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Helen came to sit beside him, the sweeping folds of her gown spreading all around her. She felt Theodore quiver severely, even without touching him. His brown hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes were so dark that she could see no color.
“Was that a bit too much?” Helen asked.
Theodore regained his composure, a grin spread on his face. He had been so caught up in the moment that he did not even know how to react. His eyes bore into hers, holding a deep passion that she would recognize. Like he had told her the day before, they would continue from where they stopped.
“I would like to give you a tour of the house,” Theodore said softly, his voice husky. “If you are willing, that is.”
Helen looked at the only chaperone that was awake for permission. Never again did she want to be caught wandering around with a man. Since she arrived from the country, she stayed away from anything that would ruin her reputation. Helen now read the issues ofSilent Dreamsin secret and made sure to hide them well.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied softly after the Dowager agreed to their little excursion.
Theodore held out his arm, and she took it without question. Unable to suppress a rakish grin, his lips curved. “Have you ever taken a tour of Clyvedon?”
“I know every nook and cranny of the ballroom, and then, there is the ambrosial garden that I now find despicable.”
He laughed again at her declaration. “Despicable? I believe it to be an even better trysting place than the maze at the park. The carp in the pond at the center provide a better attraction.”
“But the park also has a pond,” Helen argued. “I would rather not visit the garden and be reminded of everything I lost with the misfortune that befell me on the very first ball I attended here at Clyvedon.”
Helen heard his tone drop to soothing rumbles, one that tugged on her heart several times over. They stopped in front of the majestic marble staircase with its rather long length of a Persian rug.
“Now, this is where I received my first smacking,” he said and pointed to a stain that Helen would have not noticed had he not spoken about it. “It was raining that day, and I ran in from the fields in the back. Sopping wet and covered with mud, my brother and I trampled on my grandmother’s best rug. Even the maids could not save us from the spanking.”
She laughed, picturing the moment. Theodore never talked about himself, and Helen was glad that he was finally opening up to her. Also, he was relaxed and happy, and she was getting used to seeing him smile.
“That is a sight I would love to see.”
Theodore frowned playfully. “The smacking or my grandmother’s red face as she found out that her beloved rug was stained?”
“Maybe both,” she smiled. “I would like to see a flustered Dowager too.”
He burst out laughing as they took to the stairs. After her song that touched his soul, Theodore felt more relaxed around her. Now, the warmth of her skin against his arm pricked at his mind. She still smelled of lily soap and citrus, the scent spilling all over him. It filled him up with intensity, shaking him up in a way like never before.
“But you almost never talk about your brother,” Helen said as they turned into the hallway.
“Do I not? But we have not seen one another in almost two years,” he replied lazily. “Maybe that is why I have not talked about him.”
Helen saw his mood turn sour at the thought of his brother.
They turned into the art room, and her mouth fell open at the sight before her.
ChapterTwenty
Sunlight filtered in through the windows over the beautiful art pieces that hung on the walls. Colors leaped out at Helen as her gaze shifted from canvas to canvas. Her tongue was tied at the masterpieces and portraits.
“I never knew that you were good with the brush,” Helen exclaimed, complementing Theodore’s skills.
“Good?” he guffawed, folding his arms across his chest. “My painting skills are close to terrible. I cannot even begin to think of holding a brush.”
“So, who painted all these masterpieces?” she asked, sweeping her skirts toward the first painting.
It was a still-life, with a rich background of dark wallpaper. A bowl of fruits was artistically painted so that it felt like sunlight was streaming through a nearby window. The shadows were perfect, spilling over the table.
Helen ran her hands along the canvas, feeling the hard paint under her gloved hands. It was even more beautiful up close when she could see the soft cracks in the paint.
“My grandmother did these masterpieces,” he said. “Every single painting. And yes, I was as shocked as you when I saw them.”
“I mean,” Helen replied, fawning over a landscape, “I never thought I would see such beautiful paintings.”
