Portrait of My Heart (11 page)
Abruptly, Jeremy sat up on his elbows, his gray eyes very bright on her face. “Of course I heard about it,” he said, in the same deep voice. “Didn’t you get my letter?”
“Letter?” Maggie blinked a few times. “I never received a letter from you, Jeremy.” She tried not to sound as pathetic
as she suddenly felt. No, she had never gotten a letter from him. Not when her mother died. Not when the newspapers had announced his victory in Jaipur. Not when word of the nature of his reward for having done so began to circulate … .
as she suddenly felt. No, she had never gotten a letter from him. Not when her mother died. Not when the newspapers had announced his victory in Jaipur. Not when word of the nature of his reward for having done so began to circulate … .
“Well, I wrote to you,” Jeremy said. His voice wasn’t gentle anymore. Now he sounded outraged. “It was a good letter, too. Where the hell could it have got to? I sent it to Herbert Park.”
Maggie, a little alarmed at his vehemence, said, “Well, it likely went astray. Letters do, sometimes. I wouldn’t worry about it. It was kind of you to think of me—”
The gray eyes glowed silver now as Jeremy stared at her in the rosy light from the fire. “Christ, Maggie. Of course I thought of you.”
Maggie looked quickly away. It wasn’t so much his eyes—though God knew, his eyes were troubling enough, glowing the way they did, like an animal’s eyes, caught at night in lantern light. No, she was over that now. He couldn’t affect her that way. But mention of her mother’s death did, every time, too. Dead almost a year, and Maggie still couldn’t think of her, or of the way her father’s face had looked upon hearing Mr. Parks’s solemn announcement that Lady Herbert had passed, without her eyes filling up.
Something warm settled over Maggie’s hand. Looking down, thinking it was the dog, Maggie was surprised to see Jeremy’s large brown fingers close reassuringly around her own slim white ones.
“Mags?” He was sitting just a few inches away from her, his head and shoulders taking up all of the space in her field of vision. His face wore an expression of concern. “Maggie? Are you all right?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.
“Are you sure?”
When she nodded again, he lifted her hand and casually, the way he had when they’d been children, he began inspecting her fingers.
“Ah,” he said happily. “I see we’ve been working in umber lately. And what’s this? What’s this? Some black!
How bold of you, young lady. You didn’t used to be partial to black. What else? Ah, some sky-blue—”
How bold of you, young lady. You didn’t used to be partial to black. What else? Ah, some sky-blue—”
“Azure,” Maggie said, a laugh escaping, in spite of the fact that she knew she ought to draw her hand away. Supposing her maid walked in? How shocked would Hill be, finding a man in her mistress’s bedroom? Never mind that the man was master of the house. Hill would surely scold her in the morning for even having spent the night in the same
house
as an unmarried man, let alone having entertained that man in her bedroom … .
house
as an unmarried man, let alone having entertained that man in her bedroom … .
“Azure?” Jeremy shot her a suspicious look. “A fancy art-school term, I suppose. What’s wrong with sky-blue?”
“Nothing,” Maggie said, more warmly, perhaps, than she ought to have. So warmly, in fact, that Jeremy cast her a startled look over her fingertips.
Oh, Lord, she thought, he’s going to kiss me. Suddenly, her heart began that same uneven tattoo from five years earlier … . They were alone in her bedroom, and this time, there wouldn’t be anyone to stop them. Maggie didn’t know what time it was, but she suspected, due to the darkness outside her bedroom windows, that it was early, too early for even Hill to be up yet. If he were to kiss her, and she was once again too caught up in his embrace to stop him, what would happen?
Jeremy didn’t kiss her. The thought crossed his mind, as it had a hundred times since she’d opened those big, luminous brown eyes. But something held him back, some inner voice told him the time wasn’t yet right … .
And of course, there was the fiance to consider, as well. Not that Jeremy cared a jot about
him.
He did want a glimpse at the bloody ass, though. He wanted to avoid having to kill him, if at all possible. In the past five years, Jeremy had grown rather tired of killing, and sometimes found it less messy, overall, to allow someone to live, instead of dispatching him. Not that Jeremy would
mind
killing the fiance. Not at all. It would, however, complicate matters if it turned out Maggie was genuinely fond of the bastard.
him.
