Epilogue
Hertfordshire, England
December 1829
Jeremy headed for the drawing room of the brand-new home he’d purchased in Hertfordshire with the proceeds from selling his share of the mills. Walton Hall was located close enough to Stoke Towers that Yvette could visit regularly, but far enough to give them their privacy. It also put them a bit nearer London, a distinct advantage given his growing status as a prominent artist.
How strange that only a few months ago the idea of owning a sprawling estate would have sent him fleeing. Now, he took pride in it. Because of her. She’d utterly changed his life. By lancing the wound in his soul, she’d settled the restlessness that had made him blow with the wind.
Every day with her was an adventure. Every night with her was an erotic exploration. He liked adventures. He enjoyed erotic explorations. And he loved her. What more could a man ask for?
He quickened his stride, eager to catch her alone. Though this was the first day of their holiday house party, the other gentlemen were out shooting and the other ladies in town shopping. He’d been trying to get a bit of painting done when a footman told him that his wife had returned without the others and wanted a private moment with him in the drawing room.
He sincerely hoped she had something wicked in mind.
But the minute he entered, thunderous applause put paid to that hope—not to mention startling him out of his wits. “What the—”
He choked off the word hell. His mother and sister were both here, along with the rest of their houseguests.
“Surprise!” Yvette gestured to the wall with a bright smile. “The shopping jaunt was a ruse to pick this up in town. We had it put up while you were in your studio.”
He turned to see the portrait of her in all its glory, hung in the beautiful frame he’d picked out himself. “That is the most excellent portrait I’ve ever seen,” he said. “By a very talented artist, too.”
When everyone burst into laughter, Yvette approached to kiss him on the cheek. “No one will ever accuse you of being modest about your abilities, darling.”
That got another laugh. He laid his hand on the small of her back. “Ah, but it isn’t my abilities that make the portrait excellent, my love. It’s you. You’re amazing.”
“You flatterer, you,” Yvette said with a teasing smile. “Do go on.”
“Here, here!” Blakeborough raised his glass of champagne. “To my amazing sister.”
She blew her brother a kiss as everyone joined him in the toast. Then their guests began to chatter among themselves, some of them heading over to examine the portrait more closely.
Jeremy slipped his arm more firmly about her waist. “You do like it, don’t you?”
“I like everything you paint.”
“No, you don’t. I seem to recall a rather insulting comment about looking at dead deer at the breakfast table.”
“Oh, right. I forgot about that. But I do like most things you paint.” She lowered her voice. “Especially the picture on our bedchamber wall that scandalizes the servants.”
He chuckled. “At least you’re not naked in it. I still have to paint that one.”
She eyed him askance. “That will have to wait until after our trip to America with your mother and sister. Can you imagine Amanda bursting in on us to tell us about some new piece of mill equipment and finding me nude?”
“I daresay she wouldn’t even blink. My mother, on the other hand—”
“Good Lord, don’t even think it!” She glanced over to where his mother was regaling a gentleman with the tale of her arrival in England. “I’m looking forward to our trip. To seeing where you grew up.” She slanted a wary look at him. “Do you mind?”
“Why would I mind? I’m the one who invited you.”
“I know, but . . . it’s been years, and—”
“I don’t mind, and I know what you mean. But I’m fine, really.” He squeezed her waist. “Besides, I can’t wait to see what you make of our quaint American customs.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Probably the same thing you and your sister make of our quaint English customs. Especially the Christmas ones. Like Stir-up Sunday, which you mocked exceedingly because we English have a whole day to celebrate ‘mixing up a dessert,’ as you call it.”
“That one is odd, but I do like others of your Christmas customs. I’m already rather fond of the mistletoe kissing idea.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, eyes gleaming. “Last night, when you asked me to explain what was hanging in the hall, I had no idea that this morning I’d find mistletoe in every available room in the house, you wicked rogue, you.”
“Is my brother being wicked again?” Amanda asked as she approached them. “Haven’t you cured him of that yet?”
“Certainly not.” Yvette grinned. “Why would I?”
“Well, he’s not the only wicked man around here,” Amanda grumbled. “Some stranger just came up to me in the hall and kissed me right on the lips.”
When Jeremy laughed, Yvette said, “Oh, dear, I probably should have explained mistletoe to your sister, too.”
“How did you respond?” Jeremy asked Amanda.
“I kissed him back, of course. It’s not every day a handsome gentleman kisses me.”
“That’s because it’s not every day that you dress so well.” When his wife elbowed him, Jeremy said, “What? It’s true. Amanda looks unusually well-attired tonight.”
Yvette had been advising his sister on her clothing choices. Sometimes his sister even listened.
“Be that as it may,” Amanda said, “after I found out who he was, I wished I’d slapped him for his impertinence.”
“Why? Who is he?” Jeremy asked. “Point him out and I’ll go defend your honor.” Then he ruined that statement by laughing.
“You’re such a child.” Amanda pointed to a man engaged in a heated conversation with Knightford. “That’s him. I don’t even know his name.”
“Uh-oh,” Yvette said. “That’s Lord Stephen.”
“Knightford’s youngest brother?” Jeremy said incredulously. “Is he one of our guests?”
“He is now. Clarissa spotted him in the village today and asked me if she could invite him. I was happy to do so. Edwin and I know him well.”
“Yes, but Knightford doesn’t seem pleased about it. The reason I haven’t met the man is the marquess wouldn’t even let him join St. George’s,” Jeremy said.
“Probably because he’d bore all of you with his heated opinions. I would brain him in under a minute, myself.” Amanda scrutinized the man with a more than cursory interest and colored oddly before snapping her gaze back to them. “Well, I think I’ll go look at the portrait. People have been crowding around it so much I haven’t yet had the chance.” And off she went.
For the next few moments, as Yvette’s attention was commanded by another guest, Jeremy watched Amanda and Lord Stephen. When his sister wasn’t sneaking looks at Lord Stephen, the man was staring brazenly at her.
Jeremy recognized that look. It was how he’d stared at Yvette the first night they’d met.
And given what Knightford had said about his brother, it worried him. Lord Stephen had no money, he’d burned every bridge to every connection, and he had no useful profession other than causing trouble. He’d probably kissed Amanda because he’d heard she was an heiress.
Thunderation.
The guest Yvette was speaking to walked off, and she caught the direction of Jeremy’s gaze. “What do you think?” Yvette whispered. “Aren’t they perfect for each other?”
“No. He’s probably hunting a fortune.”
“Oh, I doubt that. And even if he were, she would see right through it.”
He frowned. “I’m not so sure. My sister isn’t good with managing men the way you are, sweetheart.”
She burst into laughter.
“What?”
Tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow, she leaned up to kiss his cheek. “You are absolutely the only person who sees me that way. And I love you for it.”
When she then cast him a sparkling smile, he forgot all about his sister. He forgot all about the guests and the portrait and the fact that it had been accepted for exhibit at the Royal Academy.
All he could see was his wife. Yvette had been so frantic with making sure their new house was ready for guests, and then settling them in yesterday, that it had been three long nights since he’d made love to her.
“Tell me, sweetheart, as my guide to all things English: just how improper is it for a hostess to leave her guests and disappear for, say, an hour or two before dinner?”
“Very improper.” Her gaze turned sultry. “Why? What did you have in mind?”
“I thought we might take a walk in our new gardens. Find a wooded area. Or maybe even an ornamental bridge.”
“It’s rather cold outside,” she pointed out.
“Ah, right.” He bent to whisper, “Then I suppose we’ll have to settle for our own bed.”
And as she laughed, he drew her from the room. There were definitely some compensations to being a man who no longer blew with the wind.