Page 52 of Desperately Seeking Seduction

“I don’t think it will,” Jasper announced. “Has anyone but me noticed that the Astons never look directly at each other? I think there is bad blood between father and son.”

“It never used to be that way,” Stratford murmured.

He had once felt a little jealous of the older Aston’s smile for his only offspring. Stratford’s own father had never looked at him the same way. Only his brothers had ever made him feel he belonged.

“I should like to see this painting you did, Stratford,” Amity announced. “It could certainly help soften Aston if it is well done.”

Crawford leaned toward his wife and patted her hand. “Stratford only painted the portrait from his memory, my love.”

“A memory he fears may not have been accurate, too, I should caution,” Algernon murmured to everyone.

“It was a long time ago and people change,” Stratford muttered.

“You’ve always been your harshest critic, brother,” Nash complained. “I am certain it will be as accurate a portrait as any you’ve ever done.”

Stratford blushed. It was an accurate portrait indeed. Win had not changed that much since being Edwin Aston. “I will have another look for it.”

“Good, I want Aston to leave knowing we went out of the way to honor his family and that the connection means something to us still. We have a long way to go before he approves of us. Father did an excellent job of painting his sons in the harshest light possible.”

“I’m certain George did his part, too, over the years,” Amity murmured. “If there was a close bond between Edwin Aston and his father once, I’m certain the painting might foster a return of affection between them one day soon.”

Given what he knew now, Stratford doubted it. If that painting came to light, if it were placed beside the imposter heir, others might begin to doubt the fellow’s identity too.

“We need to see that painting, brother,” Algernon said, giving Stratford a long hard look. “Go and have another look for it.”

Dismissed, he returned slowly upstairs and went to the attics again to make it seem like he was looking around for the old painting, pretending he didn’t already have it hidden in his chambers. He left the stacks uncovered and untidy to show he’d been up there, should anyone else come looking too.

Then he returned to his chamber in the hope of finding Winston still there.

She was polishing his evening slippers to a high shine. She looked startled to see him and stood. “What did they say?”

“They still want it, Win,” he replied sourly.

“Oh,” she murmured, and then nodded.

“But I won’t give it up, or you, either,” he said as he went to her and brushed his finger along her jaw. They were becoming something more than he’d ever imagined they might be. He wanted more such moments where they talked about their lives. What they wanted and where they might go next together. But first he had to deal with the painting. He would not destroy it, but he stashed it in his dressing closet far at the back.

When he returned to his bedchamber where Win was polishing his riding boots, the rhythmic swing and swoop of her movements were mesmerizing. He shook his head and stilled her hands to regain her attention. “Be cautious on your travels through the house.”

“I always am,” she promised without looking up.

Stratford leaned down and dropped a kiss on her head. “I wish things could be different.”

“You know they cannot.”

He turned away, frustrated. He’d never had this before. Companionship and friendship and a woman he desired no matter what she wore. He’d never had to hide his feelings for a woman in his life.

He headed to the easel, a place where he often found answers to the questions he’d not even asked himself yet.

The unfinished painting was still there, and glaringly bad. He had come to loathe the work and, after a moment’s consideration, set it aside.

He picked up a blank fresh canvas, and as he looked across the room to where Win toiled over his boots, inspiration struck. What he wanted was this, to capture this moment and hold it forever in his memory. But he had no idea if Win could ever want the same.

Just the two of them…perhaps falling in love.

CHAPTER 16

Although it was an hour until sunrise, Winston crept from Lord Stratford’s chamber and into the hall. Since she was staying, she meant to make good on her vow to protect the cook from Philips’ unwanted advances. Or if she was too late, make sure the scoundrel was found out so he would make an honest woman of her.