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‘‘I’ve reconsidered your offer,’’ she said in her low, sultry voice.
‘‘What do you mean?’’ he asked, fearing he knew what she meant.
‘‘I said I wouldn’t wait until your sister married. But as I can wait until Friday without becoming a shriveled old lady, I’ve changed my mind.’’
She moved closer, so close her mouth was a whisper from his.
And she licked her lips.
‘‘Do you want to kiss me, Griffin?’’
His head hurt. He felt beaten down. And he was being manipulated again, damn it.
But he very much wanted to kiss her.
He loved Rachael. She was so open and refreshing, so competent and levelheaded. Having run an earldom for a number of years, she would be a fine helpmate. He didn’t want to lose her to a rake with the gall to touch her luscious derriere.
The next man to touch her luscious derriere was going to be
him
.
Her sweet breath washed over him, tantalizing him, making his own breath catch. Her mouth was so close he could taste her already. Struggling for control, his heart pounding double time, he leaned in. She met him halfway and nipped at his bottom lip, and he yanked her close, feeling his control snap, crushing his mouth against hers.
A bloodcurdling scream came from the foyer.
His heart pounding triple time, he leapt to his feet and rushed out to see who was being murdered.
No one was dead. But it was difficult to be thankful for that when he saw the way Corinna was wrapped around Delaney. No man should ever see his sister in such an embrace. She was literally hanging on the fellow, her arms around his neck, her legs all but around his waist.
She was sobbing, and she clutched a crumpled letter. Delaney’s sister plucked it out of her hand and brought it to Griffin.
 
Somerset House, Monday 26 May
 
Lady Corinna Chase:
The Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition Committee is pleased to inform you that your painting has been accepted for our 1817 Exhibition. Please be advised that Varnishing Day will take place Friday 30 May in preparation for the Exhibition’s opening on Monday 2 June.
Congratulations,
Benjamin West, President
 
‘‘I cannot believe it,’’ Corinna choked out through a sob.
‘‘I’m not at all surprised,’’ Griffin said.
She slid off Delaney, thank God, and dashed the tears off her face. ‘‘You’re not?’’
‘‘You’re very talented, Corinna.’’ He was pleased as punch for her. ‘‘Since Varnishing Day is Friday, we’ll move the wedding to Saturday.’’
‘‘And make it a double wedding,’’ a sultry voice added from behind him.

 

