In Pursuit of the Painter by Ashtyn Newbold
Chapter Twenty
Rubbing his palms on his breeches did little to calm Michael’s nerves. He had taken two days to prepare himself, yet he was still a complete disaster. He had invented dozens of excuses, reasons to be a coward rather than face his fear of inviting Patience to go on a ride with him.
The weather could be too cold.
Patience could wish to stay indoors rather than venture out in public.
She could be embarrassed to be near him after their last interaction.
And then who would be their chaperone? His mother? The idea did not sit comfortably with his stomach. His heart thudded in his chest as he paced in front of the front steps of his townhouse.
He had left his studio later than usual. At any moment, Patience would step out the front doors to leave tea and catch him in his distress.
He removed his hat, raking a hand over his hair as he let out a long exhale. What the devil was he doing? He could not pursue the daughter of an earl—the worst earl of his acquaintance, no less. His fame had elevated his pride too much. It had blinded him to the reality of his station. But since Patience had opened her heart to him, trusting him enough to take down her walls, his feelings for her had only grown. He wanted to plant a facer on Lord Clitheroe and send her sister on a boat across the world where she would never hurt Patience again. He would have a few select words for her parents as well. It only made sense that Lord Ryecombe would have chosen a wife, Patience’s mother, who was just as vile as he was.
Each second that Michael was not with Patience was its own agony, and he found that his thoughts could settle on nothing but her. Her smile, her voice, each laugh that took all his effort to win; it was all engraved on his heart like the markings on his mother’s necklace, unique and familiar. It was as if his heart had been trained to love Patience from the day he was created.
Gads, man, he scolded himself. He was too much of a romantic for his own good.
The front door opened behind him. He whirled around, clutching his hat in front of him. Patience stood in the doorway, hazel eyes round with surprise. Ivory fabric draped the long, curved lines of her figure, and dark ringlets framed her cheeks beneath her bonnet. “Did I give you a fright?” she asked, a smile tilting her lips.
Michael dipped his head with a laugh. “Perhaps a little.” He walked up two steps until he stood on the one just below her. “Are you leaving?”
She stared at him, biting her lower lip nervously. “Well, I—” she paused, searching his face.
He continued to stand there like a ninny until he remembered that this was usually the moment he invited her to dinner. She seemed to be expecting that invitation, hoping for it even. That gave him the confidence he needed to find his elusive words. “There are two invitations I would like to extend to you,” he said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Two?”
“Yes.” Michael took a deep breath. “The first may be obvious. By now you should know never to plan to leave without staying for dinner.”
She looked down at the ground as she laughed.
“The second one…” he swallowed, shifting on his feet. Even though he had spent hours planning, he still couldn’t find the correct words. Rather than follow his original plan, a new one sprang to mind. “I am taking my sisters to Covent Garden Theatre next week for a ballet. I thought you might like to accompany us.” This plan would be more comfortable for Patience, yet it would still give him the opportunity to spend more time with her.
Her features grew serious. “Is it wise for me to venture to such a public place? I’m afraid the exhibition was still too recent. And if I am recognized there…with you…”
“Then we shall give society something new to talk about.” Michael tipped his head to one side with a smile. “You cannot hide forever.”
“I am quite comfortable hiding, actually.” She gave a weak grin.
“Please, come. My sisters will miss you if you don’t.” He cleared his throat. “As will I.”
She met his gaze, careful and slow. “I will come, but only if you promise to shield me from any gossipmongers.”
“I will consider it my duty.” Michael gave a deep bow, earning another laugh from her. He glanced up, his head still lowered. “Do you accept my services, then?”
“Yes.” The width of her smile set his worries at ease. Their friendship had become too dear to him to risk ruining it. This was not a formal courtship. They were simply taking his sisters to the theatre.
He had never liked crowded social events. Yet he could hardly wait to attend.
They were seated in the back row of the balcony, elevated above row after row of elegant men and women. From Michael’s vantage point, he could clearly observe just why he found events like this so repulsive. Many of these people hadn’t come to see the ballet, but to be seen by everyone else. The excessive expense that was placed on hair arrangements, gowns, and the foppish accessories of the upper class men made Michael’s stomach turn. He had witnessed the same things at the Royal Academy’s exhibition. The theatre was lit with hundreds of candles, trimmed in gold and velvet all around. The stage was set and prepared for the production.
Emma and Isabel observed the crowd, whispering to one another in a much more polite manner than they would have before, sitting with perfect posture in their velvet seats, polite smiles on their lips. Patience had taught them well. She sat just as properly, with her spine straight and hands folded in her lap beside him. Her face, however, lacked the polite smile. Her brow was knit together with nervousness as her gaze darted to the rows of people surrounding them.
Michael leaned close to her ear, enjoying the scent of roses she carried. “If it comes to it, I will remove my jacket and drape it over your head, then carry you up the stairs and out those doors.” He gestured behind them.
