Sylvie Sommerfield - Noah's Woman (8 page)

"I'm sorry." His voice was cultured, warm and very masculine. "The door was open and I took the liberty. I am looking for Jason Desmond. I've come to discuss the painting you did for Lady Chatterson."

Without an invitation he came to stand by Jason,

studying the painting. He gazed at it for so long that Jason grew tense.

"Remarkable, both the lady and the painting. You are a master, sir. Is it commissioned?"

"It's mine," Jason replied. He knew Charity was growing a bit nervous.

"I should like to purchase it."

Charity made an involuntary movement, then turned her frigid gaze away.

"I'm sorry, it's not for sale."

"Even for a hundred pounds?"

Both Charity and Jason were shocked to silence; then Charity gave an imperceptible shake of her head.

"There is no price, sir. It's not for sale," Jason said firmly.

"I see. Let me leave my card. I like your work. I will return." He bowed slightly toward Jason and Charity; then he left. Jason and Charity simply looked at each other in shock.

"A hundred pounds," Jason whispered.

"Jason, you promised."

"It's not for sale"he grinned"but you don't mind if I gloat over the offer."

"No," she said, smiling. "Now, I really have to go."

Charity changed her clothes and left Jason's quite unaware of the man who sat in his carriage across the street and gazed at her with surprise. He had expected a lady to come down and a street urchin had appeared. Gregory Hamilton smiled to himself. This mystery bore some looking into.

Chapter Four

Charity came to Jason's the next day, but cautiously. She wanted no confrontation with wealthy patrons. She was certain it could only lead to another episode like Charles Brentwood. The wealthy were always certain their money could buy everythingeven people. She was not denying the reality that money was a means to power, but she wanted to be free of those who felt they had the right to subject her to their will.

She saw no fine carriages nor anyone lingering about who looked suspicious, only a penniless beggar who stood with his hand out for coins.

But she should have paid him much more attention, for begging was not his true station in life. He was an employee of Gregory Hamilton. He knew his orders and obeyed them. Waiting until Charity had left, he followed her to the Round.

Later that week he carried all his information to Gregory.

Charity was pleased that the portrait Jason was doing was nearly complete. Ever since he had begun it, she had had an uncomfortable, even portentous feeling.

Today, Jason told her, it would be done. He had told her laughingly that he was afraid finishing the portrait might keep her from coming to visit as often.

But despite their genuine pleasure in each other's company, Charity realized that Jason's real interest was in Beth. Most of his quiet questions were of Beth. Charity instinctively knew that Beth had been here often without her. This, combined with the fact that Beth's portrait was the first one Jason had ever finished, made his feelings clear. Jason was head over heels in love with Beth.

But Beth had the same questionable background as she did. Where could a relationship like this go? Jason had little . . . often nothing. If they were to marry, how would they live? With only the uncertain income from the sale of Jason's paintings, they could not afford to raise a family.

She was shaken, but she held herself in check. It could be that Jason was the only one in love . . . it could be that Beth didn't even know of his feelings. She needed to talk to her friend.

She was so involved in these thoughts that Charity never realized the moment Jason stepped back from the painting and gazed at it with a look of satisfaction on his face.

"By God, I think I've caught you, Charity. Come and see."

Charity rose, stiff from the hours of remaining still, but so anxious to see the finished portrait that she moved as swiftly as she could.

When she stood before it she gazed at it in a kind of wondering admiration.

"Is that really me?" she whispered.

"It's you as I see you."

"Thank you, Jason," she said softly. "You are kind."

"It's not kindness, Charity. I don't think you realize how . . . beautiful you are."

The portrait had a misty, dreamlike quality. The girl in the painting had a delicate beauty. Her hair, tumbling about her, seemed lit from some brightness in the distance into which she gazed. He had caught a look in her eyes that spoke of emotions for which words did not exist. She looked like a woman with the first kiss of love on her soft lips, and a haunting awakening in her eyes.

"You have a magnificent talent, Jason. I can't understand why patrons are not beating a path to your door."

