Page 31 of Wicked By Design

They followed her along the corridor and up a flight of stairs. The sharp scent of polish mingled with the tantalising aroma of something sweet baking, both of which were quickly extinguished by the overpowering smell of oil paint and linseed oil.

“Sebastian, we have company,” she said as she strode into a room which could only be her studio.

All Hawkney saw at first were a large pair of feet propped up on the end of a rather battered settee. For a moment he feared they had interrupted a tender interlude with a lover, but he was soon disabused of this notion. She pushed them to the floor and there was a heavy thud, followed by a curse.

“Damn it, Stacy—”

“Sebastian, His Grace the Duke of Hawkney, and Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton. Gentlemen, forgive my brother. He had rather a late night.”

The fellow hurriedly stood, indeed looking a trifle hungover. He wore breeches and boots and a shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, but no waistcoat or coat. Hawkney would not have needed the confirmation of their relationship if she’d withheld it, for they were obviously close kin. His hair was as wild as his sister’s, though a dark blond instead of brown, and his eyes the same startling blue. He was a handsome fellow, with the brooding looks of a poet. Oh God, don’t start reciting, Hawkney thought irritably. They were so close to viewing the portrait.

Still, the fellow executed a creditable bow. “Your Grace, Colonel Hamilton, forgive me, we were not expecting visitors.”

Hawkney waved this away. “No apology necessary, it’s entirely our fault for arriving unannounced, but your sister was good enough to indulge us.”

“Forgive me,” Mr Foxworthy said hesitantly, eyeing Marcus, “but are you the Hamilton, of Hollow Road fame?”

Hawkney felt rather than saw Marcus brace himself and hastened to intervene before he could say something offensive. “He is indeed, but being a retiring fellow, he’d rather stick pins in his eyes than speak of it.”

“Ah.” To his credit, the fellow nodded his understanding and did not pursue the subject.

“The colonel wants his portrait painted,” Miss Foxworthy explained.

“I don’t,” Marcus objected, folding his arms.

Miss Foxworthy frowned. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“He needs his portrait painted,” Hawkney explained, sending Marcus a glare that promised retribution if he didn’t mind his manners.

“Ah. An important distinction,” Miss Foxworthy replied, her full mouth curving into a reluctant smile.

“It is,” Marcus muttered, and walked over to a wall which was crammed with paintings. “Are these yours?” he demanded.

Miss Foxworthy stiffened, no doubt sensing criticism. “Yes. I think it is in poor taste to hang your own paintings as a rule, but as this is my studio and they are of people, places or things I care about, I indulge myself.”

“I like the one of your dog.”

“How do you know he was mine?”

Marcus shrugged. “He looks well loved.”

A glimmer of surprise lit the woman’s eyes. “He was,” she admitted.

“Might we see the portrait?” Hawkney suggested, having noticed an easel bearing a large canvas in the room's corner. The curtains were drawn, casting it in shadow, either to protect the paint or her brother’s sore head, he wasn’t certain which. “I do not wish to waste more of your time than necessary.”

Miss Foxworthy hesitated; she seemed wary, almost unwilling. “I’ve not shown anyone yet, save Clara and my brother.”

“Go on, Stacy, it’s bloody marvellous.” Her brother’s opinion, for what it was worth, seemed entirely sincere.

She flushed a little and shrugged. “Very well.”

“Shall I ask Mrs Wainwright to send tea?” Mr Foxworthy suggested.

“No. We shan’t intrude for long,” Hawkney replied, before Marcus could decide to be difficult and agree.

“Do you want me to stay and chaperone?” Mr Foxworthy asked with a grin, a comment which was greeted with a glacial look from his sister. He chuckled. “I’ll be in the next room, call if you need anything. Your grace, Colonel Hamilton, a pleasure.”

He sauntered out, and they waited as the lady drew back the heavy curtains. An expanse of stunning blue appeared through the large windows, and Hawkney saw doors that led out onto a terrace which must be a lovely place to sit.