Page 58 of A Misguided Devotion

With a downcast face, she let him unclasp the necklace and took off the earrings and handed them to him.

“Cheer up, my dear. You will soon have another occasion to wear them. At your wedding.” Hugh raised his eyebrows at Mr Merry before turning back to his daughter. Her eyes dropped to the floor as colour flooded her cheeks.

“I believe you wished to go to the beach, Miss Barrington,” said William, breaking the awkward silence that followed. He rose from his place and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Kitty pressed her lips together as she watched them leave the room. Was that why Laura was so restless? Was all settled between them? No, surely not. Only that morning, he had been criticising Laura’s conduct. Not the behaviour she would expect from a man in love.

She shifted her gaze to Hugh, who was smiling like a cat with a fish between its paws. There was no mistaking that look. He thought William was a husband worth catching for his daughter, and he believed he had him caught.

Unable to watch him gloat any longer, Kitty hurried from the room. If her reasoning was right, William needed her presence as a chaperon more than ever.

Did he know how perilously near he was walking to a cliff edge? A few more steps and he would find himself falling into a loveless marriage.

William led the way down the path to the beach, with Miss Barrington close behind. He slowed his pace, realising that in his haste to get away from her father, he had ventured outside without the one thing he should have taken with him—a chaperon.

As they reached the bottom, he glanced up the slope, hoping to see Kitty following, but she was nowhere to be seen. Was he in her black book again? He couldn’t blame her if he was. Mr Barrington had made it sound as though he were engaged to his daughter. No doubt to pressurise him into proposing.

Although there was a certain appeal in having his muse at his beck and call, so he could paint her whenever he wished, William didn’t desire to make Miss Barrington his wife. Perhaps his view of marriage had been spoiled by the love matches his elder sisters had made, but why would he want to settle for less?

All his flirting had been to one end—to produce that elusive expression on her face so he could capture it. It had failed to achieve that, or to evoke any warmer feeling than admiration. Maybe he wasn’t the romantic sort.

Or perhaps she was just the wrong woman. She was too like those emeralds her father had given her—beautiful, but hard. He didn’t feel as if he knew her any better now than when he began painting her portrait.

No, he would not propose marriage to her unless it was required of him as a gentleman, because he had compromised her reputation. William shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Standing alone with her on a beach, he was in danger of doing just that.

He heaved a sigh of relief as he spotted Kitty’s familiar figure, in her drab grey dress and black bonnet, making her way down the path toward them.

Assured of a chaperon, he turned his attention to the scene spread out before them. A group of men were using a winch to unload cargo on the right side of the cove, and several others were milling around near a couple of boats drawn up on the shingle.

“Where did you wish to walk, Miss Barrington?”

She pointed to the area beyond two stone huts. “That’s where we normally go. Away from the boats.”

He offered her his arm as they walked across the pebbles, but when they reached the shoreline, she pulled free and stood alone at the water’s edge, staring out to sea.

William positioned himself so he could see her face, took out his sketchbook, and began to draw.

A few minutes later, a warm breath tickled his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Kitty peering over his shoulder. “Drawing another picture of your beloved?” she whispered.

“She is not my beloved—merely my muse.”

“Does she know that?”

William glanced across at Miss Barrington, who seemed oblivious to his presence. “She knows.”

“Does her father?”

He returned his gaze to the paper in front of him, focusing on the lines his pencil was making rather than risk meeting Kitty’s eyes. He could imagine the accusation in them.

“Mr Barrington is mistaken.”

“Hugh is a powerful man, William. Be careful. Leave while you still can.”

She fell silent, leaving him to mull over her words. The concern in her voice did nothing to put his mind at rest. Was it time to abandon any hope of reproducing that elusive expression on his muse’s face and declare the portrait finished? He could pack up his things right now and depart.

The thought of escaping did not give him as much relief as he had supposed it would. Was he going to spend his life running away from difficult situations?

His eyes rested on the lady at his side. Was she part of the reason he was reluctant to flee? He did not wish to abandon her and leave her a prey to Mr Barrington’s advances.