Chapter Fifty-seven
The Great Room, which housed the Summer Exhibition, had been built at the very top of Somerset House so it could be illuminated by skylights. It was accessed by a wide, winding staircase that seemed endless. Corinna’s knees trembled as she climbed up it Friday afternoon, gripping her paint box like a life preserver.
‘‘Are you getting tired?’’ Sean asked, taking her arm to steady her.
‘‘A little,’’ she said.
She was glad Griffin had relented and allowed Sean to accompany her. But unfortunately, he’d done so only after extracting a solemn promise from the ‘‘vicar’s son’’ that he would bring her there and straight back, and she knew Sean was so honorable he’d stick to that promise.
Which meant this would be another day without kisses.
The four days since Griffin had agreed to their marriage seemed the longest four days of her life. Two special licenses had been procured, and the minister booked, and nothing much more had happened. The double wedding tomorrow was going to be a very quiet affair, even smaller than Lady Cavanaugh’s. Besides the two brides and grooms, only Corinna’s family and Deirdre, Rachael’s siblings, and the ABC sisters would be attending. Aunt Frances couldn’t come, as she was still in confinement—new mothers stayed at home for the first month.
The wedding would take place in the afternoon in the Berkeley Square house’s drawing room, and then they’d have a little dinner, and then everyone would go home.
Juliana was very disappointed. She’d wanted more of a fuss made about everything. But Corinna didn’t care about the wedding, just like she didn’t care that she didn’t have a new dress to wear for it. The wedding was only something to get past.
The wedding
night
, however . . .
‘‘I’m a little tired
and
a little nervous,’’ she admitted, still climbing.
‘‘About our wedding night?’’
‘‘No.’’ The thought of that was just exciting. ‘‘What if my painting is hung up very high? Or down near the floor?’’
‘‘Why should it matter where it’s hung? It’s an honor just to be in the Exhibition, isn’t it?’’
‘‘The room is designed with a line going around it, a strip of molding mounted eight feet above the floor. The pictures placed with the bottom edges of their frames along the line are considered the best. It’s an extra honor to be hung not high or low, but right there in the middle. I’m afraid to look.’’
‘‘Well, I don’t see how not looking is going to change anything. But if you want, I’ll look for you and let you know.’’
‘‘You can’t.’’ On the landing, she stopped before the Great Room’s open door to catch her breath. ‘‘You won’t recognize my painting.’’ That was another thing she was nervous about. ‘‘It’s not Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait.’’
‘‘It’s not?’’ He looked totally nonplussed. ‘‘Well, what is it, then?’’
‘‘My secret,’’ she said, and stepped in, hurrying to the center of the room.
Varnishing Day seemed to be chaos. Artists were everywhere,on chairs and ladders and their knees, blocking Corinna’s view of all the pictures on the soaring walls. They hung frame-to-frame, fitted like puzzle pieces floor to ceiling. She turned in circles, frantically searching for her own.
‘‘Sweet Jesus,’’ Sean burst out.
‘‘Where? Where is it?’’
He took her by the shoulders and swung her around. ‘‘There. And it’s quite some secret.’’
She stared at it, feeling breathless, and not because she’d climbed a hundred stairs. ‘‘They liked it.’’
‘‘They wouldn’t have accepted it had they not liked it,
críona
.’’
‘‘But it’s on the line. In the place of honor. They
really
liked it.’’
‘‘Hamilton loved it,’’ he said dryly. ‘‘He described his favorite submission to me precisely. ‘A sensual study of a golden-haired man, rather scandalously undressed and bathed in candlelight.’ I had no idea the scandalously undressed man was
me
.’’
‘‘And neither did he, a man who’s known you since childhood. No one will recognize you, Sean.’’ Tearing her gaze from her picture, she turned to him. ‘‘I changed your coloring.’’
‘‘But Deirdre will want to come see it, and your brother—’’
‘‘I didn’t end up telling Griffin my secret,’’ she reminded him, thanking God she hadn’t needed to. ‘‘It won’t occur to them it could be you. You’re not angry with me, are you? No one here is recognizing you, either. And it’s not because they haven’t noticed the painting.’’ Indeed, several artists not involved in their own work stood before it, discussing it, a sight that made her heart sing. ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me Hamilton liked it so much?’’
‘‘When he described it, I was certain it wasn’t yours. I saw no point in mentioning he loved someone else’s work.’’
He shook his head in apparent disbelief, but she was thankful he didn’t seem angry. Her hand went up to touch her necklace. She was so lucky to have found such a tolerant man.
‘‘Are you going to varnish it now, then?’’ he asked.
‘‘In a minute.’’ She wanted to let it all sink in for a while first. She shifted her paint box to her other hand, looking around. ‘‘Sean,’’ she whispered, thrilled. ‘‘It’s J. M. W. Turner. There, in the top hat and tails. I’ve heard he always dresses like that.’’
‘‘His painting doesn’t look finished.’’
The artist had hung an all but monochrome canvas. ‘‘You’re color-blind. How can you tell?’’
‘‘It’s a landscape, and the sky isn’t even blue. How the devil did it get accepted?’’
‘‘Academicians are allowed to hang six paintings each without going through the selection process,’’ Corinna explained in an undertone. ‘‘And Varnishing Day isn’t just for varnishing; it’s also for fixing little things. Turner is rather famous for this trick. While his fellow artists—’’
‘‘That’s you,’’ Sean interrupted.
‘‘Oh, God, it is, isn’t it?’’ She felt her heart might burst. ‘‘While the rest of us struggle to fix some tiny mistake, he practically paints an entire picture.’’
‘‘Thus proving his technical virtuosity?’’
‘‘And awing everyone else in the process.’’ She watched the dull painting blaze to life as Turner swiftly transformed it with glorious chrome and brilliant vermilion and costly ultramarine. He stood so close to his canvas he appeared to paint with his eyes and nose as well as his hands. ‘‘He’s legendary,’’ she whispered. ‘‘They call him the painter of light. He first exhibited here at the age of fifteen.’’
‘‘While you’re an ancient twenty-two?’’
‘‘I suppose I should feel lucky you’re willing to marry such an old hag.’’
‘‘We’d best wed quickly,
a rún
, before you get any older.’’
‘‘Is tomorrow soon enough?’’
‘‘An hour from now wouldn’t be soon enough.’’
She laughed, a joyous sound that warmed Sean’s heart. ‘‘I don’t know how Turner does it. He’s been known to produce two hundred fifty pictures in a single year. It takes me at least two weeks to complete a painting.’’
‘‘Not
that
one.’’ Sean gestured to his image on the wall.
‘‘That one just flowed out of me,’’ she admitted. ‘‘I guess I’ll varnish it now.’’
She looked nervous as she walked toward it, paint box in hand. Sean followed, moving a step stool so that she could reach it.
‘‘Is that yours?’’ someone asked as she climbed up, setting off a volley of comments.
‘‘She’s unknown!’’
‘‘A female painted that?’’
‘‘A genius.’’
‘‘I think it’s shameful,’’ a disgruntled man disagreed.
Through it all, Corinna held her head high, nerves notwithstanding. She made her own way in the world, just like Sean did. That was why he loved her.
Well, that and because she made his blood surge with just a look.
Only one more day until he made her his forever. Standing back, he smiled as she dipped her brush in varnish and began swiping it over his bare chest.