He did want a glimpse at the bloody ass, though. He wanted to avoid having to kill him, if at all possible. In the past five years, Jeremy had grown rather tired of killing, and sometimes found it less messy, overall, to allow someone to live, instead of dispatching him. Not that Jeremy would
mind
killing the fiance. Not at all. It would, however, complicate matters if it turned out Maggie was genuinely fond of the bastard.
So instead of kissing her, Jeremy tossed her hand away.
“So,” he said, as if continuing a conversation begun previously. “You’re a famous artist now. At least, that’s what Pegeen said in her last letter.”
Maggie, her relief at having escaped his embrace palpable, was nevertheless a little disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her after all. Her heart was still pounding rather sickeningly inside her chest. But she had to remember that his kisses were forbidden to her now. They belonged, as she knew only too well, to someone else.
“I don’t know about famous,” she said cautiously. Yes, it was all right. Her voice wasn’t obviously shaking. “But I’m an artist, anyway. At least, I suppose so.”
“Yes?” Jeremy climbed to his feet, and instantly regretted doing so. The room swam a little before him. Still, he couldn’t show weakness in front of Maggie, so he rallied his strength, and took a few steps until he could sink onto one of the brocade-covered chairs by the fire. “So what you’re telling me, Mags, is that people actually pay you for your doodlings now?”
“They aren’t doodlings,” Maggie said, her back suddenly stiff as a rake. “They’re portraits, and people pay me quite a lot for them, actually.”
“Really?” Jeremy leaned forward and lifted the stuffed bird from the ivory-topped table. “And is this how they pay you? In children’s toys?”
“Certainly not,” Maggie said. “They pay me in the queen’s sterling. The toys are to entertain the children while I endeavor to sketch them. I specialize in children’s portraits.”
“Children?” Jeremy echoed, curling his upper lip in distaste. “What about pets? Do you still do pets, too?”
“Sometimes,” Maggie said. What cheek! She couldn’t believe it, the way he was strutting about her bedroom as if he owned it. Which, in fact, he did. But that didn’t give him the right to toss about her things. The army had certainly failed to teach Jeremy Rawlings anything about gentlemanly behavior. She longed to get out of bed and snatch the bird away from him, but dreaded parading around in only her nightdress, with no corset underneath to keep her bosom from bouncing. She knew only too well how much she had to hide, and how ill-equipped mere cotton was at hiding it. “When I must, occasionally, to pay the bills.”
“Bills?” Jeremy laid the bird down, and picked up the mechanical horse. “What bills could you possibly have? Surely you aren’t paying Uncle Edward and Aunt Pegeen to let you stay here!”
“Of course not,” Maggie said. “But I rent a little studio down in Chelsea, so I don’t stink up your house with the smell of turpentine. And there’s canvas to buy, not to mention stretchers and paints, and I pay for my own transportation to and from the homes of my sitters, and my meals when
I can’t make it back here in time for them, and then there’s Hilt—”
I can’t make it back here in time for them, and then there’s Hilt—”
Jeremy, in the act of winding up the mechanical horse, stopped and stared at her as if she’d suggested she liked to eat dirt. “What on earth,” he said, with genuine shock, “are you doing, paying for all of that yourself? Don’t tell me Sir Arthur’s put you on some kind of allowance. Surely your mother left you something … .”
Damn it, she was blushing again. She could feel the heat spreading across her face. Looking down at her dog, she said, as evenly and as unconcernedly as she could, “Papa doesn’t exactly approve of my painting. The only money I have is what I’ve earned these past few months. That’s why it’s taking me so long to find a flat of my own. Your aunt and uncle have very kindly offered me the use of your town house for as long as they’re in town—”
Jeremy was up and out of the chair before the words were completely out of her mouth. “
What
?” he shouted, so loudly that the dog’s floppy little ears pricked forward. “Old Herbert’s cut you off?”
What
?” he shouted, so loudly that the dog’s floppy little ears pricked forward. “Old Herbert’s cut you off?”
She raised her chin defensively. “You needn’t sound so astonished. I earn quite enough to support myself. Or at least I will, after the exhibition—”
“Exhibition?” Jeremy had set the mechanical horse down, and now it stalked, stiff-legged, across the table, making a rather irritating humming sound. “What exhibition?”
