Free Rogue Grooms by AMANDA MCCABE Page B

and disappointed, not to see more of your work.”
    “Oh, Elizabeth would have covered the walls with my paintings if I had let her. I did not want to appear ostentatious , though.”
    Alex threw back his head and laughed extravagantly, a deep, warm sound that caused heads to turn in their direction. “Georgina,” he said, “I fear you cannot help but be a bit ostentatious! Your beauty will always make you conspicuous.”
    “A-ha!” she cried. “Another compliment. That is three in one evening.”
    “I seem to be quite the poet tonight.”
    “So you are. Well, Lord Byron, if you would truly like to see more of my work, and are not just being polite, I would be happy to show it to you. I am sharing Elizabeth’s studio while I am here, and I have several pieces in there.”
    Alex glanced around uncertainly.
    “You needn’t worry about my reputation,” she said. “I am no young miss you will be forced to wed if you’re found alone with me! I am only going to show you my paintings; it’s all quite respectable, and we will not be gone long.”
    He grinned. “You will think me quite old and fusty.”
    “Not at all! But maybe you should be wary of your reputation, being seen with a lady rogue like me.” She caught up some glasses of champagne from a footman’s tray. “We will just take these with us.”
     
    The studio, faced on two sides with windows and with a skylight overhead, was flooded with moonlight. Silvery shadows were cast around props and easels; satin drapes seemed to undulate from the corners. It all seemed terribly romantic, a perfect spot for secret trysts and whispered, passionate words.
    Georgina forced such fanciful thoughts from her head, since it was obvious that Alex had no such intentions on this night. She lit a lamp that sat on a small table, and set about taking holland covers down from her finished paintings.
    “These are mine,” she said.
    Alex stepped closer to examine them. They were mostly portraits, of course; two of a duchess and a baroness that were waiting to be sent to their subjects, and one of Isabella. There was a wedding portrait of Elizabeth and Nicholas, and several small studies of Lady Kate.
    He spent the longest time on the last three works. He even drew out his quizzing glass to look at them, turning his head this way and that.
    Georgina could hardly stand it. She hated it so when people looked at her work and did not say anything; she always imagined the worst, that they disliked it.
    “What do you think?” she asked at last.
    “Beautiful,” he breathed. “You are truly gifted, Georgina. Even I can see that.”
    She laughed in profound relief. “Did you think I was just some fluffy-headed female, dabbling about with watercolors?”
    “Certainly not! No one ever buys fluffy watercolors. But to see them—thank you, Georgina, for giving me this privilege.”
    “I am the one who is privileged, to share what I love so much with someone who appreciates it. Which do you like the best?”
    “Well, your portraits are certainly fine. You have quite captured your subjects, both their outward appearance and their personalities. Why, I can almost see the mischief in Isabella’s eyes!”
    “Yes! It was quite a struggle to make her sit still for longer than two minutes.”
    “They are lovely. These, though—I feel I am there, in all three of them.”
    Georgina examined the paintings under discussion. “Landscape is rather new to me. I have always sketched the places I have been, but I never tried it on a larger scale until recently.”
    He gently touched the painting hanging in the middle. “This is your villa in Italy?”
    It was a sun-drenched scene of a white stucco villa, crowned with red tiles and iced with wrought-iron balconies. In the distance could be seen the azure expanse of Lake Como.
    “Yes,” said Georgina, “that is Santa Cecilia.”
    “And the others?”
    “This one was painted in Scotland when we were there on holiday last year.” She