He shrugged in embarrassment, uncomfortable with the title. “I’m not that good. I just like to do it. When I’m upset, it makes me feel better. It’s been that way ever since I was a child. But the things I was painting then... they were dark. I knew Anne wouldn’t understand, but I was driven to do it, night after night.”
Neither of them looked as though they truly understood, but he knew that Fiona would. If she were to see those paintings, the ones filled with fire and death, she’d probably manage to find some beauty in them. He wondered suddenly what she’d think if he were to tell her his darkest secret, what had happened on the roof with the previous Earl of Winters.
Vanessa cleared her throat. “Well, I’m glad to hear that’s what you were doing. It makes me feel even better about a match between you and Fiona.”
“Do you think she’ll agree to this? To a dinner party with the rest of us? I don’t want to make her feel cornered or uncomfortable,” he said, although he would like nothing more than to have her on his arm in a social situation with his brothers and their wives. It would do a lot to show him whether a match between them would truly be possible.
The two women exchanged a look. “You leave this to us,” Vanessa said confidently. “We will take care of everything.”
He gave them a weak smile, hoping they were right. The last thing he wanted was to drive an even deeper wedge between him and Fiona.
* * *
FIONA SAT BACK IN HERchair, letting the fancy engraved invitation in her hand drop to the desk. She stared at it, her mouth parted in shock.
A dinner party. At the Earl of Hawkesmere’s house in Grosvenor Square.
A hysterical laugh bubbled in the back of her throat, but she wasn’t quite sure if laughter or tears was the best reaction to something so ludicrous.
Though she was very friendly with both the countess and Vanessa, she didn’t believe either of them was behind this unprecedented leap in their relationship. In all the time she’d known the Strathmores, she’d only been invited to their home once. She’d gone to the earl’s house for Vanessa and Adrian’s wedding, but it was Adrian who’d invited her then, and she hadn’t stayed for the whole thing. She’d been woefully underdressed and out of place. She’d appreciated the sentiment, but the rest of the guests had made it clear to her that she did not belong. She’d sneaked away as soon as she could and had sworn never to go back.
Although she saw Vanessa and Serenity quite often at Brookhaven, and the three women had built a wonderful friendship, neither of them had ever invited her to their homes before. Not for so much as an afternoon tea.
No, this was Morgan’s doing, and she didn’t know whether to be thrilled or horrified.
She shook her head slowly, mentally cataloging her closet and coming up woefully short. Not a single item of clothing she owned was suitable for dinner with an earl. Even if she wanted to go, which she wasn’t sure she did, she had absolutely nothing to wear.
The last thing she wanted was to show up in her off-the-rack, thoroughly worn work attire and prove to them all just how unsuitable she really was to be a part of their exalted circle.
But instead of throwing the invitation into the wastebasket at her feet, she ran one finger across the fine linen paper, longing stirring within her.
What would it be like, though? To dine with the Strathmores? To sit beside Morgan as though she were his equal? To chat and laugh with all the people who had become so dear to her?
Her gaze drifted to a locked drawer of her desk.
With a trembling hand, she retrieved the key and opened it, taking out a stack of crisp pound notes she’d squirreled away for a rainy day. Adrian insisted on paying her for her position at Brookhaven, but she’d never yet spent a dime. She enjoyed knowing the money was there, if she ever needed it, and every few months, she carefully tallied how long she could keep Brookhaven going with her own funds if the Strathmores ever pulled their support.
Perhaps she could use just a little to go shopping...
With a sigh, she snapped the drawer shut. No! That was out of the question. She shouldn’t even be considering something so frivolous...
But it had been so long since she’d done anything for herself. What could it hurt, to spend just a little on something utterly lovely and decadent? Tomorrow, she could go right back to her tight-fisted, miserly ways.
Before she could change her mind, she opened the drawer again, grabbed the top few bills, and pushed to her feet.
She wasn’t certain what was behind this strange invitation, and she might still make an utter fool of herself, but she sensed that if she refused, she might regret it for the rest of her life.
After stopping in the kitchen to tell Mrs. Peterson she was going out, she hailed a hack and directed the driver to take her to Bond Street.
* * *
ROGER HAD NEVER BEENvery patient, and during the last few weeks, he’d been going out of his mind waiting for Prometheus’s next move. He’d laid traps in every establishment he owned, bringing in even younger children who might spark the bastard’s interest, hiring extra guards to lie in wait.
But after a brief spurt of activity last month, Prometheus seemed to have completely gone to ground. The timing correlated perfectly with Roger arriving back on English soil, so he could only assume that somehow his stepbrothers knew he was home.
The delay in exacting his revenge infuriated him.
He knew they were out there somewhere, plotting against him, and the only way to keep them from ruining everything he’d worked to build yet again was to ruin them first.