Patience cast him a skeptical look, the corners of her mouth quivering upward. “I think that would cause a much more embarrassing spectacle.”
He gave a quiet laugh, and she joined him. He eyed her gloved hand, now sitting on the armrest beside him. How untoward would it be if he held it? He fought the urge to entwine his fingers with hers. He could already imagine her wriggling her hand away from his grip and scolding him for his public affection. If there were a way to make it not public, then he might have tried. He didn’t know how long Patience would be in London, and he had begun to sense that he was running out of time. His chances of winning her heart might have been slim, but he would loathe himself forever if he didn’t at least try.
He refused to experience the torturous regret that Orpheus felt when he lost Eurydice due to his own mistake.
The production began, and the light in their section of the balcony was dimmed. The scent of smoke filled the air as the candles on the walls around them went out and the stage was brightened. The crowd released a collective sigh, whispers of delight undulating through the audience.
“This is much better,” Patience whispered in his ear. His heart stalled as her breath rustled his collar. “If I wish to remain hidden, darkness shall be my ally.” She gave a quiet laugh, returning her gaze to the stage below.
He laughed, but it sounded forced. He could hardly focus on anything but his own nervousness—and foolishness—as he glanced down at her hand. Michael’s pulse pounded. Before his fortitude could slip away, he placed his elbow on the armrest, directly beside hers.
Their forearms touched. She didn’t pull away.
He was aware of every single one of her movements, even the moment when her breathing was interrupted. It was the same moment he gathered the nerve to wrap his fingers around hers. He traced his thumb in a circle over the top of her wrist, trailing the carress down to her hand before entwining his fingers in hers. A flame flickered in his chest when her eyes found his in the dark.
He leaned toward her ear. “I’ll stop if you wish. I know you don’t wish for any rumors to be spread.” He awaited her reply, holding his breath.
“N-no. I believe it is dim enough, and people are distracted by the production…” her voice trailed off. Michael smiled to himself. He had made her flustered.
“It seems the darkness was my ally as well,” he whispered.
He wished he could have seen Patience’s expression at his flirting. What sort of ally was the darkness if it prevented him from seeing the color he might have brought to her cheeks? He continued tracing shapes over the back of her hand, creating strokes like he did on his paintings.
He was glad Emma and Isabel were enjoying the production. He was fairly certain that by the end of it, he wouldn’t remember a single thing. And if his efforts to woo her were successful, Patience wouldn’t either.
When the curtains were closed and the candles lit, Michael finally slipped his hand away. As light returned to the room, he stole a glance at Patience’s face. The smile she gave him was shy and endearing, and it brought a smile to his own face that was likely far too wide to be inconspicuous. His heart hammered in his chest. He never would have thought holding a woman’s hand through a pair of gloves could be so thrilling. But then, perhaps that was only because he had never been in love before.
The danger of the situation caught up to him, nipping at his heels like an angry hound. Patience was unpredictable. She had been through much heartache, and he couldn’t place his hopes in any future with her. Even if she did have feelings for him, she could be gone in an instant, choosing the path she had been raised to pursue over a path with him. How could he trust that she had completely changed? Just a few months before, she had come to London with one purpose: to seek revenge on him. Was he a fool to believe that now she cared for him as deeply as he cared for her?
No matter how many worries spiraled through his mind, his heart ignored them, batting them away like cricket balls. As they walked back to their waiting coach, Michael sat on the seat beside Patience, not daring to risk holding her hand again with his sisters facing them on the opposite side of the cramped conveyance. While Emma and Isabel prattled on and on about their favorite things about the theatre, Michael sat comfortably listening, simply happy to see his sisters so happy—and to have Patience beside him.
“Did you enjoy the production?” he asked.
Patience nodded, just as shy as she had been before. “Yes.”
“What was your favorite moment of the ballet?”
She was silent for several seconds, and he could practically see her mind at work. He suppressed his smile. Perhaps he had distracted her as much as he had hoped.
“I enjoyed all of it.” She paused. “What was your favorite part?” Her voice was filled with curiosity. The carriage passed over a bump in the road, causing Patience to jostle closer to him. Her leg pressed against his, and he found that his own mind had gone blank.
“I enjoyed the whole of it as well.” His gaze roamed her face, falling to her lips. Perhaps he could fulfill his original plan of removing his jacket and draping it over Patience’s head. Then he might not be so tempted to kiss her.
He barely caught sight of her minuscule smile as she turned toward the window. He didn’t know what exactly his actions that night had meant to her, but he knew that something had changed. He sensed it in the way she looked at him. After the carriage had jostled her closer, she hadn’t moved away.
Defining his next step would be more difficult. He would have to tread carefully. A proposal would be too sudden, and the thought of declaring his feelings was too intimidating. He needed to know without a doubt that his feelings were reciprocated before he dared do such a thing.
If he could not tell her, then he would have to show her.
