The Artist’s Masquerade Page 6

  Forget sketching, the rose garden deserved painting, and again he cursed the need to leave everything behind when he fled. It had pained him to do so, but it would have been far too difficult to bring his supplies. He consoled himself again that he could buy new. Soon, he would buy new. And then he would paint the garden, even though he would have to do it from memory by then.

  He stroked a finger over the velvety petals of the rose. How would he even mix such a vivid, saturated hue? He’d thought that a lot since he arrived in Tournai. But the colors were so much more intense in Tournai than they were at home. Everything was more intense.

  Everything was more uncertain than he’d expected it to be.

  He stared down at the flower in his hand for a long time, letting it blur into shape and color as he calmed his racing thoughts. Soon, everything would be better soon. His future would be more certain soon. “Soon” was his new watchword. Believing it was the only thing keeping him from going mad.

  “Are you enjoying the garden?”

  The unexpected voice made Flavian jump. He let go of the rose in his hand and the branch snapped back. He barely noticed the sharp sting to his finger as he turned to face Cathal.

  What was he even doing in the garden? He should be back at the party with his betrothed. Instead, Cathal stood tall and straight and handsome just inside the little walled garden. And Flavian shouldn’t be noticing how handsome the man looked in his well-cut clothes with the sun shining on his dark hair. Better to think only of why Cathal wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Where he had seemed to enjoy being. Flavian had seen him talking with people, far more charming than Flavian would have thought the serious man could be. But instead of being charming at a party, Cathal was surprising Flavian in the garden.

  “I am. Thank you,” Flavian answered after a pause probably a hair too long. His tone wasn’t particularly inviting of further conversation either, but then, he had come into the garden to escape talking to anyone.

  Cathal didn’t take that hint. He walked farther into the small garden. “But you weren’t enjoying the party?”

  “Why would you say that?” he asked, a snap to his voice. Though Flavian hadn’t been, hence his flight.

  “Well, you’re here and not at the picnic with Lady Velia.”

  “Lady Velia didn’t need my presence, and I wanted to see the gardens. I doubt I’m the only one to leave the party for a stroll.” He hated how defensive he sounded, but he felt defensive in the face of Cathal’s stare.

  “But few made it this far from the lawn.”

  “I didn’t realize I had come so far.” Yes, he had. He just didn’t care. “I was enjoying the garden.”

  “Hmm. You must have gotten caught up, lost track of time.”

  Did Cathal look skeptical, suspicious even? Flavian didn’t think it was so difficult to imagine spending more time than planned in this garden, and Cathal couldn’t possibly know what Flavian would or wouldn’t do. He didn’t even try to keep his words from sounding sharp this time. “Yes, I must have. I should go back and make sure Velia doesn’t have need of me.”

  Flavian strode toward Cathal, as the only way out of the garden was behind the man. His skirts tangled around his legs, but he kept moving, brushing by Cathal without stopping. Until the man grabbed his hand.

  Flavian swallowed back a gasp at the unexpected touch, at the warmth of Cathal’s fingers and the firmness of his grasp. It felt good, too good, and it shouldn’t. Flavian pulled, trying to tug his hand from Cathal’s hold. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “What?” Flavian looked down at his hand, held firmly but, he noticed, carefully in Cathal’s larger one. One of Flavian’s fingers had an angry scratch on it that bled sluggishly. And he remembered the quick bite of pain when he let go of that rose. “Oh, the rose… one of the thorns must have scratched me.”

  “Let’s see how bad it is.” Cathal pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the blood. It took Flavian’s breath just how gentle the man was being, made warmth spread through him.

  Ridiculous. He could not feel like that. He pulled his fingers from Cathal’s hold and forced down the shocking yearning to have Cathal’s strong hand wrapped around his again. Which was even more ridiculous. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s bleeding.” Cathal looked at him as if he were crazy, which only made Flavian bristle.

  “It’s barely bleeding. It’s just a scratch. See?” He held up his finger just long enough for Cathal to see that the injury wasn’t serious before pulling it back. He didn’t need Cathal making another grab for it.

  Cathal shook his head. “Keep the handkerchief at least, and wrap it so you don’t bleed on your gown.”

  “Fine, yes. Thank you, my lord.” He did as Cathal said because it made sense, and looked up again to find Cathal staring at him with unnerving gold eyes. “I’ll just go back to the party now.”

  “I will escort you, Lady Flavia.”

  “I’m certain I can find my way on my own, my lord, but thank you for your offer.” Flavian wasn’t positive that was true, but he also didn’t much care if he made it back to the party.

  “Nevertheless, I’ll escort you there.” Cathal offered his arm.

  Flavian stared at Cathal’s offered arm for a moment before he realized he was supposed to take it—he was supposed to be Lady Flavia, and gentlemen offered ladies their arms. “I don’t want to get blood on your clothes.”

  “You said the cut wasn’t bad, and you’ve wrapped it.”

  “Well, still.”

  “Is there a reason you don’t want to take my arm, Lady Flavia?”

  Any number of reasons. “Of course not, but I’ve told you, I don’t need you to escort me anywhere.”

