Page 59 of Real Earls Break the Rules

A stab of guilt pierced his chest. Huntingdon was his best friend. He couldn’t mess things up so badly. Honor demanded that he to do right by both Huntingdon and Amelia. His honor and her virtue. Why hadn’t he considered it before? Now that the thought entered his mind, he knew it was perfect.

He could marry Amelia.

Huntingdon had married Eliza despite her scandalous past and the identity of her criminal father. Brandon understood that the two sisters were very different. Eliza had given up the running of the Peacock Print Shop and had eagerly embraced becoming Huntingdon’s countess.

Amelia, on the other hand, didn’t want to marry. She wanted to embark on a career as an artist painting controversial subjects under her own name. Brandon was truthful when he’d said he admired her dreams, but marriage complicated matters.

He could no longer think only of himself. He was now an earl and had to consider Helen, Caroline, and his grandmother. His wife’s activities would reflect upon all of them.

An alternative to his dilemma came to mind, one in which Amelia could still paint London’s downtrodden and anything else she desired. If he could persuade her to once again paint under a false name, would she be willing to do so in order to become his wife?

He knew it wasn’t her entire dream, but he believed the benefits far outweighed the disadvantages. She would no longer be a sister-in-law to an earl, but would become a countess herself with all the privileges the title entailed.

Huntingdon raised his gun. “Over there.”

Brandon looked at where Huntingdon pointed his barrel to see a flock of pheasants land and begin feeding on the vegetation.

Brandon’s mood lifted. He’d been able to convince Amelia to go along with his plans in the past. Could he do it again?

Chapter Nineteen

Two days had passed since Amelia had last painted in Brandon’s study at night. The women were excited about the upcoming ball, and the dowager had decided to involve them in the planning. Discussing ball details, combined with the night entertainments, had kept the women up well past midnight.

Amelia still managed to paint. Instead of sneaking into the secret passageway at night, she’d slipped away in the day when everyone thought she was napping. Brandon had been occupied with the gentlemen guests and hadn’t been able to pose for his portrait so she’d worked on the Cuyp landscape.

She was pleased with her progress, but experienced an odd twinge of loneliness as she worked alone. For an artist who’d always enjoyed quiet when she worked and had often been absorbed in her art, it was a disturbing emotion. The truth was she missed Brandon’s companionship. She longed for his kisses—but even more than being held in his arms—she’d missed spending time in his company and simply talking with him.

By the third evening, the women had retired early, and Amelia was able to return to the study at night.

Brandon looked up from his desk and dropped the sheaf of papers he’d been studying. “Finally. I’ve been anxiously waiting all night.”

He stood and was by her side in a flash. He pulled her into his arms and he lowered his head, seeking her kiss. Her lips softened beneath his, and she swayed dizzily. His arms tightened, holding her more firmly against him.

“The feel of you is intoxicating,” he muttered under his breath.

His hand slid behind her neck, his fingers teasing the hair at her nape. His mouth swooped down to claim hers, his kiss urgent and hungry at once. In wicked remembrance, she parted her lips in eager anticipation. He took full advantage, exploring her mouth. A delicious shudder heated her body, and she boldly returned his kiss.

He lifted his head, his green eyes compelling. “I’ve wanted to come to your bedchamber, but I’ve heard you had a different visitor.”

“Chloe had nightmares and slept in my room the past two nights.” She lifted her chin. “And you promised never to use the secret passageway to visit my bedchamber. We could be discovered!”

He nuzzled her ear, and she could hardly think.

“Is Chloe well?” he asked.

She sighed as he licked the sensitive shell of her ear. “Yes. The nightmares occur much less frequently than when she was young, but she comes to me now that Eliza’s married.”

His fingers stroked her arms, and she fought the sensual pull of desire.

She pressed her hand against his hard chest and managed to put several inches between them. “I’m here to work, my lord. You want me to complete your portrait before the end of the house party, don’t you?” She may have made progress on the Cuyp painting, but his portrait was a different matter entirely. She wanted to complete her part of their arrangement.

The corner of his mouth curved into a grin. “Fine,” he said as he went to his desk and leaned against it. “I missed having you stare at me as you work.”

He was a charming devil. A half an hour later, she was still trying to concentrate on Brandon’s portrait while he stood a mere five feet away. He shifted and folded his arms across his chest. The movement caused muscles to bunch beneath his shirt.

Must his every move remind her of his attractiveness? At this rate, she wouldn’t finish his portrait before the end of the house party, but would have to paint him from memory.

“I’ve wanted to thank you for your insight,” Brandon said.