Page 40 of A Misguided Devotion

Miss Barrington shook her head and tittered in the irritating way his cousin Louisa often did. “I don’t mean your sisters. You could not have a grand passion for any of them.”

“I confess I have not formed an affection for any of those I’ve painted.”

She stared at him with her huge doe-like eyes. “Yet.”

William gulped hard at the gentleness of her tone, as if the word were a secret between them. He lost hold of his spoon, which clattered as it hit his bowl. She was flirting with him!

He leaned back in his chair and wiped his lips with his napkin. His gaze encompassed the other people at the table. Mr Barrington beamed as though he had just won a game of cards, but Mr Jenkin’s mouth was tight, and he pulled at his cravat, as if it were throttling him.

Kitty’s expression gave nothing away. Any hint of surprise had vanished, and it was impossible to know what she thought. She had her feelings well under control.

“There is always the chance I will fall in love with one of the women I paint,” William said in a lower tone, leaning toward Miss Barrington.

Attraction tugged at him as she bit down on her bottom lip and shot him a shy smile. If she continued to flirt with him like that, she might engage more than his artistic eye.

William’s chest expanded. His charm had not deserted him.

With a satisfied lift of his chin, he glanced back in Kitty’s direction to ensure she had observed his success, but the curl of her lip as their eyes met soured the taste of his last mouthful of soup.

William refused to let Kitty’s disdain knock him off balance. What right did she have to look at him like that? Was it his fault that her friend had succumbed to his charm? Putting it behind him, he conversed with Miss Barrington and her father until the meal was over and the ladies withdrew.

It was the first time the gentlemen had lingered at the table after dinner since he had arrived at Rufus House. He supposed it was because Mr Jenkin was with them. The butler set out the decanters and glasses and a box of cigars before leaving them alone.

Mr Barrington moved to the sideboard and then turned to William. “Can I tempt you to a glass of brandy or would you rather have port?”

Did he have to drink either? His father never did. “I confess, I would prefer a cup of tea—”

“Nonsense. Let the ladies coddle their insides with tea. You must try this. I daresay you’ve never tasted a finer brandy.”

That wouldn’t be difficult, as he rarely indulged in spirits. He hoped he would not get drawn into drinking more than his stomach could stand.

Mr Barrington poured three glasses and handed one to him and another to Mr Jenkin.

William knew he couldn’t keep staring at his glass all evening and hazarded a sip. The amber-coloured liquid was so soft it was like velvet on his tongue. “You’re right. This is the smoothest brandy I’ve ever tasted. My uncle used to say that the best was usually smuggled.”

“I hope you’re not suggesting I’ve come by these spirits illegally,” Mr Barrington said with a frown. “It was part of a contraband cargo that Mr Jenkin’s men apprehended a month ago. I bought several barrels in the subsequent sale of confiscated goods.”

William was taken aback at the fierceness in the older man’s tone. “Of course not, though I shouldn’t have judged you if you had.”

Mr Jenkin glowered at him so fiercely that his face warmed under his gaze. “That sounds as if you sympathise with the smugglers. You do know that free traders are criminals, don’t you? They are a menace, depriving the state of their rightful dues.”

“Do you not think the government has brought the increase in smuggling on itself by making the tariffs so high?”

Mr Jenkin sneered. “Are you truly so ignorant? We are at war. Those who trade in smuggled goods are aiding our enemies, putting gold into the hands of the French and worse.”

“Worse?”

“There are some smugglers who take more back with them than coin.”

“What do you mean?”

“Men, Mr Merry. Prisoners of war, like the officers who recently escaped from Alresford. The man taken up in Dorchester was trying to reach the coast. To get across the Channel so he can rejoin his army. Such people pay well for the help they receive, and some Englishmen have been persuaded to betray their own country for the sake of money. Do you still reckon I am unnecessarily fierce about stamping out smuggling?”

William was lost for words. He recalled what the officer near Alresford had said about smuggler-agents, but it hadn’t occurred to him that such men could be operating from Portland. It was disturbing to think there could be traitors living on the island.

Mr Barrington laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Easy now. It is a pity there are not more outstanding officers like you, keeping their eyes open for the rascals.”

The riding officer gave the slightest of nods in acknowledgement, as if the praise was distasteful to him.