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "because the door has been locked until . . . until now."

She turned her eyes to him and caught a fleeting look of melancholy before he quickly hid it.

"And where did you find the key?" she asked softly.

Jason looked at her, then back at the painting. He struggled to keep any emotions from showing. Charity was more astute than he had bargained for.

"I suppose where all keys hide, in the depths of

one's own self," he replied. Then he turned from her and busied himself gathering brushes. "I'm very pleased with this, Charity. I'm glad you like it. I should probably offer to give it to you, but I think I'll stick to our original agreement and keep it here."

"I don't care what you do with it," she laughed, "as long as you don't sell it to some rich person who'll hang it for everyone to see. The lady in the portrait is a fraud, and she . . . she's not me."

"Maybe she's more you than you will admit. What lies behind your locked doors, Charity, and where have you hidden the key?"

"I don't know. Maybe when I find my key I'll come and buy the painting from you myself." She left him and went into the next room to take off the beautiful gown she would never wear again. When she was dressed in her own clothes again she returned and picked up her cloak from a chair. "For now I have to get back to my life."

"Come back soon. Charity, what about you . . . and Beth having dinner with me one night? To sort of celebrate the completion of the portrait?"

"Sure. One of these nights we'll be here."

Jason nodded and watched her leave. A subtle fear filled him. Charity and Beth were closer than most sisters, and he had no doubt that Charity was the stronger and more ambitious of the two. He knew she sensed his deepest emotions, just as he knew she was the one with the power to whisk Beth from his world. He couldn't let that happen.

Charity walked down the three steps to the street and started to walk back to the Round. She was so

caught up in her own thoughts that she was unaware of the carriage that slowed as it came up beside her.

"Hello, Miss Gilbert." The voice was deep, and Charity turned in surprise to face the man who had come to Jason's studio and tried to purchase the half-finished portrait of her.

He smiled at her, and she was aware of even more. Of how handsome he was . . . and how obviously rich. For a second a calculating look reached her eyes, and Gregory almost laughed. For it was exactly the look he wanted to see.

"May I give you a ride home?" he asked pleasantly.

Charity was already wondering how he knew her name. She knew Jason had not said it. She was curious about why this stranger would take the time to talk to her when it was now obvious that he knew just who and what she was.

"I'm in no mood for games. The girls you're looking for are on Delancy Street. You can afford your choice."

"You have mistaken my intentions. I have no other motive than to drive you home," he protested amiably.

Charity stopped and looked directly at him. "Why?"

"Because it is a long walk."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Gregory Hamilton." He smiled. "And I promise I shall not lay hand on you or try to abduct you. My carriage is recognizable. Attacking you in broad daylight would cause some consternation among onlookers." He laughed. ''Consider my reputation."

Charity had to laugh at the way he had turned the tables on her. His ready wit made her feel a bit more confident . . . and besides, she wouldn't mind seeing everyone's faces when she came home in a carriage that shouted wealth.

Gregory extended his hand, and she was sure his look was challenging. She put her hand in his, stepped up into the carriage, and sat opposite him.

"Drive through the park, Maxwell. Miss Gilbert and I have something to discuss. Then on to the Round, where we can deliver our passenger safely home."

The carriage began to move and Charity felt delicious. She intended to enjoy herself. As they rode through the park, she savored the comfort of the carriage and the almost sensual pleasure she felt as a soft breeze touched her skin and ruffled her hair. Her arrival home was satisfying, and when Gregory helped her disembark, she heard him say what she had least expected.

"Miss Gilbert, I would like very much to see you again. Would you join me for dinner tomorrow night?"

Charity felt a moment of discomfort, remembering Charles and his "dinner" invitation. But now she had friends, and she knew better than to drink.

"Yes, I would like that."

Gregory smiled, kissed her hand lightly, and then he was gone.

The night of the dinner passed pleasantly, and the invitation was repeated. They went to the theater, for rides, and to visit museums and art galleries. Charity

had never enjoyed herself more . . . and Gregory seemed to appreciate her company.

