Free Flirting With Fortune by Erin Knightley Page A

sense.”
    “Yes—clearly the armor would have been the linchpin in the whole look.” Merriment sparkled in her eyes as she shook her head. “Well, thank heavens for his reasoning, however odd. It wouldn’t do for his descendants to be able to pinpoint the exact moment in their lineage when the madness broke forth.”
    “So true. They should be left to wonder when it hit the family like the rest of us. And more important,” he said, pausing in front of the earliest piece in the collection, “Northup’s old friend Lord Pruitt would never have seen my father’s genius and hired him to paint this.”
    Stepping close to the painting, Lady Beatrice let out a breathy sigh of contentment. The sound seemed to go right through him, weaving around his shoulders and tugging him to her. Without looking away, she shook her head. “So marvelous. I can almost feel the warmth of the fire behind him.”
    Colin could feel the warmth, too, but it had nothing to do with the painting. He studied her perfect profile, the delicate curve of her ear, the long line of her neck. For the first time in his entire life, he wished he had even an ounce of his father’s talent so that he could somehow capture her image on paper.
    He averted his gaze just in time when she looked over at him. “I suppose Lord Pruitt appreciated a more classic portrait.”
    “If by classic you mean a full Greek toga, complete with sandals and the hand of Zeus reaching down from the heavens, then yes.”
    Her peals of laughter washed over him, freeing his own. “Truly?”
    “No, not truly. Lord Pruitt was happy to have as standard of a pose as possible. Father had to cajole him into allowing the use of props in the background. If I remember correctly, he convinced the man that fire would evoke a tone of power and dominance and the mountains beyond a certain permanence.”
    Tilting her head to the side, she said, “I suppose that’s true. I wouldn’t have thought of it, but all of those elements combine to create a very compelling, almost authoritative painting.”
    “It was utter rubbish. He just thought portraits were boring if there wasn’t enough visual interest added above and beyond the subject. And, as you know, he reveled in the play of light, so fire fascinated him.”
    His eyes had strayed from the painting again, taking in the neatly arranged curls of her upswept hair. The afternoon light glinted on the golden strands, shining with every movement she made. Apparently, Father wasn’t the only one who reveled in the play of light.
    “I don’t believe you.”
    He blinked, raising a brow as she met his gaze. “What is it you’re not believing?”
    She moved toward the next painting, depicting Lady St. Clair in a flowing white gown, a mirror on the wall behind her reflecting the room at large. “That he didn’t care about the symbolism in his portraits. Even if he didn’t consciously add them, they are there nonetheless. All of his portraits—well, the ones I have seen, anyway—are rich with subtle symbolism.”
    “So subtle, he dinna know he was using them?” He crossed his arms, patent disbelief clear in his tone. He was teasing her, the vaulted daughter of a marquis, without any thought of her station or rank. It was nice, very nice, to feel so at ease with her.
    “Yes, that’s it exactly. Mark of a true genius, don’t you agree?” She winked at him before returning her gaze to the painting. “Look at the use of the mirror in this one. First of all, how incredible is his technique here, giving us every angle of the space? But what is he really saying? I think he was adding commentary as to the lady’s reflective nature. She looks very thoughtful, does she not?”
    “I suppose. But if I were to hazard a guess, my lady, I’d imagine he liked the challenge of painting the whole of the woman.”
    She rolled her eyes, clearly not impressed with his interpretation. “Do you always look at everything so literally? Perhaps it’s not your