Dating Two Dragons (57 page)

“Yes, of course,” Dalton said, pausing to watch her for some sort of reaction.  When she gave him none, he continued his questioning, asking
“
Where in America do you call home?”

“Pennsylvania,” she said without hesitation.  It was, after all, a state that she knew existed in this time as well and it was the truth.  Lying, she found, was easier if it was as close to the truth as possible.

“Interesting,” he muttered as he began to pace back and forth.

“You do not believe me,” she said, unable to even pretend that she was surprised or offended.  He had every reason to be suspicious of her and she could believe that Martin and Gwen were not equally suspicious.

“Does it matter?” he asked, pausing to stare at her again as though her countenance might give away the truth behind her presence in their lives.

“Not particularly,” she answered with a shrug.  It was, after all, his sister who was giving her the generous support, not him.

“That is a lovely dress my sister has given you,” he remarked, his eyebrow raised.  It was a lovely dress, a rich shade of blue that flattered her.  The neck line was lower that anything she would have worn, even in her own time, but it was not her dress.  It had been a compromise.  If Gwendolyn had had her way, they would have spent the week shopping for new dresses and accessories for her so that Gwen could dress her up as she saw fit.  Violet would have happily staying in the dress that she was found in for fear of taking advantage of Gwen and Martin’s generosity.  Her wearing Gwen’s gowns from the season before had seemed the easiest compromise, though she felt uncomfortable in such finery.

“Yes, she was kind enough to lend me one of hers,” she said with a smile of gratitude at the thought of all her new friend had done for her. 

“She is a kind soul,” her brother said, clearly devoted to his sister.

“Say whatever it is you are holding back,” Violet said boldly.  She could see in his eyes that he had something specific that he wanted to say to her and she could wait no longer for him to spit it out.

“Fine, she is a kind soul and I will not see her hurt.  Whatever you are up to, it ends now,” Dalton growled forcefully.  The hurt and anger on his face were more than Violet could have imagined that he felt towards her.  It was then that she realized that the anger he was directing at her had been born by the betrayal of another.  Someone had given him good reason to distrust woman and she could not contain her curiosity.

“What is her name?” she asked as she rose from her chair and crossed the room to stand toe to toe with him.

“My sister's name is Gwendolyn. You know that,” he said dismissively, looking away from her.

“No, not her.  The woman who made you suspicious of all the rest of us,” she said as she stared up at him, challenging him to tell her the truth.

“Not all of you, just those who appear out of nowhere and insinuate themselves in my sister's life,” he said as his eyes snapped back to her face, bright with anger.

“You. I that think that, but I have watched you for this entire evening.  You have looked at every woman who has had the misfortune of coming near you with the same disdain you are focusing on me right now,” she said, knowing beyond a doubt that she spoke the truth. 

Rather than answer her he turned abruptly and stormed from the room, leaving her alone once again to read her book and search for some sort of reason in all of the madness surrounding her.

Chapter 4
 

The next day, despite her reservations, Violet accompanied Gwen to tea at Dalton’s townhouse.  As she explained it, they had a standing date for tea on the first Saturday of each month and they had both agreed years before to hold it sacred.  She rationalized that she would not be able to enjoy herself if she was worried about Violet, sitting at home alone.  For that reason, she had insisted that she accompany her and Violet had been unable to refuse her new friend’s simple request, no matter how uncomfortable the thought of seeing Dalton again made her.   It did not help, of course, that her dear new friend insisted that she wear the loveliest dress she had ever seen.  Gwendolyn insisted that the pale blue dress that shimmered in the light like a prism was completely appropriate and did such a good job of feigning hurt when Violet suggested that it was not a hand me down from the season before that Violet could deny her.

When they arrived, he had yet to return home from a morning ride.  While Violet was annoyed, Gwendolyn brushed it off and left Violet alone in the library while she went to make sure that he had made arrangements with his cook to prepare the tea, something he often forgot to do.  Violet was glad for the chance to explore such an impressive library and was so engrossed in exploring the shelves that she did not hear Dalton enter behind her.
“Greetings,” he said, pulling her from her musings.

“Lord Winthrop,” she said, doing her best curtsy.  It was such a strange concept to her, but she was doing her best to behave as a lady of the times.

“Lady Violet,” he said, smirking as he bowed to her.

“You know I am not titled,” she said, repeating the same thing she had on their last meeting.

“Fine then, Miss Violet,” he replied, a tinkle of mischief in his eye reminding her very much of his sister.

“It still sounds so odd,” she answered, shaking her head in amusement.  She could not remember any time in her life when anyone had even addressed her as Miss, let alone Lady. 

“You Americans and your informality,” he scoffed, finally looking as though he had relaxed a bit about her presence in their lives.

“I do miss it,” she replied, her expression turning sad.  He tilted his head and watched her intently, as though he was perhaps truly seeing her for the first time.

“You really do miss your home, don't you?” he asked quietly, his expression turning thoughtful.

“Yes, of course,” she said in surprise, shocked that he thought that she mgith feel any other way about her current situation.

“And you really do wish to return there as soon as you can?” he asked, oblivious to her internal struggle.

“More than you will ever know,” was all that she could say.  She hated to lie to him but there was no way for her to explain to him just how far away from her home and her family that she truly was.

“I am sorry to have been so harsh with you,” he said, his hand lifting gently to brush a stray curl from her cheek.