He watched her with a pleased smile when he thought she wasn't looking.

She had a fine-boned and delicate beauty, but that was not all Gregory was looking for. He found much more satisfaction in the aura of sophistication and quality that seemed part of her. She was a chameleon, he thought with satisfaction. One who, if thrown into a drawing room with kings and queens, would become one. A perfect mimic whose ability to study and imitate made her capable of assuming different characters as easily as he might change his shirt.

He already knew much more about her than she could imagine. It would have surprised both her and Amiee to know of the unique contacts Gregory Hamilton had.

He could tell that she longed for a life beyond the confines of the Round. She longed for all the luxuries she had never known. She had the questions, and in time he meant to provide the answers.

One Sunday they had taken an afternoon ride and when they finally arrived back at the Round late that night, Gregory stepped down from the carriage and offered his hand to Charity. She disembarked with the aplomb of a queen, well aware that a great number of jealous eyes watched.

She walked up the rickety steps and opened the door to the sound of laughter. Beth and Amiee were seated at a small square table. Amiee held a deck of cards, some spread in a pattern across the table. Both women seemed to be sharing a joke.

"What's so funny?" Charity inquired.

"Oh, Charity," Beth laughed, "Amiee is so clever. She's decided to try her hand at reading cards. She's set up a little stall on Front Street. It would amaze you how many people are just dying to have their fortunes told."

"Fortunes? You can do that?" Charity questioned.

"No," Amiee said with a laugh, "but nobody knows that. They think," she said in a mock mysterious voice, "that the Amazing Madame X can see into the future. Is there wealth . . . love . . . travel? Only Madame X knows for sure." Amiee smiled. ''And it costs a pretty penny to find out."

"Another way to make a shilling or two," Charity laughed. "Were you two practicing?"

"Actually we were," Beth said. "Amiee has given me four different fortunes. I'm waiting for the one that suits me."

"Come on, Charity, let me show you how it's done," Amiee said.

Beth stood up and Charity slid onto the chair opposite Amiee, who was shuffling the cards. Then she set the deck before Charity. "Cut the cards into three piles." Charity obeyed. "Now, choose the one that holds your future." Charity tapped the center one and Amiee picked it up. She pushed the other two piles aside and began to deal the cards out, face up in a single line across the table.

Both Beth and Charity's attention were on the cards, so they were not observing Amiee's face, which for a minute registered surprise, then a faint look of

shock. She was not prepared for what was happening, and she couldn't seem to stop it.

Vague, misty visions began to form before her, blotting out Charity and becoming so real she could not control the words that poured from her lips.

"I see a man," she said softly, "a dangerous man. I see . . . intrigue. You are walking into a dark place and you cannot see who is lurking there. Promises . . . promises. There is a portrait, one that reveals a secret. This man . . . No! There are two men . . . two men, both dangerous. You will taste fear and betrayal . . . pain and . . . and love."

By this time Beth and Charity had exchanged looks. Charity was smiling, but Beth was uncertain. Charity was sure this was a very professional act on Amiee's part and was impressed.

"There is a secret, and the secret brings . . . oh"Amiee gasped and her pale face looked as if she saw something horrible"death . . . you must not believe! You're in grave danger" At this point Charity began to clap her hands together in applause.

The sound seemed to draw Amiee back from her vision.

"That is very good, Amiee," Charity said. "You can really make it believable. You should make a great deal of money."

Amiee remained silent and lifted her gaze to meet Beth's. It was the first time Beth had ever seen fear on Amiee's face. Perspiration dampened her brow, and her hands shook. Beth remained silent, because she wasn't so certain that Amiee was faking, that she hadn't truly seen something that had frightened her.

Amiee was shaken. She had played this game before. But never had she truly "seen" anything. The vision had come as such a shock that she hadn't been able to fight it.

After a few seconds Amiee swallowed heavily and smiled. "You should hear some of the things I come up with. Enough to make a genteel lady faint, and her handsome companion pay for the chance to gather her up in his arms"her eyes sparkled"and perhaps let his hands roam a bit."