A Scandalous Portrait (The Rose Room Rogues #1) - Callie Hutton Page 0,55

horrible portrait right here in his house where anyone who spotted it could lift the linen and look at it.

She was mortified.

He looked down, his face growing pale. “The portrait?”

“Yes. The. . .the, portrait! I see by your reaction you know exactly what I’m talking about.” She stamped her foot, feeling quite foolish, but uncaring how juvenile it looked. “You promised you would burn it!”

“Now wait a minute, Diana. I did not promise I would burn it. You asked me to, but I have been yet unable to do so.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts and tapped her foot. Oh, the man was impossible. She lowered her voice, trying hard to be an adult about this. “In all this time, you haven’t been able to burn it?”

He stood and threw out his hands. “Do you have any idea what the smell of burning paint would be like?”

She shook her head.

“Well, neither do I. But I’m sure it’s not pleasant and would encourage questions.”

She dropped her arms to the side. “I can’t trust you.” She stared at him. “I Can’t. Trust. You. How can we have a marriage if there is no trust?”

Hunt ran his fingers through his hair. “You are taking this too far. Of course you can trust me. I’m your husband.”

Diana backed away. “No. I cannot trust you. You knew how important this was to me. You were to steal the portrait and then burn it. Marguerite moved it out of a wardrobe in my bedchamber to make room for my clothes. Anyone coming into the room, for any reason, could look at it.”

He just shook his head.

“I. . . I have to leave.” She turned. “I must go.”

“Diana, wait!”

She hurried away, tears stinging her eyes. She raced up the stairs, went into the bedchamber where Marguerite still worked, and said, “Get your coat. We are leaving.”

Her eyes wide, Marguerite must have seen something in her face because she never questioned her but merely dropped the gown she was shaking out, grabbed her coat, and followed Diana down the steps.

“May I have the carriage brought around, my lady?” Peters asked as they arrived at the door.

“No, but thank you. We will hire a hackney.” She grabbed Marguerite’s hand and dragged her out the door, down the steps, and practically ran them both down the pavement until they reached an empty hackney. She gave the address of her townhouse, climbed inside, and leaned her head against the squab.

“I believe I have made a huge mistake.” With those words, she covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

21

Hunt collapsed into his chair and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. What a mess. The blasted portrait would be the death of him. Truth be told, after the first couple of days after he stole it, still wondering how he was going to burn it without raising questions, he had forgotten about the damn thing. He shoved it into the wardrobe in Diana’s bedchamber and wiped it from his mind.

Now it was back to haunt him once more. She thought she couldn’t trust him. Well, she had good reason.

Peters slowly approached the desk. “This just came for you, my lord.” He held out a salver with a letter sitting on top. “Is everything all right, my lord? Her ladyship seemed to be in quite a hurry to leave.”

Hunt took the envelope, broke the seal, and read the summons from Sir Phillip. He dropped it on the desk. “No. Everything is not all right.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

After a perfectly wonderful wedding trip where he’d been looking forward to a strong, happy marriage with Diana, his stupid decision to not get rid of the portrait immediately could very well wipe it all out.

“Can I do anything to help?” Peters asked.

“Yes. You can.” Hunt banged his fist on the painting. “Get rid of this. Take it somewhere you can burn it and not raise suspicion.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Burn it, my lord?”

“Burn it. Wherever you take it, make sure you stay right there until nothing is left but ashes.” He stood and grabbed his jacket from the chair where he’d dropped it when he entered the room. “I’m leaving.”

He was so angry he felt as though he should walk to Sir Phillip’s well-disguised office just to get himself under control. However, it would take him a good two hours to do so, and he had no idea how important