The Beautiful One (25 page)

But all too soon, the music was ending. The set was over, and as the dancers stood clapping, he leaned close to her and whispered, “Come out to the terrace with me. We need to talk.”

“No,” she began to say, though everything within her wanted to agree. But just then his eyes shifted to a spot over her shoulder. She glanced behind her, thinking to see perhaps Tommy, and felt as if she had been struck when she saw who it was.

“Lord Grandville,” the Marquess of Henshaw said, “my compliments, and may I have a word with your partner?”

Anna felt the blood drain from her face. Behind Henshaw, she glimpsed Rawlins, and peeking out from the partially buttoned front of his waistcoat she could see the black edge of
the
book
.

“Anna?” Will looked puzzled and not a little stunned by the arrival of the marquess and his abrupt request. “I didn't know you were acquainted with the Marquess of Henshaw. He was a patient of your father's, perhaps?”

The music was starting up again, but Anna could feel the dancers nearby lingering to see what was going on.

What could she say? She felt ill.

“Miss Bristol and I have been acquainted for some time,” the marquess said with an air of bonhomie. He turned to Anna. “If you would come with me, we have things to discuss.”

Will crossed his arms, his viscount's cloak of hauteur settling over his stiffening shoulders and the handsome planes of his face. “You can talk here.”

“No!” Anna said.

Will's eyes darkened and he asked the marquess, “Did you receive an invitation from my stepmother? Of course you are welcome. But I wish to know about your connection to Anna, who is here under my protection.”

“I would protect you from anything,”
he'd said.

But he'd had no idea he was speaking to a woman who was all but ruined.

Dear God, he mustn't guess that the marquess was the aristocrat who'd caused her to change her name, but how could he not wonder about a peer who had sought her out? Alarmingly, the light of suspicion glinted in Will's eyes.

The music petered out, as no one was now dancing. Everyone was watching the drama unfolding at the edge of the dance floor.

Henshaw gave a blithe smile. “Yes,” he said vaguely. Will's brow slammed downward as the marquess offered nothing further.

“And you are, sir?” he said gruffly to the marquess's companion.

Rawlins bowed. “Jasper Rawlins, my lord, at your service.”

“My associate,” Henshaw said.

Anna's heart raced. She couldn't allow Will to see the book. She knew him—he'd champion her no matter what, even if he was disgusted with the drawings. But she couldn't bear for him to be disgusted by her, or for him to be hurt by her scandal. The awareness that all this could well end in a duel horrified her.

Emotion rose up, pressing her to bare everything to the man who'd shown he cared about her, wanting him to help her, needing it deeply. Needing him to be with her as she faced this. Her breathing turned shallow with panic.

No.

She couldn't bear it, needing someone like this. She couldn't
need
him. He would feel sorry for her, and that would be the final straw. She couldn't have his love—she would certainly never accept his pity.

She forced her shoulders back, taking a little courage from the bold color of her handsome garnet gown. She knew who she was despite what appearances might show, and she would not merely surrender. “Let us go out to the terrace, Lord Henshaw.”

“A wise idea,” said Rawlins in that voice she'd heard for over a year in her own home and that now made her furious. His eyes slid over her with a cruel edge and lingered at her bosom, and she knew he wanted to remind her that he'd seen what was under her gown. Revulsion swept over her.

Will turned to her, and underneath his bristling she read deep concern, and it almost undid her. She summoned her voice. “Please excuse me for a few minutes, my lord. I should like to speak to these gentlemen in private.”

“Let us go to the library then, for privacy. I will come with you.”

“All right, the library,” she said, staring firmly at his chin. If she looked in his eyes she would be lost. “But I'll go alone. Please.”

He was not at all happy with her request, and he looked from the marquess to Rawlins. “Very well,” he said finally. “But if you should require my assistance, Anna—”

“I won't, thank you,” she said, turning away from him quickly, her mind struggling to adjust to the choices she must make.

She left the dance floor behind the marquess, who drew reverential bows from the guests looking on in silent curiosity. Rawlins followed them into the library and pulled the door closed behind him.

