“Oh, don’t be silly, Mr. Godfrey.” Lady Granville offered them both a steely, determined smile. “We’re in England, after all. If our furniture couldn’t hold up to a few drops of rain, it’d be positively unpatriotic.”

Colin chuckled. “Well said, my lady. Before I left Scotland, I thought we had the corner on dreadful weather.”

“I’ve heard Scotland has the corner on all manner of dreadful things,” Godfrey remarked, leaning forward to set his empty teacup on the sofa table. “You must be so relieved to have an aunt here to take you in.”

Right—more of a bastard than an ass. Colin opened his mouth to retort, but Jocelyn cut him off.

“I always thought Scotland was romantic. If Romeo and Juliet would have had a Gretna Green to run off to, that play would have had a much happier ending.”

Lady Granville nearly choked on her tea as Beatrice widened her eyes at her sister. Setting down her cup, Lady Granville offered a forced chuckle. “Jocelyn, we know you are only teasing when you say such a thing, but our guests may not. Please,” she said, turning back to offer Colin and Godfrey apologetic smiles, “pay her comment no mind.”

Godfrey gave the girl a little sideways look before smiling at Beatrice. “Yes, of course.”

Colin rather liked the girl—she reminded him of his own sister. “No mind paid. Although, if I had, I would be inclined to say that Lady Jocelyn has a point.”

* * *

He’d defended her sister.

Beatrice pressed her lips together, stifling the silly grin that threatened to emerge. He’d managed to handle Mr. Godfrey’s subtle rudeness quite well since the moment he arrived, and now he’d championed Jocelyn. She tossed a displeased look in Godfrey’s direction. The man should have taken his leave when Colin arrived. He’d already been here a quarter hour, so it wasn’t as though Colin’s visit was cutting anything short.

Sitting forward slightly, Beatrice turned the whole of her attention to the dark Scotsman—or should she say half Scotsman? “I’d love to hear more about Scotland, Sir Colin. None of us has ever been, but the paintings I’ve seen are quite majestic.”

His charcoal eyes warmed as he smiled at her, a lock of damp black hair falling across his forehead. “It’s rugged, and mountainous, and almost unbearable in its beauty. In the spring, when lilacs scent the air and heather blankets the fields, it is almost magical. My family’s estate is on the edge of a forest at the foot of a steep hill, and my gran swears she can hear the faerie wings on many a quiet night.”

Carolyn sighed. “It really does sound romantic. Not Gretna Green romantic, but inspiring-in-its-loveliness romantic.”

Beatrice saw her mother press her eyes closed for the space of a second. The twins would do well to purge the words “Gretna Green” from their vocabulary. “Yes, very inspiring, Sir Colin. Is your family still in Scotland?”

“Yes. My stepbrother and stepsister live there with our grandmother.”

“My, how they must miss you, especially so soon after your father’s passing,” Mr. Godfrey interjected, shaking his head. “I hope you won’t be gone from them long.”

The man’s jealousy—which was completely unfounded—was beginning to grate on Beatrice’s nerves. Did he think he was helping his case by acting the cad toward Colin? Yes, she realized there were some who looked down on him and his freshly created title, but that was rubbish, as far as she was concerned. If he treated Colin this way, how would he react to Jane and her background?

Colin, at least, seemed to take the statement in stride. “They are happy that I could be here for the memorial exhibit. It was too much of a journey for Gran, but I know she is comforted that I am here now.”

Mama tilted her head, sympathy clouding her eyes. “It really is lovely that you could be here for the exhibit. I know that many, especially our resident artist, Lady Beatrice, are eager to attend.”

Colin opened his mouth to respond, but Mr. Godfrey jumped in. “Perhaps you would allow me to escort you. I know how fond you are of the arts, Lady Beatrice.” He offered a calculated smile that probably softened most females, but only made her grind her teeth.

“I didn’t realize you were an artist, Lady Beatrice,” Colin said, taking her by surprise. He most certainly did know that she was a painter. She liked where he was going with this.

Blinking innocently, she tilted her head and smiled. “Why, yes! I am not only a painter myself, but a most fervent admirer of your father.”

His face revealed nothing, but his eyes betrayed his delight in her playing along. “Well, if that is the case, perhaps I can interest you in a private tour of the exhibit before it opens to the public.”

