The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 12
He was definitely another Mackenzie. She’d read that Hart, the Duke of Kilmorgan, had traveled to Rome on some government business, she’d met Lord Cameron in London, so by process of elimination, this must be Lord Mac, the famous artist.
As though he felt her scrutiny, Lord Mac turned his head and looked straight at her.
Beth flushed and snapped her eyes back to her blank paper. Breathing hard, she put her pencil to the page and drew an awkward line. She let herself become absorbed in the line and the next one, until a shadow fell over her paper. “Not like that,” a deep voice rumbled.
Beth jumped and looked up past a watered silk waistcoat and a carelessly tied cravat to harsh eyes very much like Ian’s. The difference was that Mac’s gaze fully met hers instead of shifting away like an elusive sunbeam.
“You’re holding the pencil wrong.” Lord Mac put a large gloved hand over hers and turned her wrist upward.
“That feels awkward.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Mac sat himself down next to her, taking up every spare inch of the bench. “Let me show you.”
He guided her hand over the paper, shading the line she’d already drawn until it looked like a curve of the tree in front of her.
“Amazing,” she said. “I’ve never taken drawing lessons, you see.”
“Then what are you doing out here with an easel?”
“I thought I’d give it a try.”
Mac arched his brows, but he kept his hand on hers and helped her draw another line.
He was flirting with her, she realized. She was alone with only a female companion, she’d been blatantly staring at him, and this was Paris. He must have thought she wanted a liaison. The last thing she needed was to be propositioned by yet another Mackenzie. Perhaps the newspapers would print reports of Ian and Mac fighting over her. But the hand cupping hers didn’t give her the same frisson of warmth that Ian’s had. She dreamed about Ian’s slow, sensual lips on hers every night, and then she’d jump awake, sweating and tangled in the sheets, her body aching. She glanced sideways at Mac. “I met your brother Lord Ian at Covent Garden last week.”
Mac’s gaze snapped to her. His eyes were not quite so golden as Ian’s, more copper-colored with flecks of brown. “You met Ian?”
“Yes, he did me a kindness. I met Lord Cameron as well, but only briefly.”
Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Ian did you a kindness?”
“He saved me from making a grave mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?”
“Nothing I wish to discuss on top of Montmartre.”
“Why not? Who the devil are you?”
Katie leaned around from Beth’s other side. “Well, that’s a bloody cheek.”
“Hush, Katie. My name is Mrs. Ackerley.” Mac scowled. “I’ve never heard of you. How did you manage to scrape an acquaintance with my brother?” Katie glared at Mac with Irish frankness. “She’s a bloody heiress, that’s who she is. And a kind lady what doesn’t have to take rudeness from the likes of forward gentlemen in a French park.”
“Katie,” Beth admonished her quietly. “I beg your pardon, my lord.”
Mac’s sharp gaze flicked to Katie, then back to Beth. “Are you certain it was Ian?”
“He was introduced to me as Lord Ian Mackenzie,” Beth said. “I suppose he could have been an impostor in an excellent disguise, but that never occurred to me.” Mac didn’t look impressed with her humor. “He never would look directly at me.”
Mac released her hand, tension draining. “That was my brother.”
“Didn’t she just say so?” Katie demanded. Mac looked away, studying the passersby and the would be artists struggling to make sense of what they saw. When he switched his gaze back to Beth, she was startled to see moisture on his lashes.
“Put your terrier on a lead, Mrs. Ackerley. You say you don’t draw. Would you like me to give you lessons?” “As a reward for my rudeness?”
“It would entertain me.”
She stared in surprise. “People demand your paintings left and right. Why would you give a novice like me drawing lessons?”
“For the novelty of it. Paris bores me.”
“I find it quite exciting. If it bores you, why are you here?”
Mac shrugged, the gesture so much like Ian’s. “When one is an artist, one comes to Paris.”
“One does, does one?”
A muscle moved in his jaw. “I find people of true talent here and try to give them a leg up.”
“I have no talent at all.”
“Even so.”
“It will also give you a chance to discover why Lord Ian would bother with someone like me,” she suggested. A smile spread over Mac’s face, one so dazzling Beth imagined most women who saw it fell at his feet. “Would I do such a thing, Mrs. Ackerley?”
“I do believe you would, my lord. Very well, then. I accept.” Mac stood up and retrieved his hat from where he’d set it on the ground. “Be here tomorrow at two o’clock, if it’s not raining.” He tipped the hat to Beth and made a slight bow. “Good day, Mrs. Ackerley. And terrier.” He placed the hat on his head and swung away, his coat moving with his stride. Every female head turned to watch him as he passed.