“There is little to discuss, Anna. It's just as Henshaw told you in Cheldney. Only you see, now, how unwise of you it was to refuse. You have nothing to lose—the pictures have already been shown to any number of people.”

“It was evil of you to make those drawings,” Anna said, and she knew some of the power that infused her voice had grown stronger in the weeks she'd spent at Stillwell. “You had no right to do it! And to show them to people.”

Rawlins ignored her. She'd never liked his eyes, but now their snakelike coolness revolted her. “All you need do is come back with us to Henshaw's estate. I shall only require a few days of your time to complete the painting, and then you will have your fifty pounds.”

“
And
be exposed utterly when the marquess reveals my name at his little art party.”

Rawlins shrugged. “Just consider that you will have been the model for one of this century's most significant artists. You should be honored.”

She gasped with outrage.

“Now see here, my girl,” Henshaw said. “You don't seem to realize with whom you are dealing. I can easily have my coachman simply carry you off. Or perhaps I shall share the drawings with Lord Grandville. I think he'd be very interested to see them.”

Behind her, the door to the library, apparently not all the way shut, swung open.

“What the devil is this all about?” Will strode into the room and her heart plummeted. “I will not have Anna threatened.”

Henshaw gave a blithe grin. “Just a joke, to help her think straight. The gel doesn't know what's good for her.”

Will's eyes narrowed on Henshaw. “Anna, please explain,” he said, still pinning the marquess with his eyes.

She was already going to be ruined in the eyes of the people here tonight, and everyone to whom Henshaw showed that book. But she had the money she'd earned, and she could still go to her aunt and begin her new life.

And she wouldn't have Will dragged into her scandal.

She looked him in the eye. “It's just some old business that doesn't matter anymore. But I need something from you: a promise that you won't get involved. This is not your concern, and I don't want your help.” It hurt to say such hard words to him, but it was better if she offended him and made him wish to withdraw.

“You're not making any sense, Anna. Just tell me what's going on. I won't overstep. Trust me.” His eyes pleaded with her, but she couldn't surrender.

“Promise me,” she ground out, visions of him at a dawn appointment dancing in her mind.

“How can I when you won't tell me why?” he ground out, clearly frustrated with her.

“It's no use, Anna,” Rawlins said with a repellent grin. “He's going to find out. All we need to do is show him the book.”

“What's going on, Anna?” Will demanded. “What's this book he's talking about?”

The marquess stepped forward with a look of triumph. “Here, have a look.”

Will glanced at Anna with a puzzled expression before he turned his attention to
The
Beautiful
One
. His eyes took in the weird wax words on the cover, and then he opened the book.

He gazed for several seconds at the first page. He turned the page. And the next one. He closed the book.

When he looked up, his jaw seemed so hard it might have been carved from stone, and Anna remembered the man she'd met on the road to Stillwell weeks before.

“What the devil's going on here, Henshaw?”

Henshaw crossed his meaty arms and tipped his chin up. “Miss Bristol modeled for these pictures, and now she is supposed to model for a painting. It's half-done, awaiting her posing, and she won't come.”

“Anna?”

It was done. He'd seen the book, and he knew her secret.

But she could tell him the truth now. She must leave immediately, taking as much of her scandal with her as she could, but she could tell him the truth before she left.

“Rawlins spied on me when he was my father's apprentice and made those drawings without my knowledge. He then sold the book to the marquess.”

At her words, Will's expression turned furious and he muttered a curse, but she didn't stop.

“The marquess is showing that book around. And he wishes me to appear—nude—in a painting that he wants to display at his party. He means to reveal my identity.”

Will opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, she turned to the two men who'd made her feel like a victim and drew herself up. They might do her harm, but she had power of her own that they could never take from her.

“Do it,” she said. “Go on, show that book to everyone you know. Tell them my name, since it gives you so much pleasure to take advantage of a woman in this way. I refuse to care about the opinion of anyone who wants to think less of me because of that book.”

