Page 15

“You mentioned your lady’s maid, but you should have also taken a manservant with you on your shopping expedition, Lady Evelyn.”

Lady Evelyn. Her smile faltered at the formality—but then, Lady Romeril walked by them, a woman and manservant on her heels, the affluent lady’s nose in the air and her eyes quite clearly gawping at the two of them.

Evelyn’s breath caught as she tried—likely in vain at this point—to hide further behind the parcels in her arms.

“My lady!”

The tightness in Evelyn’s chest loosened at once. Both she and Richard stopped, turning to see the small maid bobbing after them, the rest of Evelyn’s parcels tipping in the woman’s arms.

Behind the servant, Lady Romeril’s widened eyes softened, her head nodding, as if taking note of the presence of a chaperone, before heading back on her way.

Evelyn let out a deep breath. The corner of Richard’s mouth quirked upward. Really. If he wanted to preserve proper boundaries between us, he ought not to have spoken my real name at all. I had been quite adeptly hiding behind parcels before then, if I do say so myself.

“My lady, this is the longer route home,” said Laurent, her dark eye peeking over the parcels at Richard standing beside her mistress. Her eyebrow arched.

Evelyn cleared her throat, speaking softly, though Lady Romeril had turned a corner and was now out of sight. “Richard, this is Laurent, my sister’s and my lady’s maid. Laurent, Richard.”

“Charmed,” Laurent said in her thick accent. Richard blinked rapidly, his jaw tensing as he swallowed.

But then the smile was back.

“The errant lady’s maid,” he said after a moment.

“The mysterious model, I presume?”

Evelyn winced. Laurent knew full well everyone who knew about the modeling supposed Laurent was chaperoning the two of them in the studio. She was supposed to know the man already.

Richard turned back in the opposite direction, not answering the question. His gaze fell to the stack of parcels in Laurent’s arms. “I was just telling Lady Evelyn that she ought to have brought a manservant with her.”

Evelyn thrust her shoulders back as she stepped beside Richard, no longer hiding with her maid in their presence. “Oh, I don’t like to bother them. Laurent is usually enough. Usually.”

“‘Bother’ them?” Richard chuckled. “Did it ever occur to you that you are bothering me?”

“You volunteered !” Evelyn’s flush was most definitely out of control and it did not appear possible for her to prevent even her ears from burning.

Only then did she look over at her walking companion to see the merriment on his face. The delight. The—the teasing.

The flush faded, though her pulse quickened. “You are teasing me.”

“I am, I’m afraid, Lady Evelyn,” Richard said quietly as they passed a crowd of people around a newspaper seller. “It is quite a liberty, I know, but as you enjoyed the last liberty I took so much…”

His voice trailed away, a full description unnecessary. Evelyn knew precisely what he meant.

Swallowing, she tried to put the memory of the kiss firmly out of her mind, but it was impossible. The giddiness she had felt, not only from the sudden movement, but the sensation of his warmth. The power he’d exuded, and the gentleness with which he had kissed her.

Oh, what a kiss. Evelyn had found it most difficult not to think of that moment ever since it had occurred.

Does he think of it, too?

“I… I hope I am not keeping you from your work,” Evelyn said in a firm voice. That was it, a calm, neutral subject. “Where is it you work?”

Richard’s eyes glittered. “I thought you did not want to know anything about me? Keep me a blank canvas?”

He was right. That was what she had intended, and it had made perfect sense at the beginning. How else would she be able to treat him as a model? How else would he later sit as Romeo, or Julius Caesar, or Henry VIII, unless she could look past the shell of him and see only the character?

At least, that had been her plan. It was only now that Evelyn was starting to realize, as they turned onto the street of her home, that knowing almost nothing about this man with whom she was spending an inordinate amount of time, was both exciting and… disappointing.

Exciting, because he could have been anyone. Anything. Perhaps he was a duke on the run! Perhaps he was so poor, he could not read or write. Perhaps he was a widower. Perhaps he was an innocent.

Well, probably not the latter. Innocent men did not kiss like that.

“I… I am curious,” Evelyn admitted as they reached her home.

Richard’s gaze was a curious one in and of itself. It raked over her, as though attempting to decide what to tell her based on how he thought she would react.

Was he a criminal, then? On the run from the law?

Or , Evelyn reminded herself, is my imagination getting the better of me?

