“What has changed?” The answer came to him immediately. “Finding Will has set you on a new path. Are you sure it wasn’t he who stole from you?” Despite his smile, he was serious.
Angelika dismissed this with a haughty look. “The man is a saint.”
“No man is. Believe me.” A frisson of energy vibrated through them both, and Angelika’s cup rattled on its saucer. Christopher’s eyes were now the same dark peacock blue as the chair. “We have no idea if he is a sinner or saint. What will you do if I uncover him to be a thief?”
“I’ll forgive him.”
“Or he’s a swindler? He’s faked his entire memory loss to escape his debts? Married with his own brood?” This last one hit its mark, and his eyes gleamed like a hunter’s. “You are madly in love with someone, and that is certain: Edwin Hoggett. You will be an exceptional mother. And that requires the input of an exceptional father.”
Nobody had ever made the word input sound quite that filthy.
“Do you actually wish for a baby?” Angelika asked him skeptically. “Or are you attempting to form a side negotiation with my female organs?”
“Well, that would be improper.” He grinned, cutting a look at her waist. “Yes, I want a lot of babies, and I believe I want them with you. I promised to get you organized on that front, remember?”
“I definitely remember. And now I feel like we require a chaperone.”
“Do you?” Christopher was intrigued and balanced his saucer on one heavenly leg. “I have made the bold, brave Miss Frankenstein blush? Now that makes me pleased with myself. Should we perhaps take the opportunity to see if we have a viable connection? A kiss, that is what I ask,” he added quickly when seeing the look on her face. “I ordinarily would not be so outrageous, but—”
“You’re in a rather outrageous household.”
“Exactly.”
He deserved the full truth. “I promised my hand to Will, virtually the moment he opened his eyes, whether he wanted me or not. I felt a sense of destiny, finding him the way I did. We have a connection I cannot possibly explain to you. It feels like he is mine. Like we are family.”
“Your loyalty is a commendable trait. But you were not in possession of all the facts about him. He might not be of good standing. Meanwhile, I am a good match for you in every way. Here’s what I know. You are bored and unstimulated here in the country.”
“I cannot deny that I am bored at Blackthorne Manor.” But she was never bored at Larkspur Lodge.
“I promise you adventure. At home, in private, you may remain as unconventional as you please, and I hope you do. For formal duties, you shall have the latest dresses and be the envy of all the other military wives. Do you hunt?”
“Frightfully well.” Angelika looked down at her trousers. “You wish for me to change myself.”
He rushed to reassure her. “No. I wish for us to be successful. You’re clever, and you know how to play the society game. It would be fun, wouldn’t it, having our secret life together, after the day is done?”
He did have a point. She could hardly stride into a military banquet dressed like a soldier, and she did wear dresses into the village. He was hardly asking for a major concession. “Where would we live?”
“Every few years we would move to new places and make new friends. Oceans, mountains, plains; they will be the views from our window. No more boredom or loneliness, ever again, for either of us. Balls, dinners, dancing.”
His offer gave her a flashback to the moment she had with Will, outside their bedrooms, dragging her mother’s silk through her hand. She had offered him ships, horses, carriages. Spices, tapestries, wine. He’d replied, I don’t need those things.
She found she had the same reply on her tongue now, though she did not express it.
Christopher let her consider this for a moment, before continuing. “All I ever wanted was to find someone who made me laugh, and think, and lust. When I moved to Salisbury, I never imagined I’d find you, tucked away in an old manor on a hill, like a forgotten princess.” There was such admiration in these blue eyes, her heartbeat skipped.
“Should I consider this a proposal?” She found herself terrified of his answer.
He relieved her. “Not just yet. I am restraining myself, and it will be far more romantic.” Christopher looked at her mouth. “Are you brave enough to try this with me? No one will know.”
Angelika had almost certainly had fantasies like this before, and he was reading from a script that should have worked very well for her. But Will was down the hall, and portraits did not take forever—
Christopher put his teacup on the table. In a quiet voice that would inspire a weary soldier to take one final charge, he urged:
“Kiss me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
It was remarkable how some words hung in the air longer than others. These two—kiss me—hung like a puff of pink smoke, and Will and Clara walked right through it. In this quiet house, Christopher’s voice would have definitely carried.
“I was just hoping for an opinion,” Clara said faintly, bouncing Edwin higher on her hip.
Christopher did not attempt to wave away the lingering moment. He sat there, marvelous legs splayed out, and stared back at Will. The air seemed to leak out of the room. Edwin chortled at everyone’s discomfort.
“Just hoping for an opinion on my sketch,” Clara tried again, fainter yet. It was her embarrassment that knocked Christopher back into himself. He made a visible effort to concentrate, and addressed her with warmth.
“It’s ready? That barely took you a minute. Grand. Let’s see it, then.”
“You told me to keep it simple.” Clara gestured backward. “I left it on the easel, in case you think it is not a good likeness.”
The four (plus Edwin) went back to the library to look at Clara’s efforts.
“It’s beautiful,” Angelika told her honestly, and with a lot of relief. “You have drawn him well. I’m sure eyes are not easy, but you have got him exactly right.” There was something she didn’t like about it. The sketch of Will had a haunted quality; a tension to the jaw and in the direct stare. “I’d much rather a happier portrait, though,” Angelika added. “If I could ask you to sit a second time for Clara, that would be grand.”
“She has depicted my stress levels accurately,” Will said with a hand in his hair.
“Should we talk outside?” Christopher asked him in a polite threat.
Angelika sighed. “Stop it, both of you. You forgot to sign it,” she said to Clara. “Artists always sign their work.”
Clara inscribed CH at the bottom of the piece.
“I will be meeting the local magistrate tomorrow morning,” Christopher said, rolling up the drawing and inserting it into a leather portrait case. “I will send a message afterward to let you know what the outcome was.”
“Can I have it back when you are finished with it?” Angelika asked.
“No,” Christopher told her evenly. “Clara, would you and Edwin like to come back in my carriage?”
“I think that would be wonderful,” Clara said, grabbing up her belongings, clearly wanting a speedy exit. Angelika watched the men walk on ahead, and relaxed a fraction as they began what looked like a civil conversation.
“I should like to pay you for your work,” Angelika told Clara as they walked through the house.
Clara was surprised, and offended. “I thought I was an equal part of the secret society.”
“You are, and you have performed an integral part. I want you to be compensated as my valued consultant.”
“I don’t like feeling like one of your staff.”
Angelika had anticipated this argument. “Men are always paid for their work and talents; it is important to me that women are, too. Edwin demands that you say yes. The things he likes best in the world cost money.”
“His favorite toy is a pine cone.”
Out of her pocket, Angelika took the folded envelope she had prepared earlier, with ten pounds inside and sealed with the family crest in wax. She made Clara take it. “Just open it later, and feel happy that you are so very talented. You have earned this by doing something none of us could achieve. I am hereby requesting a further commission, in oils, and I will pay ten times what is here.”
Clara very nearly said no. But then Edwin chirped and reached for the envelope, causing them both to laugh. “I never expected a thing. I was happy to just feel included in something. Thank you.” She hesitated. “Who would the oil painting be of?”
Without thought, Angelika replied, “Will, of course.”
Clara was rightfully puzzled. “I thought you hadn’t decided upon him.”
“I shall let the winner fight his way into the gilt frame in my bedroom.” Angelika slowed her step, forcing Clara to dawdle with her. “Who loves me best, do you think?”
“Edwin,” Clara deadpanned, unwilling to give her the satisfaction.