Simon moved beside Lucien, blocking the earl’s path.
All night, Lucien had looked severe, never truly at ease. But, now, as he faced the earl, his whole body exuded something almost frightening.
Someone had to break the awful spell that gripped the room. Grace approached the earl and dipped into a curtsey. “Good evening, my lord. I fear you will not recognize me without a doll in my arms. I am Grace Elliot from The Willows.”
She’d hoped to defuse the situation, but her words seemed to heighten the tension. The earl’s eyes took on a shrewd glitter.“That interfering Lady Barbara Elliot’s chit. I’ve no desire to renew our acquaintance.”
His gaze fixed on his daughters like the point of a blade. “Cassandra. Jane. Come greet your father as obedient daughters should.”
Simon’s teeth set and he moved as if he wanted to grab the old man by the collar. But Lucien put a hand on his brother’s arm, nodding to the other people gathered around.
“Thisfamily reunionshould be conducted in private,” Lucien said with a tight smile. “If our guests will excuse us.”
Cassandra cut in. “Perhaps the company would like to visit my studio before we Harcourts retire. Now that father is here, I am even more eager to display my paintings—see if he thinks the art lessons he supplied were worth the expense.” She turned that cat-eyed stare on the earl. “I painted one in particular with you in mind.”
The earl’s nostrils flared in disdain. “By all means, let us see my daughter’sworks of art. And then I might finally meet my grandson.”
He hadn’t met his own grandchild? Grace tried to comprehend it. The child was eight months old.
“Impossible,” Simon ground out the word.
What was happening here? Grace felt as if she’d walked in mid-way during a very disturbing play. Jane was trembling. Grace went to slip her arm around her waist. Lucien shot her a glance so grateful it shook Grace to the core.
The crowd flowed up the stairs, following Cassandra, the earl between his grim-faced sons. At the door to the studio, Cassandra held up a hand.
“Wait here until I light the lamps. The first impression is always the most important.” She slipped into the room and partially closed the door. Grace stole a look at the earl and his children. She remembered her own father over the years. Papawas not perfect, but she’d never once doubted he loved her or the boys. Or that Papa loved her mother, in spite of what gossips might say. The earl’s sons regarded him as if he was their enemy. One daughter was so frightened by his presence she was trembling. The other…
Clinks and rustling sounded inside the studio, then light began to glow. At last, Cassandra bade them enter. The room was lined with canvases in various stages of completion.
Cassandra Harcourt was gifted. That was Grace’s first impression even before Penelope’s art-loving sister, Fanny, began to exclaim. There was passion in the brushstrokes, power.
But it was the canvas on the easel in the room’s center that arrested Grace’s attention. Cassandra had clustered branches of candles around the painting, as if encircling it in flame, the image so powerful it took Grace’s breath away.
A half-naked dark-haired man sprawled on his back, while two women held him down. His mouth gaped wide in a silent scream as one woman wrenched his head back to expose his throat, while the other prepared to slash it with a knife.
“The original is far better than my copy,” Cassandra said. “But the subject pleased me.”
“What is it called and who painted it?” Fanny asked, mesmerized.
“Judith Slaying Holefernes.It was painted by a woman. Artemisia Gentileschi.”
“You’ve done a remarkable job,” Grace said staring in fascination. “My mother and I read about Artemisia. She was the first woman admitted to theAccademia di Arte del Disegnoin Florence.”
Cassandra arched her brows in approval. “Very good, Lady Grace. But Artemesia’s skill wasn’t the thing her contemporaries remembered most about her. She was raped by her father’sapprentice, Agostino Tassi, and the court tortured her with thumbscrews to try to get her to recant her accusation.”
“How awful.” Grace shuddered, curling her own fingers into her palm.
Cassandra’s gaze fixed on the earl, her last words chilling Grace to the bone.
“Her father watched.”
The brutal imagecombined with Cassandra’s words hit Lucien like a fist. From the instant his father had burst through the door, he’d wanted to drag the earl out of Everdene Hall and send him to hell or Bitterne Tower. Now, more than ever. But that was impossible with the guests looking on—which was how the scheming earl had planned it. The last thing Jane and Cassandra needed was another cruel attack by their father.
Lucien took Simon’s arm, saying under his breath, “I’ll deal with father. Keep Jane and Cassandra and everyone else the hell away from him.”
Simon nodded and Lucien stepped to the earl’s side.
“My lord, I need to speak to you on an urgent matter regarding the estate,” Lucien announced. “Alone.” Cassandra started to argue, but Lucien’s pointed glance at Jane stopped her.
