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“Oh, we were just talking about Mr. Bernard Turner,” Phoebe supplied, shooting Evie a look of concern.

“What about him?” Daniel snapped, irritation clear in his tone.

“Well, I never thought you would ask such a thing!” Scarlett gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her chest as if she might collapse from the shock. “Were you not aware that your betrothed paints? Of course, since Mr. Turner is renowned for his artistic talents, she also wishes to learn from him.”

As she talked, Daniel’s eyes seemed to grow darker by the moment.

Please do not say anything more,Evie wanted to implore her friend.Can you not see that the more you talk, the greater the likelihood that we shall have a painter’s blood on our hands by the end of the night?

She felt his hand on her back, steadying her. Her chest loosened, and she breathed a little easier, although it felt as if his entire palm was branded on her skin.

“Why did you not say anything?” he asked her, his voice a gentle whisper against the delicate shell of her ear.

Warmth rose to her cheeks, and she shook her head. “It is nothing worth mentioning,” she replied lightly. “It is just a hobby, nothing more.”

“It appears to mean more to you than you are letting on.”

“I assure you it is nothing like that at all.” She laughed a little. “My brother is the real painter. I have no talent, truly. I just enjoy playing around with colors, that is all.”

She truly wished he would drop the matter. She derived no enjoyment from having to discuss her dreams with someone who may very well laugh at them. However, her friend misguidedly seemed to think that she was in dire need of reinforcement.

“What do you mean ‘that is all’?” Scarlett burst into laughter. “Playing around? You were even considering becoming a spinster and making your own money from it!”

A woman making money was unheard of amongst the gently bred ladies of Society. Becoming a spinster to spend the rest of her life painting was nearly blasphemous!

If Evie could have sprung and covered the redhead’s mouth, she would have. Instead, she wanted to melt into the ground in embarrassment.

The sight of Daniel scowling further cemented her belief that attending this event truly was the worst idea.

And the fireworks display had not even started yet.

Daniel turned towards her. “Is this true?”

“Is what true?” she echoed listlessly.

“Do you really want to meet Turner?”

Did she want to meettheMr. Bernard Turner? Evie wanted to laugh outright. There was nothing she wanted more!

Unfortunately, she had never felt bold enough to seek an audience with a man of his talent.

She had dreamed that perhaps, one day, she might be capable of producing a masterpiece that would be enough to capture the interest of art connoisseurs and Mr. Turner himself. A masterpiece so great that they would be willing to look beyond her gender and truly appreciate it.

“Of course, I want to meet him.” Evie nodded shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought that I should?—”

But she hardly finished her sentence when that hand at her back gently but firmly steered her away from her friends. A few of the revelers who had been watching their exchange moved away from them as if they were nothing but butter and Daniel a hot knife.

He said nothing except a low, “Come.”

“Where are we going?” she asked him helplessly.

“Did you not want to see the painter? Well, I am taking you to meet him.”

“But,” she protested in exasperation, “I have hardly accomplished anything yet. I?—”

“You are going to meet him, not audition for him,” he pointed out.

Evie balked slightly at that.