“I understand your suspicion.  The circumstance could not be stranger,” she admitted, doing her best to force a small smile and to push down the sadness that was rising within her.

“When we first met you said you enjoy painting,” he said, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes as he attempted to distract her.

“I did once,” she said thoughtfully as she thought back to her days in art school and the years she had spent working on her own creative pursuits before she had committed herself to restoring the work of others.  She had told herself again and again that it was enough to bring the works of others back to life, but some days she could not quite force herself to believe it.

“Then follow me,” he said, surprising her by reaching out and grabbing her had in his.  His skin was soft and warm and something about that moment made her feel very much at home.  She thought for a moment of suggesting that they wait for his sister, but she could not bring herself to spoil the sweetness of the moment.  Instead, she let him lead her through the main hallway to a small staircase near the back of the townhouse.  It was clearly a staircase that was not designed for the use of the master of the house.  It was narrow and steep, but the moment he closed the door behind him she was in awe.  Each level of the staircase had more and more artwork hung on the walls or propped against the railing of the stairs. 

When they finally reached the top, he through open the door to reveal a wonderland.  The room had obviously been built to house servants, but he had converted in, adding huge windows that made the light exquisite.  There were even more paintings surrounding them there, yet the space did not feel cramped.  It felt as though he had opened the door and invited her in to the innermost creative part of his brain.

“What is this place?” she asked as she stepped in to the room, careful not to move so quickly that he felt the need to let go of her hand.  He seemed to be as comfortable as she was with her hand in his.

“My studio,” he said with a smile as he guided her in to the room.  Slowly he led her around the room, showing her all of his works, each more beautiful than the last.  There was, though, a stark difference between many of the pieces.  A number of them were quite optimistic and rosy, while others had a much darker feeling to them.  Violet could not help but think that perhaps the shift in his art was in some way tied to the mysterious woman she suspected had broken his heart.

“You are very talented,” she grinned as he concluded his tour.

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes locked on hers as a genuine smile spread across his face.  It was then that she realized that there were canvases in the corner, covered with a cloth.

“What are these?” she asked as she walked towards them, reaching for the cloth.  She had been so intrigued by the rest of his work that she could not contain her curiosity about works that he would purposefully hide, especially when all of the rest of his work was out in the open.

“Do not look under there,” he said, though his words were too late.  The cloth was already half off by the time she heard his words.  What she found there shocked her.  Under the cloth, she found six different canvases, all featuring the same woman.  That woman, to her shock and amazement, was the same woman from the canvas that she had touched just before she was sent back in time.  That canvas, in fact, was buried behind the others.

“Who is she?” she asked as soon as she was able to gather her thoughts enough to form words.  It was so strange to her to see the painting there, with not of the fading or rips that it had in her own time.  It was too much of a coincidence not to be related, but she could not fathom how it had all come to pass and why the painting had had the power to pull her through time.

“She is none of your concern,” he said curtly.  He was suddenly a thousand miles away and she knew in that moment that this was the woman who had hurt him so deeply.

“Is she your lady?” she asked, unable to keep the words from her lips.

“I said it is none of your concern.  Come along, we should return to my sister.  She will be searching the entire house for us,” he said as he turned and walked away from her.  As he held the door to the stair open for her, he was nothing but the perfect gentleman but she could sense the change in him.  Something had shifted between them and she could think of nothing else to say.  She made her way back to the main floor of the house, with him walking slowly behind her.  Once they made their way back to his sister, tea was just about to be served.  Though Gwen could not have known what passed between them, she spent the entire afternoon looking from one to the other in hopes of solving the riddle they presented to her.  She loved nothing more than a good puzzle, especially one she thought might be tied to matters of the heart. 

Chapter 5

When they returned to Gwen and Martin’s townhouse, they were no sooner in the door than Violet decided that she needed to have answers, not matter how awkward the conversation might be. 

“Your brother showed me his studio.  He is quite a talent,” she began, hoping perhaps that Gwendolyn might offer up the history of her brother’s love life without her having to ask directly.

“He took you to his studio?” she said, so shocked that she dropped her reticule on to the marble floor.

“Yes, I mentioned to him that I painted once in my life,” Violet said, trying to explain away something that Gwendolyn clearly found surprising.

“Really?” she continued, unable to believe that her brother had let anyone in to his private sanctuary.

“There were several portraits of a beautiful woman,” Violet said, unable to stop herself.  She needed answers and she had to ask Gwendolyn for them, no matter how uncomfortable it made her.

“Dominique,” his sister said, her voice seething with so much anger that it made that one word sound like a curse.

“With blonde hair and blue eyes?” Violet asked, needed to clarify that they were discussing the same woman.

“Looked a bit like the snow queen?” Gwen asked, her eyes burning with anger that Violet never would have thought her capable of.

“Not in his paintings,” Violet explained, thinking back to how radiant the woman in his paintings had seemed.  Even in her own time, when she had seen the painting Tony brought to her to restore, it had been clear to her that it was made by a man very much in love.

“No, he always painted her with a rosier glow that she deserved,” his sister said, rolling her eyes.

“Who is she?” Violet asked, more intrigued than ever.

“She was his fiancée until a Duke showed interest in her,” she explained, thinking back to the dark time in her brother’s life and shivering with sympathy to his past pain.

“Oh no,” Violet exclaimed.

“Oh yes. She threw him over a month before they were to be married,” Gwen explained, taking a seat on a nearby chair as Violet did the same.