  “You have, though I don’t understand your objections.” Cathal stared at him, eyes revealing nothing, but their intensity made Flavian shiver.

  “My objection is that I’m perfectly capable of walking back to the party on my own.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I doubt that, Lady Flavia, as you seem to be perfectly content to wander around on your own away from the party.”

  His eyes narrowed in a glare. “I have no idea what you’re implying, Lord Cathal.”

  “Don’t you, Lady Flavia? If you’d rather not think of my company as an escort, then look at it as we’re going to the same place so we might as well walk together.”

  “Fine. Let’s go, then.” Best just to accept it. He wasn’t getting rid of Cathal any time soon, and he wasn’t going to be able to avoid rejoining the party. Flavian turned and strode out of the little walled garden and back onto the garden path.

  Cathal caught up to him before he had gone more than two steps. “This way.”

  Flavian hastened to follow as Cathal took an immediate right turn. “This isn’t the way I came.”

  “I’m surprised you remember which way you came. It’s a more direct route back to the lawn.”

  More direct was fine. He had spent far too long walking around in these shoes as it was. But wait. “How do you know it’s more direct than the way I came? How did you find me anyway? You weren’t—you weren’t following me, were you?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  Why indeed. The idea of Cathal following him made no sense. Cathal couldn’t suspect Flavian’s secret—if he did, surely he would have said something already. And yet, Cathal hadn’t said he hadn’t followed Flavian, hadn’t said he just happened upon Flavian by chance. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “There you are, then.” Cathal kept walking as they talked, his gaze forward as he led Flavian through the garden.

  And that seemed to be the end of that. They walked in silence for a few moments, until they came to a stretch of path lined on both sides with exquisitely carved marble statutes. Cathal began talking then, quite knowledgeably, about the statues, their history, the sculptor. He even told witty anecdotes about their installation and what had happened to them since.

&nb
sp; And Flavian found himself interested almost against his will, so interested that he allowed Cathal to take his arm without further protest, but he did notice. How could he not? Even through layers of clothing, he could feel the heat of Cathal’s body. Flavian’s skin prickled at the nearness. It should have been unpleasant, but the sensation was anything but.

  He couldn’t let himself feel that way about the man who was Velia’s betrothed, and therefore not for Flavian. And who thought Flavian was a woman.

  He stiffened his spine and his resolve at the same time. He would not think of Cathal that way, would avoid him if he had to. And then soon Flavian would be gone, starting his life over on his own, as it should be. Despite how nice it might be to have someone to walk with, to talk with about art.

  “I wasn’t aware you were so knowledgeable about art, my lord,” he said.

  “Oh, well, I don’t know if I would call myself knowledgeable. I enjoy art, some forms and particular pieces more than others, but I’m no expert and certainly no artist.” He glanced at the statues again, and his expression softened into something almost fond. “These statues… well, my youngest brother liked to climb them when he was very young.”

  Flavian laughed his surprise even as he looked around at the statues, trying to imagine how a small child would climb the tall figures, both human and cat. He couldn’t see how it could be done. “I can see how you would have a special interest in them, then.”

  “It’s a good memory.” Cathal smiled, and Flavian was momentarily stunned. He hadn’t seen Cathal smile very much, he realized, but it was a nice smile. “But I do follow other artists. Even before the prince married, the royal family did our best to be patrons of the arts in Tournai. After he married Prince Amory, those efforts only increased.”

  “Prince Amory seems to be quite passionate about art,” he said, recovering his wits after that flash of smile.

  “Yes. He said you spoke of it at dinner last night. He found you quite knowledgeable yourself.”

  “Prince Amory is too kind.” Flavian had enjoyed the conversation, very much. He so seldom had the chance to discuss art with someone who truly enjoyed it, and though he hadn’t been able to talk about his own artistic endeavors, at least he’d talked about art.

  “He often is.” Cathal continued speaking before Flavian could decide how to respond to that statement. “He wants to show you some of the art in the palace.”

  “Yes, Prince Amory mentioned it. He is very kind,” Flavian repeated. “I would enjoy seeing some of it, but I wouldn’t want the prince to trouble himself for me. I’m sure he has much more important ways to spend his time than showing me artwork.”

  “Yes. And here we are.”

  Flavian realized that they had rounded the corner and come out on the lawn from a different direction than the one in which he had originally slipped away. The party showed no signs of breaking up. In fact, the princes had joined the guests. They were standing near the princess and Velia, talking with the group gathered around them.

  Velia saw Flavian, her eyes locking on him even from across the lawn. So much was implied in that look, not the least of which a less than subtle, really quite sharp, question. Where had he been? And why was Cathal taking his arm and leading him over the grass, back toward the gathering of people and Velia. Flavian tried to communicate back to her with a look as well, trying to reassure her that all was well, that Cathal hadn’t found Flavian out.

  He only hoped he wasn’t lying in that reassurance, because he couldn’t figure out Cathal’s motivations. He didn’t like the way the man looked at him. He especially didn’t like that he couldn’t help thinking Cathal had purposely gone into the garden to retrieve him, because he couldn’t understand why Cathal would do so unless he suspected Flavian wasn’t what he seemed. And if Cathal did, that was dangerous.

