Page 33 of Courting Claudia

“Alistair Lambeth, may I present to you Miss Claudia Prattley and Lady Penelope Livingston.”

“What a pleasure.” Alistair kindly bent over each of their hands, but his hazel eyes remained fixed on Poppy.

“Alistair here is one of the painters in the brotherhood,” Derrick said.

“Yes, well, we must do what we must for our art,” the young man replied. “Lady Penelope, might you allow me to escort you around the ballroom? I could give you some background details on the paintings.”

It was rare for a man, no matter how charming and attractive, to make Poppy blush. But there it was, just a hint of color blooming in her cheeks.

“I would like that very much,” she said.

“It is a pleasure meeting you, Miss Prattley.”

Claudia nodded and smiled at him as he led Poppy away. “He seems charming,” she said to Derrick once they were left alone.

Derrick merely shrugged. “Shall we look at the paintings? ’Tis why you are here, correct?”

“Of course.”

He stood too close to her. She could tell because she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. If she wanted, she could lean back and feel the strength of him against her. But leaning against him would be most improper, regardless of how few people were in the ballroom with them. She stood straighter and tried to study the paintings in front of them.

“These are quite lovely,” she said, trying to sound as if her entire focus was on the artwork.

“They seem to have an eye toward chivalry and the Arthurian legend,” Derrick commented.

She tilted her head. The painting in the center featured a round table with knights, their swords placed on the top of the table. The paintings on either side also depicted knights, one with a knight atop a horse holding a lady’s ribbon, while the other painting portrayed a knight kneeling beside a grave.

“So they do,” she said.

They were well-done paintings, full of emotion, with deep, rich hues of gold, purple, red, and green. But they were oh, so much more than that. Claudia’s heart clenched with longing.

These paintings depicted men in love.

Men so in love, they wielded a sword to protect their ladies. Claudia certainly held no fantasy about a man using a sword in her honor, but she very much wanted to be that special lady who was loved so grandly.

Derrick’s hand pressed into the small of her back to lead her forward. The heat in his touch was so intense, it was as if no material separated his hand from her skin. Her cheeks burned, and she wanted more than anything to lean into his touch, or to turn and lean in for a kiss.

He led her around the ballroom, stopping at each painting and allowing her time to look and study as long as she desired. All the images were beautifully crafted by true masters of their art.

Twenty years from now when she’d married and was living out her days in the country, she’d remember Derrick as the only person who’d ever seen her for the person she truly was.

“I want to show you one over here,” he said softly. He led her out of the ballroom and down the hallway, right past the statue of the unclothed man.

She tried not to look, but couldn’t help herself. And she couldn’t help but wonder if Derrick looked like that without his clothes. Would his chest and arms be as chiseled, his abdomen as perfectly carved to outline each muscle? Would his legs be as sinuous? And what of that middle area? Well, obviously Derrick had one of those and presumably they all looked the same. Didn’t they?

They stopped right outside the billiard room. “Tell me, what do you think of that statue?” he asked as if he read her mind. Which it often seemed he did. Were her thoughts that transparent?

“It’s a lovely piece of art,” she said, trying to sound worldly and confident.

“Art?” He braced his hands on either side of her against the wall. They were alone in a poorly lit hallway. “Does art always make you blush like that?” His eyes trailed down the front of her.

“Am I blushing?” She released a weak giggle. “I do find it a little warm in here.”

“No, you’re blushing. You blush often, and I must say you have me wondering.” His finger trailed up her bare arm and landed on her collarbone.

“Wondering what?” she asked, her voice sounding strange and breathy.

“Just how far down that blush goes.” His finger left her collarbone to snake its way to the edge of her bodice, where it slipped just a snippet inside and tantalized her sensitive flesh. “And precisely what is on your mind that evoked such a blush.”