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His hands stilled. “And what would you know of such things?” There was an edge to his voice, something sharp and wounded. Somehow in trying to compliment him, she had made him upset.
She took time to consider her words, not wanting to upset him further. “I confess, I know little of the ways of war. But I have seen men with shadows in their eyes from many hardships, and I have seen men who have returned from the fields of battle with missing limbs, or suffering poppy addictions, or possessed of an unending need for drink and vices to numb the senses. I cannot think that a situation that brings men to such desperate straits would be a peaceful one.” She paused, then firmed her resolve to speak her mind. “That you should return from such a place, from whatever you might have seen, with a desire to bring beauty, rather than more destructive tendencies...why should I not think it admirable?”
CHAPTERELEVEN
The words echoed in his mind long after Hetty had left for the day. Long after night had fallen. They chased through his mind, driving sleep from elusiveness to impossibility.
Admirable. She found his art and his work to be admirable. Did she not realize that he was only poorly mimicking the beauty he saw in her? That the beauty she saw him bring forth in their interactions was but a reflection of the light she had brought to his life?
He was still rather stunned that he had given her permission to use his given name. What had he been thinking? Their situations were somewhat unusual, and more than a little scandalous. But the level of familiarity he had impulsively encouraged was nothing short of foolishness.
In truth, he knew why he had done it. He had been struggling with himself, struggling not to see her through the optics of the dream he had suffered that morning. The fact that she had decided to lower the level of the sheet and tuck it a little more snugly around her hips hadn’t helped at all. He’d nearly lost his composure when he had taken a glance in her direction and caught the bared tops of her breasts. Then he’d found himself irritated. He was not a youth to be phased by such things. And had he not implied that she might do better to be less inhibited?
Giving her permission to use his given name had made him feel less like he was taking advantage of the difference in their stations.
Daniel took a sip of the warm brandy Danvers had provided for him and considered his options. To retract his permission would make him look a fool, and an indecisive boor at that. Besides, what did it matter?
He was a lord, in his own home. What did it matter if he indulged in somewhat lenient behaviors with his model? He had few visitors around to comment on the unusualness of it all, and his servants would say nothing of the matter.
There was no reason not to enjoy his time with Hetty while it lasted. His work was progressing well, and there was no telling what either of them would do once the current project was completed. Perhaps he would retain her services. It was more likely, however, that she would be seeking a more reputable situation.
And she hadn’t seemed displeased or altogether shocked by his suggestion of increasing familiarity. In fact, it had almost seemed as if she welcomed it.
He frowned, then closed his eyes and tried to stifle the errant thoughts of Hetty that seemed determined to fill his mind with hopeless dreaming.
She is serving as my model to put food on the table, nothing more and nothing less. Cordial behavior is only a courtesy offered for putting her in a compromising position.
He only wished he could believe that, even in the privacy of his own mind.
* * *
Henrietta stared with unseeing eyes through the darkened panes of her window, pondering the day’s events in her mind.
She had not expected the Marquess—no, she had not expected Daniel—to give her permission to use his given name, even though she had extended the request first. He was a member of the peerage, and as far as he knew, Hetty was only a simple working-class maid, willing to compromise modesty for the sake of sovereign.
He certainly couldn’t know that she’d been giving her ‘wages’ to John Thistle and Sarah for their parts in the charade.
An ordinary member of the peerage wouldn’t have agreed to such familiarity. But she had realized from their first meeting that Daniel was no ordinary man. There was an intensity, a worldliness in his eyes that she had never seen in the gazes of the gentlemen she knew. Many of the ladies she was acquainted with would have been put off by his continued interest in stonework—an occupation that most of the peerage would consider too plebeian for a gentleman to pursue.
And yet, for all that she had been somewhat dubious in the beginning, she was starting to enjoy her role. And to watch him work was to witness raw creation in its purest form, as though the Greek sculptor Pygmalion had sprung to life and chosen her to be his Galatea.
It was exciting, and it was awakening feelings she had thought long since buried and forgotten in her heart. Feelings she hadn’t felt since her fiancé had broken their engagement and embroiled her in the most humiliating scandal of the Season that year.
Scandal. If she was caught in the compromising position that modeling had forced her into, then the scandal that would result from it would ruin both of them.
At least Daniel’s primary residence was his country estate, where he was far less likely to have visitors, especially at the height of the Season.
She thought about the things he had revealed earlier that day. The pain that had followed him home from the battlefield and had shown so clearly in his eyes when he spoke about the war, brief as it had been.
Scars from the battlefield that he soothed with his sculpting, rather than turning to drink or poppy or other methods men sometimes used to numb their minds.
She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said that she found his actions admirable. In point of fact, she was discovering that there was very little of his character that she did not find admirable. And he was quite handsome as well. His hair was perhaps a little longer than was fashionable, but it suited him, giving him rakish good looks where others might have looked unkempt.
And there was the scent of him, easy to detect when he moved close, as he had that first day. Stone and sweat and a subtle tinge of expensive soap and shaving lotion.
A flush stained her cheeks. She ought not to be familiar enough with the Marquess to have become aware of such things. Neither should she be wondering if he found the light dabs of her jasmine and orange blossom scent appealing.
She was supposed to be preparing to match Daniel and Eva. Not considering—