  Chapter 5

  THE LARGE garden party was just the first of many events to celebrate Cathal’s betrothal and introduce Velia to the nobility of Tournai. Most of them had been planned by Elodie, who was being kind to do so much, though Cathal thought she also hoped she and Velia might end up close. Elodie had no sisters, and her closest friend had left the city under a cloud the year before; he could see Elodie wanting to form a bond with Velia and didn’t blame her. He rather hoped for some sort of bond with Velia as well, something that would make a life bound to her in marriage bearable. Cathal didn’t expect love, but liking and respect would be welcome.

  He didn’t have an opportunity to begin to forge any kind of bond with his betrothed the next day. Fatigued from their long travels, Velia and her aunt chose to spend the day resting, especially since a party was scheduled for that night. He assumed Flavia was doing the same, but he thought he saw her disappearing into the garden in the morning. He didn’t have time to investigate because he was due in Philip’s office for a meeting about an investigation into potential spies in Jumelle, and then had to go riding with Father and Velia’s uncle. But he wondered why Flavia was slipping off to the garden again without Velia and then told himself he was too suspicious. If Velia was resting and Flavia preferred a walk in the garden, he had no reason to say she couldn’t, no reason that she shouldn’t. He admonished himself for being so suspicious of everything she did.

  The meeting took longer than anyone had anticipated, and he had to hurry to meet up with Father and Willem. Cathal arrived on time, but only just. Velia’s uncle seemed oblivious, but to Cathal’s experienced eye, Father was quite obviously bothered by Cathal’s near-tardiness. Father didn’t say anything, though, probably to keep up appearances in front of their guest.

  Cathal wouldn’t have chosen the company, but the ride was pleasant enough. They wound through the city and out into the countryside, along the river and back. Willem was appreciative of both Jumelle and the countryside around it. On the way back, Father and Willem fell into a comfortable conversation between two men of the same generation that left Cathal mostly on the outside. He wasn’t altogether unhappy about that state of affairs; he let matters he had left unattended to on his desk fill his mind as he followed the other two men back.

  Cathal tried not to be annoyed that he had so little time to handle those matters when he returned to his office, but he had no control over his schedule these few days. He could only hope that after Velia settled in and wedding preparations began in earnest, his days would return to some semblance of order. For the time being, he stayed in the office working until the last possible moment and then let Etan push him out. He grumbled as he went, because Etan stayed. While Etan would also attend the party, he had more time. Father had requested that Cathal arrive quite early, certainly earlier than Cathal thought necessary. But it was easier not to argue.

  He bathed and dressed and left for Father’s house in the city. Tonight’s party was being held there and hosted by his parents to welcome Velia to Tournai and to their family, and to celebrate the betrothal. He had no doubt that the party would be a lavish spectacle, and his expectations were met as soon as he arrived.

  Servants were already in the front courtyard to assist arriving guests. The front hall was decorated with swags of flowers and greenery. He wandered through the rooms set aside for the party, taking note of decorations and other preparations. Servants were making final preparations in all the rooms. Food and drink would be the last things set out, once the guests were due to arrive. He found Mother supervising the arrival of the musicians in the ballroom. She was already dressed for the party in a purple silk gown, and her hair, which still showed no trace of gray, was elaborately dressed.

  “Cathal!” She smiled when she saw him and paused to look him over before she came to him and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “How handsome you look. Your betrothed will be smitten, I’m sure.”

  He kissed her cheek in turn. “And you look beautiful, as always.”

  “Silly boy.” But she smiled again.

  “Everything looks wonderful. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, no. It’s
all well in hand. I’m about to go check on your sisters to make sure they’ll be ready on time.” She looped her arm through his and walked him back into the corridor. “Have you spoken to your father?”

  Trepidation drew his muscles tight. “I didn’t know he wanted to speak with me, but I can go now.”

  “Yes, you had better see what he wants. He’s in his office.”

  What Father would want from him tonight? Cathal hastened through the house, not wanting to keep Father waiting. He knocked on the closed door and entered when bidden. Father was seated at his desk, papers spread over the surface of it. He was also dressed for the party, the silk and velvet of his clothes the finest fabrics, the color and style complementing Mother’s gown. Cathal should have realized Father would make certain to show the family’s consequence and station in every possible way tonight.

  Father looked up from his papers as Cathal came to stand in front of his desk. He also looked Cathal over, but his scrutiny was far longer and much less admiring than Mother’s had been. Finally, he nodded. “You’ll do, though I could have wished you’d worn something a little less plain.”

  Cathal glanced down at his clothing of brown velvet and claret-colored silk. The fabrics were fine, the cut superb, just as Cathal preferred his clothes. He didn’t care for ostentatious ornaments or decoration that proclaimed his rank.

  “And you have no clothes here that would be suitable, I believe. No matter.” Father waved a hand, as if granting Cathal permission to wear the clothes that Father didn’t quite find suitable. “I want to talk to you about your betrothed and what I expect of you.”