“An exhibition of paintings,” Maggie explained tiredly. “Of my work up till now, what’s not already sold, I mean. It’s on Saturday. It’s quite a big to-do, actually. The more commissions I can get, the more—Jeremy, don’t let that fall. It will break, and I can’t afford a new one.”
Jeremy leaned down and caught the toy as it walked over the edge of the table. “I can’t believe it,” he said, shaking his head. “Herbert cut you off because he doesn’t approve of your painting! The old scalawag.” Now Jeremy understood a little more of what lay behind Maggie’s tears for her mother. With Lady Herbert had died any hope she might have had of parental approval for the only thing she loved to do, and did well. How Jeremy understood that!
Then he remembered something. “What about all of those sisters of yours?” he wanted to know. “They’re all married now, and quite well off, too, if I remember correctly. Why don’t you beg for a few scraps from them now and then?”
“Goodness,” Maggie exclaimed mildly, “as attractive as you make that sound, I’m not about to stoop to it. You see, they all agree with Papa.”
Though she tried, she wasn’t able to keep a hint of pathos from creeping into her voice. Her sisters’ disapproval stung the most. It was one thing to be a disappointment to one’s father. It was quite another to be a disappointment to all five of one’s sisters, especially the eldest, whom the others unquestioningly followed. Anne had never approved of any of Maggie’s choices, from her relationship with the Duke of Rawlings to her decision to go to art school, but since their mother’s death, her patience with her youngest sister had worn especially thin. Anne could not forgive her sister for choosing painting over motherhood, the only occupation, according to Anne’s way of thinking, that was suitable for a woman.
Maggie thought she understood why her sister felt the way she did. Anne, always the most delicate of the Herbert girls, had suffered a recent miscarriage, the third she’d endured during the course of her ten-year marriage. Her four living children were all the more precious to her because of the babies she’d lost, strengthening her conviction that the only worthwhile occupation for any woman was motherhood. Maggie’s decision to be an artist—and the fact that their mother’s death had in no way altered that decision—had shocked her sister to the core, while her recent engagement only seemed to infuriate the rest of the family: Apparently, no husband was preferable to a French one.
Seeing Maggie’s distress, Jeremy balled his fingers into fists, and jammed them, impotently, into his trouser pockets. “Well, never you mind, Mags,” he said, with forced heartiness. “They were all of them a pretty pallid lot, I always thought. Except for you, of course.”
She managed a ghost of a smile. “Thanks, but I think this
time they’re right. Honor thy father and thy mother, remember? It’s in the Bible.”
time they’re right. Honor thy father and thy mother, remember? It’s in the Bible.”
“True, true,” Jeremy said dismissively. “But isn’t there also something in there about whosoever amongst us has not sinned, let him cast the first stone? Your sisters might do well to keep their fingers in their own pies—”
Maggie couldn’t help laughing at that. “Oh, Jerry! I think you’re mixing Scripture with Mrs. Praehurst’s Yorkshire-isms.”
“Probably am,” Jeremy agreed, relieved to see that she could still laugh, anyway. “I’ll have a word with the old man when I get back home, though, don’t you worry.”
“Home? You mean … this isn’t just a visit?” She felt something very much like panic begin to creep into her voice. “You’re out of the Horse Guards for good, then?”
“Well,” Jeremy said, suddenly uncomfortable. He didn’t want to reveal too much, in case she caught on to the reason behind his sudden return. “Not exactly.”
“Oh,” Maggie said. “They transferred you back because of your illness, did they? It was that serious? What did you have, anyway, Jeremy?” With another bright laugh, she said, “Not malaria, I hope! Your aunt would
die
of worry!”
die
of worry!”
“No, it wasn’t that,” Jeremy said thoughtfully. “I just decided, all things considered, a trip back home was called for. There appear to be some … loose ends that need tying up.”
His voice trailed off, and Maggie, who’d been waiting for him to make some reference to what had happened in Jaipur, had to be satisfied with that one. While it wasn’t very flattering to be called a loose end, she didn’t suppose he was referring to
her.
Certainly not! It was quite clear he’d forgotten all about Maggie Herbert, except perhaps as an old friend. The loose end he spoke of could only be his aunt Pegeen, who, Maggie knew only too well, had been livid over the announcement of the reward he’d received for the part he’d played in liberating the Palace of the Winds. Well, and who wouldn’t be? The whole thing had been shocking, completely shocking. And yet they’d never heard a word about it from Jeremy. Not a single word.
her.