The marquess was already scoffing. “Of course you posed for the pictures, girl. Stop this ridiculous lying.”

But already she was walking out of the room, ignoring Will as he called to her. He needed her to leave—he just didn't realize it yet.

Once she reached the stairs, she went up as quickly as she could without attracting attention.

She rushed into her bedchamber and locked the door, lest Lizzie come looking for her. She couldn't have borne seeing her now. Or Judith, or even Tristan. A sob escaped her as she gathered the last of her things and began pushing them into her valise.

* * *

In the library, Will clutched the strange book, the fire of his fury building more each moment.

Henshaw was clearly the aristocrat of whom Anna had spoken before, the one who'd caused her to use a false name. Of course: he had the power to ruin her life.

And this Rawlins creature—the man was a disgusting reprobate who'd stolen Anna's image and sold it. Both men were at fault for what they'd done to her.

His blood boiled more hotly as he considered that these cretins—and selected others, apparently—had seen her.

Anna—his daring, sweet, lovely, one-of-a-kind Anna—was the Beautiful One.

And she thought she was alone in this trouble.

Tommy appeared at the door at that moment, and Will pulled the bell for Dart and shoved the book at Tommy, saying, “Under no circumstances is anyone to open this or remove it from your possession. Stay with Henshaw and his man until I get back. Dart will assist you.”

“Of course.”

Tommy fixed the two men with a dark look and stepped inside the room, and Will left, closing the door after himself. A number of his guests were now milling about curiously in the foyer, and their presence there would ensure that the marquess and that Rawlins character could not simply grab the book and leave.

His heart pounding, Will took the stairs two at time and ran along the corridor until he came to Anna's bedchamber.

He knocked. She made no answer, but he heard small sounds coming from inside.

“Anna, open this door.”

Nothing. He tried the knob, but the door was locked, and he sagged against it, letting his head knock against it in frustration.

“So this is all the explanation I am to have?” The silence stretched out, and he was afraid she wouldn't answer at all. “Nothing?”

“I… There is nothing to say,” came the muffled reply. “I'm sorry.”

He crossed his arms. “I don't care about that damned book.”

Silence. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest. What if he couldn't get her to stay?

“I have to go,” she said, her voice distant and uncharacteristically weak on the other side of the door. “It's for the best. Please just go away so I can leave quietly.”

“Open the door, Anna. We need to talk.”

“No. I have to leave. Now—tonight. Just let me go. It's for the best.”

He pounded his fist against the door frame, so frustrated and furious with her for pushing him away when she so obviously needed help. He was pretty damned furious, too, that she hadn't told him about this book before now, because clearly this had been weighing on her. And now she meant to go.

He'd be damned if he'd let her.

Except, he thought as he blustered inside, the one thing of which he was certain was that he couldn't make Anna do anything she didn't truly want to do. And right now she wanted to leave him. Leave his home. He had to believe that the book was the reason she had been so set against marriage, and he gambled on that.

“There you go again. You don't trust anyone, do you? You think it has to be you, alone, handling whatever comes your way.”

“That's for the best.” Was that a quiver in her voice? If only he could see her.

“It bloody well isn't. You might have been alone for most of your life for all intents and purposes, but you're not alone anymore. There's me. And Lizzie. And Judith. And Tommy.”

A shuffling sound on the other side of the door, the sounds of her drawing closer. “I won't ever forget you,” she said, her voice sounding thicker and louder. “Any of you.”

“Open the blasted door, Anna. Let go of your mistrust and let me in so we can talk about this.”

Silence again. He restrained the urge to pound his fist against the door.

“It's not a good idea,” she finally said. “I can't.”

“You can. I need to talk to you, and I can't do it through the door.”

“Will, no.”

Sending up a prayer that he hadn't left it too late and ruined his chances, he said, “Open it or I shall bash it in.”

There was a pause, then the door opened a sliver. He stuck his foot in the opening and pushed it wider and took in the sight of her packed bag as he stood in the doorway.