Drew’s hands were… blank, as if he’d lived no life with them. They looked like the hands of a man who hid away from the world.
He made a fist and jerked his attention to the fire where Bernard sat, slumped and grumpy, his brow furrowed. On the other side of him, the silhouette screen, and on the other side of that, Amelia and Miss Angleton. The young companion held the pencil, and Amelia gave her instruction, soft and low but confident. She spoke differently here, without the clipped hurry she used in Manchester, without the marching cadence that so matched his own.
He liked her voice better now.
He scowled. He’d always thought them twin souls with single-minded focus on their goals, their purpose. But… perhaps that was Mrs. Dart. Miss Amelia Dart was an entirely different creature. Different gowns and voice, different laugh, and different speed of gait. Mrs. Dart bustled about at a brisk, no-nonsense pace, just as he did. Miss Amelia Dart liked to laze about a bit, stretch her arms skyward like a cat arching its back, and purr. Yes,purr. He’d heard. Caused it. And the knowledgethat he could do so made him ache to toss her over his shoulder and take her to her chamber.
No.
He’d warned her he would touch when he wished and made her promise she would do the same, but what a dangerous game that was, because Mrs. Dart had strode into the halls of his mind and taken up residence before he’d even known he wanted her to. With Amelia, heknewabout the wanting. Made all the difference.
Miss Angleton put the pencil to the paper stretched across the frame, and Amelia stepped back, giving her space. The younger woman’s hand swept in and out of shadows, caressing the reluctant footman’s profile with the pencil tip. She seemed to hold her breath, a fact proved true when she dropped her arm, stepped away from her work and inhaled big enough to suck all the air from the room.
“There!” she said. “What do you think?” She turned to Amelia, who strolled forward, head tilted to the side, knuckles resting against her chin.
Drew stood and joined them, keeping enough distance between him and Amelia to enable him to resist the temptation of touching her. If she was within easy arm reach, he would. As sure as the tide rolled onto the beach every morning, his hand would seek out the curves of her—waist and neck and hips and hair. Those bouncy curls that felt like raw silk.
“What do you think, Lord Andrew?” Amelia asked.
Hell. He’d never lacked for focus, for determined concentration. He had in the last three days. He had since he’d arrived here. Even during his flight from Manchester to demand answers of Mrs. Dart, pure focus had held him together, blood and bone and muscle and soul; he’d had only one goal—find her and make her stay. Same goal now, but a different tenor to it.
He blew out that candle.
He cleared his throat and studied the silhouette. “Stay still, Bernard. How’d the lady even begin to trace your profile when you wiggle about like that?”
“I do not wiggle, my lord. You must be mistaken.”
Amelia’s eyebrows darted up into her hair, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, presumably to lock laughter behind her lips.
“Apologies,” Drew grumbled. But the silhouette truly was horrid. Nose too pointy and chin too long. That forehead. Bernard would drop dead upon seeing it. And then Miss Angleton would drop dead of mortification. And then Amelia would spend the evening soothing their spirits instead of— He licked his lips, sighed, and held out an arm. “It’s lovely, Miss Angleton. An excellent endeavor. May I have the honor of inking it in?”
The women blinked at him. Bernard heaved forward from his seat and peered at him from behind the screen.
“Well?” Drew asked, curving his fingers into his palms. “May I have the brush?”
“Of course!” Amelia jumped into action, dipping the brush into the pot, releasing the excess along the rim of its top, and handing it to him.
“Sit still, Bernard,” he commanded.
Bernard moved back into the silhouette, casting his shadow against the paper once more. He sat still as stone. Ignoring the pencil outline left behind by Miss Angleton, Drew outlined the footman once more, using just the ink over the curve of his forehead, the bump of his nose, and on down the rest of his face. With quick, bold strokes, and dipping the brush into the pot a time or two more, he inked it in, tossed the brush in the pot, and stepped back. Not terrible. Quite like Bernard, actually.
“Thank you,” he said, “for providing such an immaculate outline for me to follow, and my gratitude, Miss Angleton, forallowing me to collaborate. It’s been an age since I’ve held a brush.” He returned to his seat.
“Oh, it is lovely!” Miss Angleton clapped her hands.
Amelia stared at it in silence.
Bernard stood and rounded the frame to take a look. “That’s the profile of a leader, isn’t it, my lord. A future butler.”
Drew nodded.
Bernard puffed his chest out then bowed low to Miss Angleton. “Despite our disagreements, I am thankful for your talents, my lady.”
Amelia stared in silence at the silhouette.
Miss Angleton pulled herself up tall. “You’re lucky I do not hold grudges, Bernard, or I could have given you a weak chin and beak for a nose.”
She had done precisely that.
