Scotland would suit her.
The thought came with a longing that ripped him from fantasy and returned him to the moment.
He should have said something immediately. Should have announced himself. And he might have, if she hadn’t immediately moved to the window at the opposite end of the room. Whether it was moonlight or the residual glow of the ballroom in the back gardens, she was cast in a light that made her ethereal and so beautiful that his breath caught in his chest.
She raised her hand to the glass window, three long, delicate fingers trailing down the pane, and she let out a long, lush breath, one that filled the room with emotion—frustration. Sadness, and something much more powerful. Longing.
Alec’s breath returned with force at the last, at the familiarity of it.
Because, in that moment, he longed, too.
The thought shook him. He was her guardian. She was his ward.
She was a grown woman. Ward on a technicality.
It did not matter. She remained his ward. She remained under his protection. And he might have been terrible at protecting her until this moment—he might have failed at protecting her reputation and her emotions—but he could damn well protect her from himself.
And, besides, he did not care for beautiful women. They were pretty promises that too quickly became lies.
The thought returned him to the present, and he made to move, to talk to her and apologize and start anew. To convince her that he would play his role perfectly, and that they would find her the life she wished. A proper man. A loving family. A future that was filled with home and hearth and happiness, as she deserved. Whatever she wished.
But before he could speak up from his place in the darkness, the door to the room closed with a soft snick, startling them both, directing their attention to the shadowy figure just inside the room. “Hello, Lily.”
Hawkins.
Alec had an instant desire to destroy the man for risking being found alone with Lillian. For once more tempting the fates of scandal with a dark room and an unmarried woman.
It did not escape him that he’d been alone with her moments earlier, but it was different. There was no time to parse the double standard of the situation, however, as Hawkins was moving toward Lily with a speed Alec did not like. He straightened in the darkness, ready to approach and tear the man limb from limb, but she spoke before he could move.
“Derek.” Alec hated Hawkins then, as his given name swirled through the darkness, soft and lovely on her lips. “Why are you here?”
“It’s London in season. Of course I am here,” Hawkins said. “I am everywhere.” He waved a hand. “Like ether.”
Alec rolled his eyes.
“Sesily said you’re here with a rich widow. For the money.”
Good girl. Disdain was precisely what she should be feeling.
“Sesily Talbot is nothing. Cheap as the rest of her family.”
What an unmitigated ass the man was.
“I just met her family. They seem quite expensive. And wonderfully honest. Unlike others.”
“All that glitters is not gold, sweet Lily.”
“It seems to me that Sesily is made of stronger stuff than gold. She’s judged harshly by the ton in large part due to her brief courtship with you, and yet she remains tall in the face of their scorn. I wish I was as strong as she.” The accusation came next. “She refused to be ruined by you.”
“I did not ruin you,” he said.
“Of course you did. Without care.” The accusation was not angry, or hurt. It came on a thread of honesty that Alec at once admired and loathed. She should be hurt. And angry.
At him.
“Poor Lovely Lily . . .” Hawkins said, reaching for her, running a finger down her cheek, down the skin that Alec thought must be impossibly soft. “You . . . you were the mirror that reflected my genius.”
Lily closed her eyes at the man’s touch. Or perhaps his words. Either way, Alec hated the longing on her face, mixed with pain. He decided then and there to destroy Derek Hawkins. For touching her. For hurting her.
He would leave him broken here, in this dark room. He’d have to apologize to the Marchioness of Eversley, he imagined, and purchase a replacement carpet, but surely she would understand that the world was better off without this loathsome eel in it.
Before Alec could do anything, however, Lily spoke. “You promised me you wouldn’t tell anyone about the painting. You told me it was for you and you alone.”
“And it was at the start, darling.”
“Don’t call me that.” Lily’s words came sharp and steel.
“Whyever not?” Hawkins said with a laugh. “Oh, Lily. Don’t be so pedestrian. You were my muse. I am sorry that you misjudged the role. You were the conduit for my art. The vessel through which the world will see the truth of my timeless influence. The portrait is my Madonna and Child. My Creation of Man. For centuries to come, people will see it and they will whisper my name with breathless awe.” He paused for effect, then practiced the whisper in question. “Derek Hawkins.”
What utter rubbish. If Alec didn’t loathe the man already, he certainly would now.
“And what of my name?” Lillian asked.
“Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter what happens to you. This is for art. For all time. You are a sacrifice to beauty. To truth. To eternity. What would you have me do, Lily? Hide it away?”
“Yes!”
“What purpose would that serve?”
“It would make you decent!” she cried. “Noble! The man I—”
Alec stiffened, hearing the rest of the sentence as clearly as if she’d said it.
The man I love.
“This is the noblest act I could commit, darling.”
There was a long silence, during which Alec could virtually feel Lily’s disappointment. And when she finally spoke, saying small and soft, “I thought you loved me,” Alec thought his heart might explode in his chest.
“Perhaps I did in my own way, sweetheart. But marrying you—impossible. I’m the greatest artist of our time. Of all time. And you are beautiful . . . but . . . as I said . . . your beauty exists as a vessel for my talent. The whole world will soon see how much.”
He set his hand to her cheek. “Darling, I never pushed you away. I was happy to have you. I would have you still. That is why I followed you here.”
The bastard.
Alec stiffened as Lily snapped her gaze to Hawkins’s. “Still?”