The Dowager greeted them with telling enthusiasm, thanking Julia loudly for her assistance in planning the ball and auction. Two couples who had maintained a frosty silence behind them visibly thawed at the effusive reception, and even stopped to speak with Julia before entering the ballroom. Alec caught her triumphant look and smiled, sharing her excitement as they followed Lucien.
If the foyer had looked impressive, the ballroom was magnificent. Long swaths of watered silk hung from the ceiling and fastened to the wall with gold cords before collecting on the floor in jewel-toned puddles. Each fastening was adorned with bouquets of gold flowers. The silk began at the far wall as
a pale
lavender and gradually darkened to midnight, where the golden twinkle of hundreds of candles gave the impression of sunset darkening to a starlit night.
The music swelled over the room and people danced by, swirling gowns of every color imaginable against an army of broad shoulders and black coats. Nodding to Lucien, Alec held out his hand and swept Julia onto the floor. It was difficult to hold her and not ask her about Nick, but he managed, savoring instead the feel of her in his arms, the warmth of her hand in his.
All too soon, it was over and the music ended. Lucien arrived to claim his dance. Alec watched them twirl away, every eye upon them.
By the time supper had finished, Alec had begun to feel a spark of hope. Though some slights were inevitable, it quickly became obvious that Julia had made friends in high places. She had won the rare approval of the established matrons, and was obviously a darling of both Lady Birlington as well as the Dowager Duchess of Roth.
His relief was short lived, however, when he saw the wife of one of the executors sidling up to Julia. Alec quickly headed the woman off, inquiring after her husband and murmuring the proper sympathies when she explained how her husband had succumbed to a putrid sore throat.
Maneuvering the lady into the refreshment room, Alec abandoned her to the care of the Dowager Duchess, who was entertaining anyone who would listen with the latest tales of her unruly page, an urchin who bore a shocking resemblance to her late husband. Feeling as if he had just escaped a hangman’s noose, Alec made his way back to the ballroom.
Lucien fell into step beside him. “Nick just arrived.”
“Where is he?” Alec asked grimly, certain he would find him languishing over Julia in some secluded corner.
“He went to the card room.” Lucien looked across the room to where the objects for the auction were being set out. “I wanted to see Bentham’s portrait, but he refuses to allow it be uncovered until the auction begins.”
“Oh?” Alec listened with but half an ear as he looked over the crowd, trying to find a bronze plume and a delectable pair of bared shoulders.
Edmund came up, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. “Whatever you do, don’t agree to dance with Miss Hepperdon.”
Lucien’s mouth quirked.
“The redhead?”
“Lud, yes,” said Edmund with a dark look. “She
don’t
look it, but she’s as strong as a horse. She swung me across the room on one of the turns.
Bumped me right into Patterson and his wife.
Deuced embarrassing.”
His gaze fell on the dais. “I say, have either of you seen Bentham’s painting of Julia? Everyone is agog to see it.”
Alec winced. “Damn. 1 had forgotten that.”
“Don’t look so grim,” Lucien said. “Julia is to be congratulated. Bentham is notoriously selective in choosing his subjects.”
Though Lucien was right, Alec did not reply. Every time he turned around there was yet another man in Julia’s life.
It was galling.
A chime rang, signaling the beginning of the auction. The Dowager made a gracious speech about how the charities would benefit,
then
stepped aside to allow Lord Dunston to proceed with the first item. With a flurry of bids, the auction began.
Alec finally located Julia standing by the dais with Lady Birlington and the Dowager. Maddie, resplendent in orange and green, wore a red wig teased into a wild spate of curls. Her bold coloring made Julia appear that much more elegant.
Relieved that Nick was nowhere in sight, Alec made to move through the crowd toward Julia when Edmund choked, his face an alarming red.
Alec frowned. “Good God, what is it?”
“Nothing.
Choked on my wine.”
“Your glass is empty.”
“Oh.” Edmund eyed his empty glass as if it had suddenly appeared in his hand. “Oh, well, yes. I was, uhm, holding a swallow in my mouth.”
“Why on earth would you do that?”
“It, ah, warms it and,
uhm,
makes it… sweeter.
And… more fragrant.”
