Silver Splendor by Olivia Drake Page B

you greedy blighter!” Owen spat at Nicholas. “More wealth than the lot of us could ever dream of and you’d still make a lady reward you.”
    “Think what you will,” Nicholas said stiffly. To Elizabeth, he said, “I never meant to keep the ring — when I left the other night, I’d forgotten it was in my pocket. I came here today to return it.”
    She looked stunned. “Thank you.”
    He stepped through the litter to gently press the ring into her clay stained palm. Her hand felt fragile yet strong; her scent was earthy yet appealing. Her bold, beautiful eyes studied him with rapt attention, and he swallowed the bitter knowledge that her interest in him was purely artistic. With dismaying quickness, his body responded to her nearness. How different their relationship would have been had she accepted his proposal. He would have possessed the right to touch more than her hand, to learn the feminine form beneath that flowing gown, to discover the womanly warmth beneath that unconventional facade.
    “All right, then,” growled Owen. “You’ve done what you came here for, your lordship. Now if you’ll excuse us, my daughter and I have work to do.”
    Releasing Elizabeth’s hand, Nicholas turned to the older man. “You didn’t answer my question about your relations. Why haven’t you contacted the owner of that ring?”
    “What I do is no affair of yours.”
    “Papa, please, don’t be rude.” Fastening the ring to the chain around her neck, Elizabeth told Nicholas, “My grandfather is dead, the rest of the family, too. I’m afraid we have no alternative but to stay here.”
    Nicholas caught Owen’s eyes sliding away from his daughter, and again suspected the man was hiding something. What? Did it have something to do with the former owner of the signet? A stunning thought struck. Was Owen Hastings’s secret connected to the purportedly “accidental” threats to Elizabeth’s life?
    His insides took a sickening plunge; with effort Nicholas held himself steady. The notion seemed preposterous. Why would anyone wish to murder a penniless artist? And why would her father conceal that knowledge when he appeared so devoted to her?
    Yet the possibility nagged at Nicholas; he resolved to do some quiet investigating. The urge to protect Elizabeth welled within him, coupled with an inexplicable longing to keep her close. An idea hit with the force of a thunderclap, an idea that seemed the perfect solution —
    “You do have an alternative,” he said. “You can move into my home and teach Cicely.”
    Elizabeth stared, her lips parting in astonishment. Live in his house? See him every day? In spite of her dislike for his highbrow manner, excitement sparked inside her and her fingers dug into the modeling clay. She could study his perfection until she knew every line, every angle.
    Her father snorted in disgust. “I see you change your opinions to suit your own selfish purposes. A moment ago we weren’t good enough to associate with your sister.”
    The earl arched his dark brows. “Those were your words, Mr. Hastings, not mine.”
    “Yet you did make it plain you didn’t want Cicely to study art,” Elizabeth stated.
    “I’m beginning to realize how determined she is. Whether that determination arises from sincere interest or from stubborn defiance I cannot yet say.” He paused, his cool eyes making her feel curiously warm. “I’m willing to indulge Cicely provided she studies within the confines of her home.”
    Elizabeth tried to discern the thoughts behind that handsome facade. Perhaps it was the fading light, but her skills of observation seemed to have deserted her. His words sounded reasonable, but she wondered at his abrupt turnabout. Did he still mean to make her his mistress?
    Her insides tightened into a delicious knot; the day felt hot and damp in her fingers. With a shock she realized that a part of her wanted him to want her. Yet surely he couldn’t still desire her after the angry words