Katie fanned herself with Beth’s sketchbook. “He’s a good-looking man, no doubt. Even if he is rude.” “I admit he is interesting,” Beth said.
As though he felt her scrutiny, Lord Mac turned his head and looked straight at her.
Beth flushed and snapped her eyes back to her blank paper. Breathing hard, she put her pencil to the page and drew an awkward line. She let herself become absorbed in the line and the next one, until a shadow fell over her paper. “Not like that,” a deep voice rumbled.
Beth jumped and looked up past a watered silk waistcoat and a carelessly tied cravat to harsh eyes very much like Ian’s. The difference was that Mac’s gaze fully met hers instead of shifting away like an elusive sunbeam.
“You’re holding the pencil wrong.” Lord Mac put a large gloved hand over hers and turned her wrist upward.
“That feels awkward.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Mac sat himself down next to her, taking up every spare inch of the bench. “Let me show you.”
He guided her hand over the paper, shading the line she’d already drawn until it looked like a curve of the tree in front of her.
“Amazing,” she said. “I’ve never taken drawing lessons, you see.”
“Then what are you doing out here with an easel?”
“I thought I’d give it a try.”
Mac arched his brows, but he kept his hand on hers and helped her draw another line.
He was flirting with her, she realized. She was alone with only a female companion, she’d been blatantly staring at him, and this was Paris. He must have thought she wanted a liaison. The last thing she needed was to be propositioned by yet another Mackenzie. Perhaps the newspapers would print reports of Ian and Mac fighting over her. But the hand cupping hers didn’t give her the same frisson of warmth that Ian’s had. She dreamed about Ian’s slow, sensual lips on hers every night, and then she’d jump awake, sweating and tangled in the sheets, her body aching. She glanced sideways at Mac. “I met your brother Lord Ian at Covent Garden last week.”
Mac’s gaze snapped to her. His eyes were not quite so golden as Ian’s, more copper-colored with flecks of brown. “You met Ian?”
“Yes, he did me a kindness. I met Lord Cameron as well, but only briefly.”
Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Ian did you a kindness?”
“He saved me from making a grave mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?”
“Nothing I wish to discuss on top of Montmartre.”
“Why not? Who the devil are you?”
Katie leaned around from Beth’s other side. “Well, that’s a bloody cheek.”
“Hush, Katie. My name is Mrs. Ackerley.” Mac scowled. “I’ve never heard of you. How did you manage to scrape an acquaintance with my brother?” Katie glared at Mac with Irish frankness. “She’s a bloody heiress, that’s who she is. And a kind lady what doesn’t have to take rudeness from the likes of forward gentlemen in a French park.”
“Katie,” Beth admonished her quietly. “I beg your pardon, my lord.”
Mac’s sharp gaze flicked to Katie, then back to Beth. “Are you certain it was Ian?”
“He was introduced to me as Lord Ian Mackenzie,” Beth said. “I suppose he could have been an impostor in an excellent disguise, but that never occurred to me.” Mac didn’t look impressed with her humor. “He never would look directly at me.”
Mac released her hand, tension draining. “That was my brother.”
“Didn’t she just say so?” Katie demanded. Mac looked away, studying the passersby and the would be artists struggling to make sense of what they saw. When he switched his gaze back to Beth, she was startled to see moisture on his lashes.
“Put your terrier on a lead, Mrs. Ackerley. You say you don’t draw. Would you like me to give you lessons?” “As a reward for my rudeness?”
“It would entertain me.”
She stared in surprise. “People demand your paintings left and right. Why would you give a novice like me drawing lessons?”
“For the novelty of it. Paris bores me.”
“I find it quite exciting. If it bores you, why are you here?”
Mac shrugged, the gesture so much like Ian’s. “When one is an artist, one comes to Paris.”
“One does, does one?”
A muscle moved in his jaw. “I find people of true talent here and try to give them a leg up.”
“I have no talent at all.”
“Even so.”
“It will also give you a chance to discover why Lord Ian would bother with someone like me,” she suggested. A smile spread over Mac’s face, one so dazzling Beth imagined most women who saw it fell at his feet. “Would I do such a thing, Mrs. Ackerley?”
“I do believe you would, my lord. Very well, then. I accept.” Mac stood up and retrieved his hat from where he’d set it on the ground. “Be here tomorrow at two o’clock, if it’s not raining.” He tipped the hat to Beth and made a slight bow. “Good day, Mrs. Ackerley. And terrier.” He placed the hat on his head and swung away, his coat moving with his stride. Every female head turned to watch him as he passed.
Katie fanned herself with Beth’s sketchbook. “He’s a good-looking man, no doubt. Even if he is rude.” “I admit he is interesting,” Beth said.