Lucien shook his head. “It’s only a quarter past ten, Edmund, and already you are ape-drunk.”
“I am not,” protested Edmund. He leaned toward Lucien and gave an extensive series of winks and head bobs.
“Confound it, what is wrong with you?” asked Lucien.
Edmund grasped his hair with both hands. “Damn it, Luce! I never met a more thick-headed—” He stopped when he caught Alec’s gaze. ‘There you are! Come and play a hand of whist with me! Do you good to get some air. Too hot in here
.“
Alec tried to shake himself free of Edmund’s insistent hold. The hum of the crowd increased as bids were called in furious order. “Not now.”
“But I need you in the card room,” said Edmund desperately, clutching Alec’s arm even tighter.
“What for?”
“Money.
End of the quarter and my pockets are to let. Devilish thing to happen, but I forgot my wallet, too.”
Alec scowled and pulled out his wallet, handing Edmund a pile of bills. “Here. Now go.”
“That won’t do.” Edmund
flushed,
a thoroughly miserable look on his plump face. “Not enough. Maybe you should return home and fetch some more.”
“Damn it, Edmund! What are you about?” Beside him, Alec heard Lucien give a startled exclamation. “What is it?”
Lucien didn’t answer, but stared at the next item presented for bidding. There, standing on an easel, was Bentham’s portrait of Julia.
Alec’s throat went dry.
Bentham had painted Julia reclining on a couch amidst a sea of blue silk. Muck, improbably dressed as Cupid, leaned against a footstool and stared up at her with adoring eyes. A fan partly covered her face, though there was no mistaking her green eyes or the delicate arch of her sable brows. Alec’s gaze drifted past the fan and beyond, his hands clenching into fists as he realized what had so shocked Lucien.
Bentham had painted Julia nude.
Julia leaned forward and squinted at the portrait. “I thought Bentham was going to paint
me
.” It
is
you
,“
Maddie snapped, her parchment skin flushed an unbecoming red. ”That scoundrel painted you in the nude
.“
Squinting again, Julia could barely make out the flesh-toned figure reclined on the couch. As soon as she saw the green eyes peering over the fan, she started.
“Heavens!”
She glanced around at the sea of blurry faces. “Perhaps no one will notice.”
“How could a person not notice
that
? A few more inches and it would be life sized.” Even as Maddie spoke, people were beginning to point.
“Demme.
There’s nothing for it but a forward attack.”
The old woman peered through the crowd, finally focusing on the narrow-shouldered young man beside Therese. “You!” she called, thumping her cane. “What is the meaning of this?”
Bentham glanced uncertainly at Therese, then cleared his throat and said in a loud voice, “Lady Hunterston requested that I paint her in the nude. I protested, of course, but the beauty of the composition was such that I was powerless to demur.”
Julia had never heard such obvious drivel in her entire life. A fine painter Bentham might be, but as an actor, he was a dismal failure. Even Desiree, a depressing example of thespian ability, would have pronounced the lines with more finesse. Unfortunately, Bentham’s allegation was so startling Julia doubted anyone but
herself
noticed anything amiss. Someone other than the dreamy-eyed artist had to be behind this newest effort to cause a scandal.
Julia’s gaze narrowed on Therese. Her cousin glowed. Her perfect rosebud mouth curved in a smug grin, and she could not have appeared more pleased.
Maddie scowled. “I hope Bentham knows what he’s gotten himself into. Hunterston looks ready to split someone open.”
Alec stood not far from the dais, his face a frozen mask of anger. He stared at Bentham as if trying to decide which bone to break first. Julia stiffened her resolve at the sight. If she didn’t act soon, the whole place would erupt.
She walked up to the painting and peered closely. “A pity it doesn’t look like me.”
Bentham’s face reddened. “Of course it looks like you.”
“The face is mine,
that’s
true.” She looked down at her bosom where it pressed against the bronze silk, then returned her gaze to the painting’s rounded, more robust charms. “Unfortunately, the rest is less than accurate.
Too bad.
I always wished I were a bit more curved.”
The Dowager Duchess bent to peer at the painting.
“Very true, Lady Hunterston.
And you are certainly thinner than this woman.” She straightened, her brows arched high. “It appears Bentham has mistakenly placed your head on someone else’s body.”
