An Unsinkable Love - By Terri Benson Page 0,53

a large sketch pad from her room. It contained her sketches from the previous season. As the pages turned, Bree was awed by the detailed, flowing drawings of the couturier's models in their finery. The sketches gave the impression of movement and grace. Next to many of the pictures were neat notes suggesting changes to the design.

"I see what Malcolm means, Elizabeth. Your ideas would greatly improve the designs. You're a wonderful artist. Do you paint as well?"

She nodded. "But I haven't in years. Percy used to take me for drives. If there was something interesting, we'd stop and I'd sketch. If there was time, I'd paint. Eldon never has the time, and I don't seem to have the interest anymore."

Elizabeth nodded toward a writing desk in the corner. "That was the last painting I did."

A small, framed oil of a country lane flanked by brilliantly colored fall foliage hung over the desk. The woods seemed to 171

An Unsinkable Love

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be afire with color. "Oh, Elizabeth," Bree said as she walked over and stood close to the painting, "it's wonderful. I almost expect to see a coach and four drive up the road."

Elizabeth laughed shyly.

They both heard Malcolm's footsteps on the stair and met him at the bottom. "How are you feeling, son?" Elizabeth asked.

"Just a bit stiff. I'm sure I'll get it worked out shortly." He smiled at Bree. "Ready for your tour, Miss Barry?"

She grinned. "At your pleasure, Mr. DuMont." Bree blushed as a devilish look entered his eye at the word pleasure and hoped Elizabeth hadn't noticed.

If she had, she gave no sign. "Have fun, you two. Dinner will be at seven, as usual." She started to turn away then paused. "Be careful, Malcolm."

He nodded. "Always."

Bree shivered with a strange foreboding, but the feeling slipped away in the wake of Malcolm's boyish enthusiasm as he helped her into a small, clever-looking white automobile.

"How quaint."

Malcolm put his hands on hips, pretending to be outraged.

"It's not quaint. It's a racecar. A Mercer Type Thirty-Five Raceabout, to be exact. It's been clocked at nearly a hundred miles an hour."

"Oooh." Bree tried to act suitably impressed, but he obviously exaggerated. Nothing on earth could go that fast. It was cute, though. White paint accented by narrow black stripes shone in the sun, and the bright red leather seats were deeply padded. She frowned as she noticed the 172

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windscreen was only a round piece of glass attached in front of the steering wheel. Concerned, she asked, "Do you have a lot of bugs here?"

He was confused for a moment, then realized what she talked about and chuckled. "A few. I promise I won't go fast.

At least not until we get you a driving uniform and goggles."

He helped her settle into the snug seat, tucking her skirts in. She watched with interest as he went through several steps to start the car. He finally turned the crank, fiddled some more, and they were off. He was true to his word, and the little car jounced along at a sedate pace. The breeze still whipped the pins from her hair and it twisted and whirled behind her. By the time they arrived in the small hamlet of Linton, her hair was a tangled mass, spilling over her shoulders and down her back in mad profusion.

Bree caught a glimpse of herself in the plate glass window and moaned. "Oh, dear. Look at me." She tried to gather the recalcitrant tendrils and force them into submission, but curls kept escaping.

"I like it loose. It's such a striking color and with all those curls, it shouldn't be forced into some staid bun." Malcolm flicked a tendril and watched it twine around his wrist. At her dubious expression, he shook his head and stepped behind her. With a few deft turns of his wrist, he tied his cravat around the mass of auburn tresses at the base of her neck, letting curls tumble freely down her back to her waist. "There.

All fixed."

Bree turned back to the window and shook her head. "I'm a mess. I can't be out in public like this."

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He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "So you're saying I should take you somewhere private?"

She slapped him playfully on the arm. "Oh, you. I was promised a tour, and I guess I'll have to look like something the cat dragged in until we get back to the house."

Malcolm bent to her ear and murmured, "My cat never dragged