A Groom of Her Own (Scandalous Affairs #1) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,3

think you’re somehow bold.” He approached her, and she made herself hold her ground. “Maybe you even have them outside…” he whispered in his graveled tones as he circled behind her and paused, placing his lips near her ear.

Of their own volition, her eyes slipped shut. Why should she respond so to his nearness, when his words were cruel?

“Or next to a window to make some kind of artistic point about how the flowers deserve to be outside, but are trapped inside.” He came to stand before her, their bodies nearly touching, his gaze a hot, piercing caress. His throat moved. “You’re no artist, Claire. You’re a pastel and paint miss who has no place in an art room.”

Claire flinched. “Well…” She drew her sketch pad close to her chest, putting it up as a barrier between them. “That was—”

“Claire,” he began, and she hated the remorse there even more than his hateful words, which had been so much worse because of how true they were. “I didn’t—”

“Good evening, Mr. Gray. If you’ll excuse me.” With that, Claire hurried for the door and left.

As she took flight, something more than humiliation and hurt fueled her steps. And that was determination to prove Caleb wrong.

Chapter 1

London, England

Winter, 1828

Claire Poplar had taken her fate and her future into her own hands.

Or, waiting in this particular museum, it felt very much like she had.

Nor, for that matter, was it the first time she’d done so. With the same gentleman, no less.

Given that she’d become a social outcast, for her parents having been only just outed for their role in stealing a title from a distant relative, there wasn’t much for Claire to do these days.

There were few invitations to balls.

There were even fewer soirees.

They were even less dinner parties.

Invitations to each had dwindled and dwindled… until there were none.

Which had left her with an inordinate amount of free time.

That inordinate amount of free time was what even now had her finding the courage to visit the small museum on the fringe of London. It was a place, over the past month, she returned to every day, because surely an artist whose work was on display would pay a periodic visit.

Alas, with the exception of a handful of visitors in and out of the studio, the museum was largely a ghost town.

Which didn’t make much sense to Claire. The artist in question had created work that had commanded some of the greatest fanfare in London. Why he should deign to have his exhibits here, where few came to patronize, eluded her.

But then, the gentleman himself was a peculiar one.

And ornery.

And when he wasn’t ornery, he was rude and more than a little insulting.

He’d been quite clear in what he thought about her and her talent.

As hurt as she’d been at the immediacy of the words about her work that he’d leveled her way, he’d given her purpose, too. Something to bury her entire self into—improving and sharpening her skills.

Removed from the emotionality of the moment, Claire had also come to see that she was not the only person to offend him. Everybody agitated him.

Nay, not everybody. He had been incessantly patient and pleasant and teasing with just one—her dearest sister-in-law, herself a great artist, Poppy.

But surely he would at least consider this latest request she would put to him. That was, if he ever deigned to visit the museum displaying his work.

“I like this one.” Her sister Faye spoke in haunting tones, and Claire looked over to see which painting fascinated her younger sister, whom she’d dragged along with her each day.

Of course, it made sense…

A ship ablaze in the middle of a turbulent sea. One could just make out the features of the tiny figures sketched upon that canvas. The silvery thrust of sabers as they connected with their marks and the crimson drops of blood were an eerie capture of whatever battle these men fought.

“It is gloomy and dark,” Claire found herself saying, shivering within her cloak.

Faye drifted closer, until her nose nearly touched the soldiers engaged in the sword fight. “That is why I like it.”

Faye, often gloomy and also more than a bit dark, would. When all the ugliest, darkest, most horrifying details of their family’s crimes had come to light, Faye had descended into a deeper melancholy.

How Claire hated to see her this way. As one who carried the same guilt and regret, she knew all too well the sentiments insidiously consuming Faye. “You should find… something more cheerful,”