Bentham started to protest, but a sudden move from Alec made him retreat a hasty step. Before Alec could follow, Lucien placed a restraining hand on his arm.
Lady Birlington peered over Julia’s shoulder. “Humph.
Missed your feet, too.
Don’t know who he painted, but they have tiny feet.” She glared around the room. “All women with big bosoms and tiny feet must step forward immediately.”
A wave of laughter arose, during which a dashing young blade called out, “By all means, Lady Birlington, let them come to me for examination.”
The tension dissipated from the room as the laughter subsided. Julia heaved a tiny sigh of relief and leaned toward the picture once again until her nose almost touched the canvas. “There’s a mole, too. Right here on her hip. I don’t have one of those. The only person I know who has a mole there is—” She halted, her color rising. She cast a swift glance at Therese. “
Well
.”
Had she shouted her suspicions aloud, they could not have been clearer.
Edmund stared at Therese, his eyes wide. “And she ain’t even married.” His voice carried all too clearly.
Therese paled. “It is not me. Any fool can see that it is Julia.”
Bentham took an impulsive step forward. “Lady Hunterston is—”
“Bentham!” Maddie’s voice rang out. “Do you wish me to bring this disgraceful episode to the ears of your mother?”
The young man blanched and shot a desperate glance at Therese. But she was no longer attending him, her gaze fixed on Julia.
“Well?” asked Maddie in a testy voice. “Do you or don’t you? I’m sure Lucinda would be very interested to hear of your shameful antics while she is in the country.”
“No! No, there is no need.” Bentham looked around the room, but not one friendly face turned his way. He reached an impulsive hand toward Therese, but she turned away, jerking her arm from his grasp.
Bentham stared after her, stark misery in his pale blue eyes. Hands clenched into fists, he turned to the Dowager and made a jerky bow. “Your Grace, I will take my leave of you now. I apologize for any harm my mistake has caused.”
Julia felt an instant of pity. Dreamy-eyed and weak-chinned, he’d stood no chance against Therese’s beauty.
The Dowager waved him on.
“Of course, of course.”
Bentham bowed and left the room, casting one last, anguished glance at Therese.
“This certainly has been interesting,” said the Dowager. She regarded the painting critically. “Perhaps 1 should purchase it for my drawing room, whoever it is.”
‘Two hundred pounds
,“
Alec ground out.
Julia blinked. “But it isn’t even me!”
‘Two
hundred pounds
“
he
repeated, his glance dismissing her.
She knew it was pride that made him offer, yet she couldn’t help but be relieved. The thought of the portrait hanging in someone else’s home, a constant topic of countless dinner conversations, made her queasy.
The Dowager nodded.
“Very proper, Lord Hunterston.
The eyes do bear a shocking resemblance to your wife’s. I won’t even bid against you. You may have the portrait with my blessing.”
From the other side of the room came Nick’s lazy drawl.
“Three hundred pounds.”
The Dowager gawked. “Goodness!”
Alec bit off a muffled curse.
“Four hundred.”
Oblivious to the growing tension, the Dowager clapped. “Well done, Hunterston. I knew you loved the arts.”
Nick strolled forward, stopping to deliver a mocking bow to Julia. One of his eyes sported a deep
bruise,
no doubt a trophy from his argument with Alec at White’s the previous night.
“Your servant, Cousin.”
Julia gave him the smallest nod possible. He might or might not have planned this debacle, but she had no doubt he was enjoying it to the fullest.
Smiling, he turned to the Dowager. “I believe Alec has discovered he loves the arts far more than he thought possible. Unfortunately for him, I share a similar affection.”
“
Five
hundred.”
Alec glared.
Nick laughed gently. “You have just bid against yourself.”
Alec did not flinch.
“
Six
hundred.”
A ripple of amazement spread through the crowd. Julia had never seen Alec so furiously intense. Arms crossed, feet planted apart, he gave the impression of tightly coiled temper ready to leap into action.
“My, my.
So determined,” murmured Nick. He assessed Alec for a moment. “But I’m afraid I cannot allow such a rare and beautiful opportunity to pass.” He turned to the painting and his quizzing glass lingered an indecent time on the curve of the hips. “I must have it for my bedchamber.
Eight
hundred.”