Certainly not! It was quite clear he’d forgotten all about Maggie Herbert, except perhaps as an old friend. The loose end he spoke of could only be his aunt Pegeen, who, Maggie knew only too well, had been livid over the announcement of the reward he’d received for the part he’d played in liberating the Palace of the Winds. Well, and who wouldn’t be? The whole thing had been shocking, completely shocking. And yet they’d never heard a word about it from Jeremy. Not a single word.
Jeremy watched Maggie closely, wondering how kindly she’d take to being referred to as a loose end. But if he’d hoped for a flash of guilt, or even a sigh, he was disappointed. Maggie’s face did not change one bit. She only said, “Oh,” and looked back down at her ridiculous, curly-headed mop of a dog. No mention, he noticed grimly, of the fiance. No mention of
that
change in her life at all. Had she simply forgotten—the bloke was obviously not worth remembering—or was she purposely avoiding the issue?
that
change in her life at all. Had she simply forgotten—the bloke was obviously not worth remembering—or was she purposely avoiding the issue?
Clearing his throat, Jeremy glanced at the frost-tinged windows. He saw that the sky outside was lightening over Hyde Park. Barely perceptibly, but lightening just a bit. He said, “Well, I suppose I ought to go and see if Peters has got in yet. He was following me from the docks with my things.”
Things.
Maggie felt a little sick. Even though she knew it made her sound a jealous fishwife, she couldn’t help asking, cattily, “Do those
things
include the Star of Jaipur?”
Maggie felt a little sick. Even though she knew it made her sound a jealous fishwife, she couldn’t help asking, cattily, “Do those
things
include the Star of Jaipur?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. But as much as she might have wished them unsaid, it was a topic that simply had to be broached. A part of her—a very small part of her—was still hoping against hope that the reports they’d received via
The Times
were incorrect, that there was no Star of Jaipur, that the maharajah, in his gratitude to Jeremy for saving the Palace of the Winds, had given Jeremy a horse, or something.
The Times
were incorrect, that there was no Star of Jaipur, that the maharajah, in his gratitude to Jeremy for saving the Palace of the Winds, had given Jeremy a horse, or something.
But she was disappointed.
Jeremy looked at her in surprise. “Well, of course! You don’t think I’d leave it behind, do you? You and Evers, you’re two of a pair, both asking the same thing like that.”
Maggie simply stared at him. She could not, simply could not, believe he could be so cold. How could he have changed so much? Granted, it had been five years. And yes, he’d spent those five years fighting, killing people, destroying things. Still, it seemed impossible that a human being could become that cold, that unfeeling.
But then, five years was a long time. Things changed. She knew that only too well.
Feeling more sick to her stomach than ever, Maggie said,
“Well, you’d better hurry, then, hadn’t you? You wouldn’t want to keep something as precious as the
Star of Jaipur
waiting, now would you?”
“Well, you’d better hurry, then, hadn’t you? You wouldn’t want to keep something as precious as the
Star of Jaipur
waiting, now would you?”
Jeremy glanced at her curiously, but finally rose, and said, “I suppose not. I’ll see you at breakfast, then?”
“I hardly think we’ll be able to avoid one another,” Maggie said, more miserably than sarcastically, which was how she’d meant to say it.
Jeremy raised his eyebrows at this, but decided not to comment. She was clearly upset about something, though for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what that could be. If anyone had reason to be upset, it was
he. He
was the jilted party, after all.
he. He
was the jilted party, after all.
Still, he tried to keep his tone light as he reached out to ruffle the fur on her dog’s head. “Good night, then, Fido.”
To Maggie’s astonishment, her little dog actually growled at that approach of Jeremy’s hand. “Jerry!” she cried, remonstrating her pet before she stopped to think what she was saying. “Stop that! Shame on you!”
She didn’t realize what she’d done until she looked up and saw the bewilderment sketched across Jeremy’s face. She looked away just as quickly, but it was too late. Heat began to pour into her cheeks.
“Good God,” Jeremy said in a strangled voice. He had never, not once in his life, actually felt emasculated, but he did just then. “You named
your dog
after me, Mags?”
your dog
after me, Mags?”
Maggie was blushing crimson now. There was nothing to be done about it, though, since he would have found out anyway. She said, indignantly, “Jerry’s a nice name.”
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