"I HAVE A problem," Hamilton announced without preamble when Sean stepped into the museum's lobby. "I wish your help with it. I wish to view the newly arrived Elgin Marbles."
"That presents no problem at all," Sean said dryly, gesturing toward the back of Montagu House. "We need only to walk through here and outside towards the temporary Elgin Gallery."
Never one to respond to humor, the artist slanted him a peeved glance as he fell into step beside him. "My uncle, Samuel Hamilton, the Earl of Lincolnshire, is dying."
"My condolences," Sean said automatically before wondering if the man even cared. Hamilton looked cheerful enough, considering his usual bad temper. In contrast to Sean's own black suit and white shirt, he was dressed in a colorful, flamboyant style. Though his cravat appeared brown, Sean suspected it was bright red or green. "And your problem is?"
"I'm Lincolnshire's heir, and he hasn't seen me for many years. Not since I was a babe in arms, in fact. He wishes to get to know the man who is about to inherit his title and estates."
"I don't find that surprising," Sean said as they stepped outdoors.
Hamilton's failure to see his uncle despite regular visits to London was no surprise, either. Deirdre's husband was nothing if not reclusive. Although the man's paintings commanded outrageous sums, few collectors had actually met him. Once a year he slipped into town, served as a judge on the Royal Academy committee that chose the pieces to be displayed in the annual Summer Exhibition, renewed his ties with colleagues, and slipped out again—without ever pandering to his patrons.
He claimed that keeping to himself—with the exception of female companionship, one should understand—was necessary in order to maintain his artistic vision. But Sean attributed this behavior to temperament: a combination of sheer orneriness and a twisted delight the man took in concealing himself from the public.
"And the problem with that is?" he repeated as they trod the path toward the new building, which Sean's experienced eye told him was nothing but a large, prefabricated shed. "Go see the man if that's what he wants."
"He doesn't want to just see me. He's demanded I stay with him through his final days. He claims that should I fail to arrive posthaste, I should expect to inherit the title and entailed estate and nothing else. He'll leave the rest of his holdings to charity."
"Sounds fair enough to me. How long is he expected to live?"
Before the door to the Elgin Gallery, Hamilton halted. "A week or two," he spat.
A week or two during which the selfish cur would be deprived of his hedonistic lifestyle. "So go stay with him. Sweet Jesus, Hamilton, it won't kill you." Disgusted, and knowing this wasn't a good time to raise the issue of his sister's divorce yet again, Sean turned on a heel to leave.
"No." Hamilton moved to block his way, stopping him with an outstretched hand against his shoulder. "I've a once-in-a-lifetime chance to paint the legendary waterfall on Lord Llewelyn's estate in the Tanat Valley. Lady Llewelyn has extended an invitation. It came in the same mail with the demand from Lincolnshire. I'll be leaving before nightfall."
Sean glared down at his brother-in-law's hand until the man dropped it. It was common knowledge that Lady Llewelyn was Hamilton's latest paramour. The nerve of the rotter, abandoning his dying uncle for a sexual liaison when he refused to bed his own lovely wife. "I suppose Lord Llewelyn will be conveniently absent."
"Abroad," Hamilton confirmed. "And neither he nor his ancestors have ever allowed any artist to paint the falls. Furthermore, it's spring, the season when their volume is greatest. This very month of April, in fact, is said to be when the monk and the lady are most likely to appear. If I can capture them in paint, it will prove the coup of a lifetime."
"The monk and the lady?"
"A monk in his long robes, the Guardian of the Falls, said to materialize in the pattern of rushing water. And the Lady of the Waterfall. She's said to peek out from behind the towering gush, her body concealed in flowing skirts, her face hidden by her long hair—"
"You believe this blarney?" Sean interrupted. "This utter nonsense, the stuff of fairy tales?"
"You don't? You're Irish, for God's sake. You have to believe in the fairies."
Sean snorted. Hamilton didn't want to see fairies appear in waterfalls. He wanted to see Lady Llewelyn's clothes disappear in his bed. "Your uncle needs you, Hamilton. Paint the falls another time."
"There won't be another time. Llewelyn refuses to grant access, and he hasn't left the country in years."
Why the hell was the man coming to him with this damned problem? Sean had a knack for making money, not plucking solutions out of thin air. "If that's the way you feel, you'll have to forgo Lincolnshire's unentailed holdings."
"Lincolnshire's unentailed holdings comprise the bulk of his substantial fortune."
"And doubtless you intend to keep every penny. There's nothing I can do for you, Hamilton. You'll have to postpone your journey to the Tanat Valley." And live without your ladylove for up to fourteen long days, Sean added silently. "Your uncle's expected to survive only a week or two. If Llewelyn's abroad, he'll be gone much longer than that."
"But there are a mere six days left in April, and even traveling without pause, it will take two of them for me to get to Wales. Maybe three. And there is something you can do for me." Hamilton fixed him with a cold gaze. "I want you to go to the old man, introduce yourself as John Hamilton, and live with him until his death."
Aghast, Sean gaped at him for a few moments, mainly because it took him that long to force closed his slack jaw. "I suggest you find someone else to do you this favor. Perhaps someone who actually likes you. Why the devil should I, of all people, do this—or anything—for the man who ruined my sister's life?"
"Why?" A sly glint came into Hamilton's lazy-lidded eyes. "I'll tell you why: because if you cooperate, I'll grant Deirdre her precious divorce. And because if you don't, I won't. Ever."
It took a while for Sean to reclaim his breath. Hamilton was offering him exactly what he wanted…if only he'd do something he found absolutely abhorrent.
Since pointing that out would likely strengthen the cur's resolve, Sean chose another tack. "You'll soon be an earl," he said coolly. "You're going to need a legitimate heir to carry on the line. With or without my cooperation, you'd best divorce Deirdre and remarry."
"Siring an heir will prove no problem." Hamilton waved a smooth, pale hand. "I shall simply make your sister move back in with me until she bears me a male child."
What could Sean possibly say to that? Devastating though it might be, he knew Deirdre would have to comply. The law was clear: A man had the right to compel his wife to live wherever he pleased. And forcing a woman to do her "wifely duty"…well, the term said it all.
Duty would never be considered rape.
"Only you can pull off this deception," Hamilton continued, pressing his advantage. "You're the one man on earth who not only looks somewhat like me but also knew my father, my mother, our estate in Ireland…in short, everything my uncle would expect you to know."
The man did have a point. Although Sean was taller, they both had dark hair and green eyes. And Lincolnshire hadn't seen Hamilton in twenty-seven years. No doubt Sean could pull it off.
Except he couldn't.
"Regardless that I know all those things, your uncle won't be fooled. He'll never believe I'm an artist. I'm color-blind, which you seem to have conveniently forgotten."
Hamilton laughed. "People don't question such details. The old man will believe whatever you tell him. He's ill and dying—and hell, even another artist will believe you're an artist. I'll bet you," he challenged, opening the flimsy door to the Elgin Gallery. "I'll bet you I can convince another artist that you're an artist, and if I can, your forfeit will be to carry out my plan and thereby secure your sister's divorce. If I fail, I'll grant Deirdre the divorce as my forfeit. Take it or leave it, Delaney."
Before Sean could protest any further, Hamilton pushed him toward a young woman busily sketching.