Those scars, though…

“ Vite , vite , my lady. Let us go inside. I cannot hold these much longer.”

With his free hand, Richard opened the gate, and Laurent was the first one through, heading straight for the back of the house—but not before sending another pointed arch of the brow Evelyn’s way.

“I did not have anything in particular to do today,” Richard said with a shrug that clearly stated he was not going to reveal anything else to her. “So—the studio?”

She had not left it in a very tidy state. That was what happened when Evelyn found herself exploding in creativity, ideas pouring from her faster than she could get them down. Tidiness was typically left by the wayside.

She nodded and brushed past him. He practically skipped in place before turning to shut the gate.

“Please excuse the mess,” Evelyn said awkwardly a few moments later as Richard managed to open the door to the studio with his one free hand and gestured for her to enter. Laurent had haphazardly stacked her parcels beside the door.

He grinned as they went inside. “Why are you apologizing to me? It’s your mess, in your studio. Why would you excuse that?”

It was an excellent question. She just always had. “My mother is a very exact person.”

Richard’s face clouded. “Ah. I see.”

No, he didn’t. Blast. Evelyn always explained her mother poorly.

“No, I mean—oh, here, if you do not mind.” They placed the plethora of parcels on a small table just to the left of the door, and she stretched her aching arms before continuing as Richard fetched the rest of the things by the door.

“I mean, my mother is very exact because she is a mathematician. She likes order, routine—that sort of thing.”

He was grinning now as he placed the last of the packages on the table. “I don’t suppose that can be very easy. An artistic daughter with a mathematician mother.”

“Actually, you might be surprised,” said Evelyn, a thrill of boldness soaring through her. “There is a great deal of mathematics within art. Think about perspective, I mean. The order of magnitude that you would wish to diminish an object is in direct proportion to—”

“Hang on, you’ve lost me here. Not all of us are artists—or mathematicians,” said Richard with a laugh, dropping into what Evelyn had long ago considered his chair in the center of the room. “Do you not have an example you can show me?”

She had taken three steps over to the cupboard within which she kept her artwork before Evelyn stopped herself.

Goodness, that was close. She had never shown anyone her artwork, not her true creations. Oh, her sketches, her studies, yes. But her paintings?

A lump lodged in her throat as she turned slowly on her feet and saw Richard’s expectant eyes, his relaxed and encouraging face.

“I…” Why are words such a challenge? “I…”

Richard threw an arm back behind him in a lazy manner that made him look all the more handsome. Which was most distracting at the best of times. “Why don’t you want me to see your artwork, Evelyn?”

Evelyn swallowed. Whatever Richard was, whoever he was out there, they were equals in here. No titles, no surnames, no knowledge of each other beyond the cursory.

But that would all change if she shared her artwork. It was… private.

“I have never shown anyone my artwork before,” she said quietly.

Richard’s eyebrows rose. “No one? Not even an art tutor, or your parents, your sister?”

Evelyn shook her head. “It’s… It’s a part of me.”

It hurt to admit it, as though admitting to a weakness, or a sin, or a crime. But it was true. To reveal her artwork was akin to stepping out of her gown in the middle of a ball: it was unthinkable.

Once the world had seen her, it could never unsee her. She could never be hidden again.

“I am not here to judge you, Evelyn,” Richard said quietly. “I just want to understand this… this perspective, dimensions, mathematical thing.”

For some reason, her lungs were tightening. Evelyn did not know why, and a panic, a childlike panic that she had not felt in years was rising through her lungs.

“But if you don’t want to show me, don’t.”

Evelyn blinked. “I… I beg your pardon?”

Richard’s smile was far too knowing. “You heard me. I have no wish to force you, Evelyn. God knows I appreciate what it is to be hidden. If you want to show me, that’s different. I would rather it were a gift than something demanded.”

And she stared.

No one had ever said anything like that to her before. Never. Her brother had wheedled and her father had begged and her mother had once offered to play her at chess for the right to see her artwork. Lucy had asked once, been told no , and calmly wandered off.

But this?

Hand slightly shaking and pulse roaring in her ears, Evelyn opened the cupboard.

She knew precisely which piece of art she would choose. There was one particular landscape of Venice that would be perfect for explaining the diminishing size of buildings… There. There it was.

Holding her head high, feet only shaking the smallest amount, knowing that there was no going back from this, Evelyn tried to smile. “Look at this.”