The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(64)

“Oh?” She should have known by the gleam in his eye, but she did not.

“Mr. Paisley’s discourse about Australian aboriginal tribes is a Chase East publication. In fact, I’ve met Mr. Paisley and discussed his travels at length. I was asked my opinion as to which etchings should be included in the volume. Tell me, do you concur with my selections?”

She stared at him a moment, attempting to determine if he was in jest. He was not. Jerking her head round, she looked straight ahead and bit her lip.

“What? No opinion, Jane? And I’d thought you held such a fascination with the subject.”

“Incorrigible! You should be ashamed, leading me on like that.”

“I’m not at all ashamed, ma’am. I’m still awaiting an answer, by the way.”

Determined not to laugh, for surely he would be wounded by it, she managed to say in an even voice, “Excellent choices, Blixford, though perhaps redundant. I believe several of the etchings were much like the others. Perhaps a bit of variety might have been called for?”

“Interesting observation, one I’d not considered.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because each etching represents varying elements of daily life amongst the aborigines. Hunting, building shelters, preparing food, cultivating crops.” He appeared to be pondering her comment with serious consideration. “The particular tribe Mr. Paisley lived among for almost a year is somewhat unique in that they rarely don garments of any kind. He considered adding some manner of loincloth, but I assured him he should remain true to the reality of their world, for surely no reader would solely focus on the nudity, but would, instead, study the etchings for their visual description of daily life amongst the tribe.”

Jane cast him a chilling look. “Oh, do cut line, Blixford. Come right out and accuse me of being a naughty brat for ogling etchings of naked men, failing to distinguish the actual portrayal and merely seeing what I wished to see. I’ll simply plead curiosity and you’ll have a good chuckle at my expense. Let us skip through all of that and move on to the chuckle, shall we?”

He didn’t chuckle. He laughed right out loud.

“Are you quite finished?”

“Not . . . quite.” He laughed again.

“Horrible man.” His laugh was deep, rolling and marvelous.

He nudged Pendragon close and leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “If I live to be very old, I’ll never forget just how you looked when you turned away from that bookshelf and saw me there. If you were the type who swoons, you’d have crumpled into a heap upon the floor.”

“I tried to make an escape, which you didn’t allow.”

“True. I was compelled to keep you there, to see how you might bluster your way out of such a mortifying situation.”

“It was most unsporting of you to approach me with the sketch of the nude man. By the by, who do you suppose drew him?”

He remained close until Grendel turned her head and nipped at Pendragon, who danced away from her teeth. Blixford allowed it, casting a look at the mare. “She’s not fond of him, is she?”

“She’s still humiliated by this morning’s loss and won’t forgive him until she’s able to best him.” It was a silly notion, of course, but she didn’t like to admit Grendel had less than a sweet nature. The mare sometimes had a nasty disposition.

“Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“Tomorrow, for certain.” She looked ahead again. “You were going to tell me the name of Mr. Charcoal’s creator.”

“Ah, yes. I’m certain it was Lucy. She’s an artist, though she doesn’t display her work.”

“Because her subjects are nude men?”

“Her oils are usually pastoral scenes, devoid of humans, nude or otherwise. I briefly considered why she might have drawn the charcoal man, though truthfully, owing to her situation as my sister, the consideration was very brief.” He looked askance at her. “It’s a distinction of male relatives to harbor the fantasy of their female relatives’ enduring innocence.”

“This despite your sister’s marriage and subsequent son?”

“As I say, it’s a fantasy, not subject to the strictures of reality. To imagine the end of one’s sister’s innocence is unsettling.”

Jane found it amusing, but didn’t say so. He appeared to be in earnest. “Then I suppose, even were I to present you with an entire brood, my brothers would continue to believe me virginal.”

“I didn’t pretend the notion held a whit of logic, Jane. It’s not so much the concept of a sister or daughter retaining her virginity as the avoidance of imagining her in the throes of passion with a man.”