Portrait of Passion by Lynne Barron

Author:Lynne Barron
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Ellora's Cave Publishing Inc.
Published: 2013-08-25T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Simon looked across the crowded ballroom, his eyes fixed upon the image of Beatrice and Henry waltzing across the dance floor. They made a striking pair, both tall and slim with shining gold hair. They seemed to float on air, their movements perfectly synchronized, as if they had danced together all their lives. Henry leaned forward to whisper in Beatrice’s ear, causing her to toss her head back and laugh, the husky sound traveling across the room to roll over him. He smiled. She was clearly having a wonderful time.

Beatrice had not wanted to attend Lord and Lady Piedmont’s ball. In the two weeks she and Simon had been lovers, she had accompanied Moorehead to the theater and the opera and to one small ball hosted by one of Simon’s friends. She had refused to attend any of the more fashionable balls heralding the conclusion of the Season. While she always arrived with Moorehead as official escort, she spent the evenings with Simon and Henry and Olivia. Simon was amazed at the comfortable camaraderie the four of them had found together, as if they had been friends for years rather than weeks. But this ball, the last of the Season, promised to be a crush, with nearly all of the aristocrats and great families in attendance.

Beatrice did not trust Lady Piedmont’s seemingly offhanded invitation.

They had been riding early in the park yesterday, before London’s elite had likely risen from their beds. Simon had been surprised to see Lady Piedmont, daughter to one of his mother’s brothers, canter toward them as they were heading out of the park. Lady Alice Piedmont had never struck him as a lady to enjoy an early-morning ride.

“Lord Easton,” the lady had greeted him with a smile as she joined them. Her gray-eyed gaze traveled over Beatrice, from the smart black hat perched upon her head, over the emerald-green riding habit she wore, down to her shiny black half-boots.

“Lady Piedmont,” Simon greeted with a small bow from the saddle. “May I present Miss Morgan?” He smiled encouragingly at Beatrice. He had noticed in the last two weeks that Beatrice would take her cue from him as to how to greet his friends and acquaintances.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Piedmont.” Beatrice beamed a smile at the other woman, clearly catching her off guard.

“A pleasure indeed, Miss Morgan.” Alice Piedmont’s smile did not quite reach her eyes. “I must say I have heard quite a bit about you.”

“Oh?” asked Beatrice with a laugh. “I can assure you only half of it is true.”

Simon chuckled at her cheeky answer. Lady Piedmont threw him a surprised look. If she expected him to be alarmed at Beatrice’s humor, she would be sadly disappointed. Simon was finding that he quite enjoyed her ability to meet thinly veiled innuendo with wit and grace.

“I hope that half would include the fact that you are a portraitist of some talent,” Alice answered after a small pause.

“It would,” agreed Beatrice.

“Perhaps I could persuade you to take on a small commission for me then?” the lady asked.

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