow, she disappeared.
He briefly thought of turning back, but having come this far, he didn't feel it fair to leave her waiting. Following the sound of her light, running footsteps, he found her quite a distance down the path and off to the side, in the darkness of a small stand of trees. Though the area was shadowed, he could see the outline of her lovely form, not at all hidden by her slim, high-waisted dress. He walked closer, telling himself he shouldn't touch her, knowing he would.
Her scent wafted to him through the starlit night, flowery and sweet, underlaid with that astringent hint that reminded him she was an artist, a talented female who went her own way. But she was aristocratic, too. Beneath her facade of originality and forwardness, she was sheltered and unspoiled, a woman who had never wanted for anything. Like a bright, newly minted coin, nothing had tarnished her. She was shiny and pretty, and that perfection drew him. Tempted him toward a world where he didn't belong.
He knew that, and he'd tried to stay away the past few days because of it. He'd kissed her three times already—four if he counted the occasion he hadn't resisted pressing his lips to the nape of her neck—and he knew that was three or four times too many.
He also knew she didn't have the same reservations. She was impulsive and eager and ardent. He drew close, and when she raised her fingers to brush along his jaw he wasn't the least bit surprised. A moment later they were in each other's arms, their lips locked together.
It was frightening, this mad passion. He felt swamped. But the fear didn't stop him from taking what he wanted, from feasting on her mouth and running his hands down her back. From tasting her and finding that taste intoxicating. From pressing her against his body and reveling in the feel of her and enjoying her small sounds of delight.
When he drew back, they were both breathless. She moved closer again, close enough to lay her head against his chest. "I missed you the past three days," she said softly.
"It's sorry I am for that," he said, because he was sorry, for disappointing her but also that he'd let things get to the point where she would be disappointed. And that he wasn't doing anything to stop that progression. "I've had things I've had to do."
"What things?" She pulled away a little and gazed up at him, her blue eyes looking black in the darkness. "What do you do, Sean, exactly?"
"Unfortunately, very little for myself since this began. Now Lincolnshire has asked me to find new positions for all of his many servants. Well, actually he asked me to keep all his servants after he passed, but Hamilton isn't going to do that, so I told him I'd find positions for them instead. So that's what I've been doing. Finding placements for them." He smiled down at her, and because he couldn't help himself, he gave her another kiss. A short, gentle one this time. "Thank you for keeping him busy and making that possible."
"It sounds like a horrible imposition. You'll be glad when this is all over, won't you?"
"Very glad." Although he wondered if he would ever see her again. How he possibly could. And whether he'd find himself content again if he couldn't. "I'll miss seeing you, though, when it's over."
"I think we'll see each other again. My brother wants to talk to you. He wants to ask your advice about property management."
"Does he now?"
"He likes you. He's impressed with your business sense."
"I didn't think marquesses were interested in business."
"They're not, mostly, but Griffin's a little different. He never wanted to be the marquess. He likes being in the center of things. He was in the cavalry, you know, before our older brother died. An officer. He led campaigns in the Peninsular War. Although he complains of too many responsibilities, I think in his heart he feels a little useless now. He'd like to find something of his own, something more challenging, more involving."
"Managing property can be very involving." Her brother sounded like a man he might admire. And if the man admired him as well, then…
There was no sense thinking in that direction. But he held Corinna a wee bit closer and pressed another kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the warm, floral scent of her hair. "We'd best get back," he said regretfully, taking her hand and easing them both out of the trees. "Or people will come looking for us."
"That wouldn't be good," she agreed, moving with him. "Juliana would come looking for us first, and then who knows what would happen." While he was wondering what could happen, they turned onto the path. "I liked what you said in there," she said. "In the picture gallery."
"In the picture gallery. Saints preserve us. I don't think I said anything that wasn't a disaster."
"You said that an artist's work should stand on its own, that his identity—or hers, I'm hoping everyone who was listening would agree—shouldn't influence the viewer's opinion of any specific picture." Her hand soft and warm in his larger one, she looked over and up at him and smiled. "Wherever did you come up with that?"
"Hamilton," he admitted with no small measure of disgust. "Hamilton said something very like that, and I remembered it. In my desperation to sound artistic, it just came flying out of my mouth."
"I know you despise him, and for good reason, but I'm so glad to hear he thinks that way. It makes it so much more likely that he'll vote for my painting."
Sean didn't think so. She didn't know the rest of what Hamilton had said—the part about females never painting good portraits. But he wasn't going to tell her that, not now. He wasn't going to ruin the last of these few stolen moments together.
"He should be back by now," he told her instead, pulling his hand from hers as the house came into sight. Faint snatches of music floated to them from the open French doors. "He said he'd be gone two weeks, and it was two weeks on Thursday. But instead of coming home to deal with everything, he sent a letter."
She clasped her hands before her, like maybe she was missing holding his. He hoped so. But he knew he shouldn't. "That's just as well," she said. "If he came home now, he might ruin his uncle's last days. What did the letter say?"
"He's painting the Lady of the Waterfall, and he doesn't want to leave. But I'm suspecting the lady he doesn't want to leave is the one in his bed." The rotter. "He told me not to worry; he'll be home well before the Summer Exhibition vote."
"I don't expect you were worrying," Corinna said. "You obviously cannot do the voting for him. Just like you cannot come to Lady Avonleigh's reception next week in his place. Ten days," she added with a sigh as they approached the open French doors, instinctively moving farther apart so it wouldn't appear they'd done anything but talk. "In ten days my painting will be turned in and Hamilton will come home."
"He should return before that. He said he'd be here well before the vote."
"Then in fewer than ten days, you'll be free."
Sean wouldn't be free until Lincolnshire passed on, unless Hamilton stirred everything up.
But he didn't want to say that.
Much as he wanted his life back, much as he knew he and Corinna were growing too close, ten days in her company didn't seem nearly long enough.