In Giles’s experience, all artists lived in a different world from normal people, and Reginald, it seemed, was no exception. Reginald laughed breezily, but Giles sensed the strength in him—his inner core guided him to pursue his passion as if it were a primal instinct.
“And sure, it’s better to have money than not to, but I’d rather not have to deal with people I don’t know in the pursuit of it. I’d rather sell my stuff for cheap at a street stall than do that.” Reginald proceeded to admit that he’d once tossed a painting to a kid during his travels because “I didn’t want to bother carrying it,” and Giles’s head started to hurt. “For a while, I tried leaving my business in the hands of a few random art brokers, but there were always delivery issues, and I got stiffed a few times.”
“Isn’t that a bit of a sloppy business model?” Giles asked.
“Ha ha! You’re a smart man. Yes, Fiona gave me an earful about it, so now I let her and Roche handle all my business.” He explained that with steady investigations and negotiations, Fiona and Roche had recovered the paintings Reginald had carelessly parted with. It sounded to Giles like it took a lot of perseverance to wrangle the hassle born of Reginald’s hatred of hassle.
Reginald fell silent then, an expectant look in his eyes. Sensing he was being tested, Giles asked, “Raymond Bailey… Is that a pseudonym? I’ve never heard the name Bailey mentioned by the nobility in the royal capital, and it’s not Fiona’s mother’s maiden name.”
Every fact about Raymond the artist was thoroughly concealed, from his personal details to his physical appearance. It was hard to believe that Reginald went to such lengths solely to avoid dealing with people.
At the onset of his fake romance with Fiona, Giles had researched the Clayburn family, just to be safe. Once he’d determined their good character, he deemed further investigation unnecessary. However, the name Bailey never once appeared in the records.
Reginald gave Giles’s question a satisfied smile and folded his arms. “Ooh, that’s a great question. I got the name Bailey from my great-great-grandmother. I’ve been cut off from the family, so I couldn’t use the family name.” So that was the other reason Raymond the artist remained out of the public eye: his relationship with his family. Reginald was the sole heir to Fiona’s mother’s family line. “The way the story goes, the debaucherous heir to the family was disowned. He vanished and was missing for years, and then he died.”
“Is that so,” Giles said slowly.
“My cousin inherited the family line. If they found out that the true heir is not only alive but also a famous artist, that would cause trouble for my parents and cousin, you know? Ah, and in case I wasn’t clear—don’t contact my family.”
“I won’t.”
“I figured you wouldn’t. So…what’s your story?”
Reginald’s voice suddenly oozed with implication. Giles’s defenses shot up. “What do you mean?” he asked coldly.
“Come on. You’re hiding something, aren’t you?” It was an assertion disguised as a question.
He thought for a moment that Reginald was referring to Giles’s false romance with Fiona, but she had assured Giles that she hadn’t breathed a word of their arrangement to her uncle.
Reginald’s head-on stare stripped Giles, exposing his secrets and innermost feelings. Ah, Giles thought, suddenly understanding how it was that this man was a great artist. That explains how his paintings capture the heart.
In no mood to wait for Giles’s answer, Reginald steered the conversation forward on his own. “Fiona is a good girl, but you are of a different class from her. I don’t think you’ve laid the groundwork or possess the grit necessary to bridge that gap.”
When Giles reported Minister Saquille’s scheme to his father, he’d been told that he lacked the grit to make Fiona his. “How dare you,” Giles managed, struggling to form words in his outrage. Reginald, heedless, unfolded his arms and jabbed an index finger into the middle of Giles’s chest.
“You would never have even met her if something hadn’t brought you together.” The subtext of Reginald’s words—you’re too different—was inarguably correct.
As her uncle and as an artist, Reginald’s bond with Fiona would never be severed. That fact filled Giles’s heart with an indescribable indignation and fear. It was a bit different from the sense of longing he felt earlier. This was a haze that filled his heart like a dark storm cloud. He knew it was insecurity.
Reginald slid his finger up Giles’s chest, then gripped his chin and tilted it upward. The act was the epitome of disrespect, but Reginald was a renegade operating outside the class system, so this was of no concern to him. Giles couldn’t find it in his heart to rebuke him for it.
“Are you listening?” Reginald asked sweetly. “My Fiona can walk on her own two feet. She says that’s what she wants. And if you intend to rob her of what makes her Fiona, I will tear you away from her with my bare hands—and gladly so.”
Reginald locked his gaze firmly on Giles. He wore an exaggerated, flamboyant smile on his face, but his eyes were all ice and no emotion. Giles swallowed hard. He had rarely felt this intimidated before.
“I don’t mind if you court her,” Reginald continued. “But if you want to pursue a future with her, can you be sure Fiona will be happy?”
He was saying nothing that Giles didn’t already know. It was Fiona’s independence that had attracted him to her.
Wait. I’m attracted to her?
Yes. He was attracted to her as a human being…and as a woman. Realizing it now, after all this time—that he cared for Fiona, this woman who had something he lacked—took his breath away.
The way Fiona looked. Her voice. The way she tucked her hand in his arm. Even the way she blinked her eyes. The vivid images of her that were appearing in his mind clinched it, and he started to comprehend just how important she had become to him.
Reginald’s aggressive stance had Giles holding his silence so as not to provoke Reginald further, but his heart was anything but quiet.