Rescuing her from Godfrey’s invitation and offering her the opportunity of a lifetime? If her mother wouldn’t faint on the spot, she could have kissed the man.

“Thank you, Sir Colin. I am honored to accept your generous invitation.”

* * *

“I’m afraid you may have permanently endeared yourself to my sisters.”

Colin gave her a brief grin before accepting his hat from a footman, who then retreated to his post beside the door. Based on his calls to the women on his list earlier, she shouldn’t have accompanied him on his way out, but it seemed that little stood between her and something she wanted. He rather liked that about her. And he was exceedingly glad for a moment of semiprivacy with her, however brief.

“Well, if she was going to defend Scotland, it was the least I could do. Patriotic duty, et cetera, et cetera.”

She tilted her head a bit, her bright blue gaze never leaving his. “You may discount your kindness, but I’m not going to let you get away without a proper thank-you.”

A proper thank-you? Her voice was quiet, her eyes focused solely on him, and for a fleeting moment, he had a vision of her rising on her toes and brushing her lips to his. He swallowed, his blood heating at the thought. “Think nothing of it.”

“I think much of it,” she insisted, holding out her hand to him. “And I thank you.”

He reached forward, gathering her slender fingers in his hand. There it was again—that tingle of awareness that slipped over his skin whenever he touched her, even through the fabric of their gloves.

He lifted her hand to his lips, inhaling her lilac scent along with the subtle hints of linseed oil. He paused just shy of his mouth and murmured, “You are most welcome, my lady.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, and she tightened her fingers for a moment, a gesture that no one but he would notice.

“I bid you good day, sir. I’m very much looking forward to our tour.”

Reluctantly releasing her, he stepped back and set his hat over his still-damp hair. “As am I, my lady.” With a slight bow, he turned and headed for the door, keeping his expression neutral for the servant’s sake.

As ill-advised as it might be, he already knew he would do anything in his power to ensure that the private tour at the gallery with Beatrice was exactly that: private.

Chapter Seven

Stepping into the airy rooms that housed his father’s memorial exhibit, Colin was suddenly very glad that he had decided to arrive early. The emotions that assailed him were not completely unexpected, but somehow they still came as a surprise. He turned in a circle, taking in the more than twenty pieces that had been brought together for the event.

No matter what his father had done wrong in his life, he had done his paintings exceedingly right. Colin breathed in a deep lungful of air, pushing against the steel band that seemed to have wrapped around his ribs. It was an odd sort of blissful agony to see the paintings, as bright and vibrant as ever despite the fact Father was gone.

He breathed out, exhaling the pain and regret away with it. This was to be a good day. All he had thought about since the moment he awoke was seeing Beatrice again, with no one between them but a single chaperone. Certainly not that jackass Godfrey. Seeing the man’s face when Beatrice accepted Colin’s invitation had been worth the impromptu proposal a thousand times over—and even that didn’t compare to the thrill of Beatrice’s acceptance.

For some reason, he loved the idea of a little more stolen time with her.

And though the gallery wasn’t nearly as intimate as his aunt’s portrait hall, it was a vast improvement over Beatrice’s crowded drawing room. The space was quiet and bright, two feats he would not have thought possible in this part of London. The plain white of the walls left nothing to distract the viewer’s attention from the highlighted masterpieces. Coming from so many different collections, the frames were a bit of a mishmash, some glinting gold, others silver, and a few polished wood ones mixed in. He rather liked the eclectic feel of the groupings.

He wandered forward, his footsteps echoing in the open space, which was devoid of all but a handful of potted plants and a few strategically placed benches. He could almost feel his father’s presence in the starkness of the room. When he worked, Father wanted nothing cluttering his creative space. His studio was always clean and orderly, in complete contrast to the house itself.

“Sir Colin?”

Colin glanced to the door and smiled, warmth infusing the emptiness inside his heart. God, but she was lovely.

“My lady. I’m honored you could join me today.” He strode forward to greet her properly and was treated to the whispered hint of lilac.

She looked perfectly divine today, in her simple muslin gown and light green spencer jacket. An easy smile curled her lips as she slipped off the jacket, the movement highlighting the delicate rise of her collarbone. “I’m beyond delighted to be here.”