Page 11 of Dare to be Wicked

“No. Look.”

He held out his hand to her, gesturing for her to come closer. She did, and his breath caught as she placed her fingers upon his.

“See how the yellow has burst over the green and blue, and those little speckles of red and the white over there, like stars.”

Lottie gave a soft laugh of delight and the sound thrilled inside of him. It lit him up, catching at his heart, making him feel lighter, making him feel nothing was impossible.

“Fireworks!” she said, turning to stare at him, her great blue eyes alight with pleasure.

“Fireworks,” he repeated, unaccountably breathless, staring at her as something similar burst in his chest, little blasts of sensation lighting him up inside because she was near him, gazing at him like he had hung the moon. She liked him. Well, he knew she had always admired him, in an awestruck, girlish way. Was… Was this the same, or was it…?

She looked away suddenly and withdrew her hand from his grasp. The distance between them grew as she moved back, heading towards the door. He wanted to follow her.

“Still, it is the most awful mess,” she said. “You should punish me by making me clear it up myself. My mother would, I assure you.”

“I think I shall leave it as it is and let it dry, and then I shall always remember you.”

Not that there was anything in the world capable of making him forget her, or the way she had made his entire world ignite into the most extravagant carnival of colours he could imagine. Had it been only yesterday? And yet she had always been there. He had just not taken the time to notice. Lottie had always been in his life, making him laugh, entertaining him with her joyous nature and her nose for mischief. She was the one who had dragged him and Eliza on escapades, and she was the one who had forced Eliza to think of adventures of her own in a bid to escape her.

“Yes, you may remember me and the dreadful mess I make of everything,” she retorted, with such bitterness that his breath caught.

“Lottie, I didn’t mean—”

“I should go.”

She ran out in a flurry of skirts, but Cassius thought he’d heard her voice quaver, heard something fragile and hopeless in her words that he could not bear.

“Lottie!”

He went to go after her but could not walk through the paint so had to step back and around, squeezing past packing crates, and by the time he got to the door, she was out of sight.

Lottie caught up with her sister, dragging her by the arm. “You must get to Agatha before the paint dries, she might have a chance then.”

“Lottie, you know as well I do there will be no cleaning oil paint from this silk. I just didn’t want Cassius to fret about it. He looked so mortified, the poor man.”

“Yes, and it was all my fault.”

Lottie felt sick. She had been wild with jealousy when she’d realised her sister was inside the studio, alone with Cassius. Though she had not meant to eavesdrop, she had heard the way Eliza had said his name, recognised her tone, and knew she was building up to broach a delicate topic. Lottie knew Eliza had wanted to discuss their betrothal and she had reacted without thinking, wanting only to delay the inevitable. She may as well fling herself in the path of an oncoming train in the hope of stopping it for all the difference it would make. Eliza and Cassius had been on this road for too many years and everyone knew it. If she got involved, if she tried to interfere, she would shame herself, expose herself for the horrid, jealous creature she was and give everyone a disgust of her, especially Eliza and Cassius. It was unthinkable. She would lose her sister and the man she loved and be left alone, with nothing and no one.

Oh, she was going to weep. No. No, she must not.

“It wasn’t your fault either, you silly goose,” Eliza said with a laugh, taking her arm.

Lottie swallowed hard and forced her voice not to tremble. “Of course it was. I made him jump.”

“Nonsense, the pot was slippery with oil, like everything else in the room,” she added, holding up her gloves which bore greasy marks on the fingertips.

“Oh, there you are, girls. Good heavens, Eliza, what have you been doing?”

The sisters looked up as their mother accosted them, staring in dismay at Eliza’s ruined gown.

“A little accident with some paint, Mama.”

Their mother glanced at Lottie.

“Yes, it was my fault,” Lottie said gloomily. There, even her mama knew any disaster was more than likely her doing, even if she never reproached her for it. She was a walking accident just waiting for a place to happen, generally when there would be the most devastation possible.

“Well, never mind, accidents happen. Do you know, I’ve lost two pairs of gloves since we arrived, and I cannot fathom where the devil they’ve gone to? Sally is dreadfully cross with me.”