 

Chapter Fifty-eight
‘‘Well,’’ Griffin said. ‘‘That’s it.’’ Upstairs in the Berkeley Square town house, he shut the bedroom door and leaned his hands against it. ‘‘Corinna is on her way to Hampstead, to a house I’ve never even seen.’’
‘‘You’ll see it soon,’’ Rachael said behind him, where he knew she was slipping off her shoes.
He heard the soft give of the mattress as she sat on the bed across the room, and he imagined her rolling down her stockings. To torture himself just a bit, he remained facing away, the sound of swishing silk making his body stir, making his blood heat.
‘‘And I’m sure it’s a fine house,’’ she continued, her sultry voice sliding into him. ‘‘Deirdre told me it’s enormous, and set in acres of gardens and woodland, and it was built by Robert Adams. She said her brother has more money than a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.’’
‘‘That man could eat a pot of gold for breakfast and never notice it was missing. I swear, Rachael, I didn’t know it was possible for one man to have so much. It boggles the mind. But it doesn’t matter. He has Corinna now, and that’s all that counts. Corinna wanted him, and I wanted her happy.’’
‘‘You did the right thing, Griffin. She loves him, and he loves her. And I love you.’’
‘‘I love you, too.’’ He straightened and turned, feasting his eyes on her. She rose and took a few steps toward him, barefooted and gorgeous. Hopping on one foot and then the other, he pulled off his own shoes and stockings, ripped off his tailcoat and waistcoat, leaving it all littering the floor as he started toward her.
He couldn’t believe he’d wed Rachael. He couldn’t believe anything that had happened this week, all the incredible events that had led to him marrying his sister to a man he hardly knew and to getting married himself.
And he couldn’t believe he still hadn’t touched his wife.
She was beautiful inside and out, the most beautiful thing in his life. And all he’d ever done was kiss her. For just half of one hour. For all his bluster about men keeping their hands off his sisters, he’d never imagined marrying a woman he’d barely kissed and never really touched.

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