Madeline did just that and stepped out into the hallway. Her heart was still pounding hard in her chest. Her lips still felt swollen from his kiss, while her tongue could still taste his blood.
Why did he have to kiss me like that?
She did not know how or when she would ever forget the way his mouth molded with hers so perfectly that she had let herself believe in the possibility of love.
But she would have to.
Kenneth Spruce was not a man who wanted to fall in love.
When Madeline entered her own rooms, she did not feel a sense of victory. Her mind was still rattled by the sight of his hunger, one that he must have kept so carefully walled away from the rest of the world. She had drawn her lines in the sand between them, and it made the next few years, or even the next few days, seem considerably longer and bleaker than she had anticipated.
“Oh, Grandmama. What have you done?” she asked aloud.
Chapter 9
“Is that a snout?” Madeline asked as she entered a room to find the Duke’s niece and nephew crouched over their sleeping father on the couch. “Or is it a turnip?”
She had been searching for her husband’s study, but this one looked more like the sunroom. Mrs. Gaines’ tour was so quick that she had not fully registered all the rooms, and she ended up getting lost. Her hand was still on the brass door handle, not quite crossing into the space her husband’s family had claimed. Oddly enough, the air also smelled of turpentine and gin.
“Oh, it is a snout, Aunt Maddy!” Alexander exclaimed, jumping up and down. “Do you see how I painted the nostrils?”
“Why are you painting your papa’s face, though?”
“I thought he looked like a wild boar with the way he was snoring.”
That made sense. The boy probably thought that some men in the house, including his father, acted like boars—hard-headed and unwilling to listen. Whatever the case, it was quite entertaining.
Alexander dipped his brush into some pink pigment, ready to continue his work of art on his father’s face. Emily stood behind him, looking scholarly and intense as if they were in a schoolroom.
“The left nostril needs to be rounder, Alex,” she instructed, tilting her head to one side. “A boar’s nostrils are not symmetrical.”
Meanwhile, their father was unconscious on the sofa. His mouth was wide open, and his cravat was loosened around his neck. A low, rhythmic snore came from him, the vibration adding to the challenge of staying focused on their brushstrokes. The children did not mind. A boar, indeed. Malcolm was sleeping prey, his face, less striking than his brother’s but charming in its own way, transformed into the wild animal his children had decided he resembled.
“I am not sure this is proper, children,” Madeline tutted, stepping closer to inspect the work.
“Are you going to punish us?” Alex was suddenly concerned.
“No, it is just... You may want to use more water with the black to make it look grayer in some parts,” Madeline advised softly, entering the room and closing the door gently behind her. The latch did not click. She did not want to lock it; she just wanted to close it enough to hide the children’s mischief from other adults’ eyes. She hoped she knew what she was doing.
“W-will you be waking up Father?” Emily asked.
Madeline could not see any fear in the child’s eyes. They did not seem scared at all, not of their father anyway, as they kept hovering over him. They were more worried that their fun had been noticed and would be stopped.
“No, I will not,” Madeline replied.
She watched Alexander’s brush hover over Malcolm’s cheek, the pink pigment in stark contrast with his skin. Madeline was a grown woman and the new mistress of Huntington House. Her every instinct told her that the whole situation was inappropriate. Normally, she would have already taken the brushes away and sent the children to their rooms as punishment.
However, she did not feel like she was on stable ground. She wanted Alexander and Emily to see her as more than just another authoritative figure. She did not want to lose them in her first few days as their aunt. Perhaps being a confidante would have them listen to her better.
“However, I am told that you must prepare yourselves for Monsieur Piotr’s piano lessons in a few minutes,” she added gently.
“Ugh,” Emily protested, her eyes still on her and her brother’s masterpiece on their slumbering father. “I cannot stand Monsieur Piotr. He is too strict and dull.”
“I believe tutors need to be strict, do they not?” Madeline explained, as she approached the trio even more, taking care not to make noise. She bit her lip at taking a closer look at the Duke’s brother’s face. The pig did not look like a turnip at all. Perhaps the youngsters actually had talent in painting. Their uncle should take this detail into consideration. “You may also need to leave before your father rouses and feels the weight of paint on his face.”
The children exchanged glances. They knew their new aunt was right. Their eyes were dancing with calculation and furthermischief at the thought of their father finally discovering the muck on his face. Madeline might just have some entertainment in Huntington House, after all.
“Of course, we will do just that, Aunt Maddy,” Emily declared, straightening her back.
