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Richard did not speak much as he guided her along the street, Laurent keeping graciously a few steps behind them.

Precisely what he was going to say, he did not know.

Living on the edge, taking each day as it came, never bothering to plan because who knew what was going to happen… that was more his style.

It had kept him alive. Only now did he wonder whether it would help him truly live.

When he stopped outside his home, he glanced nervously at the woman beside him. “Here we are.”

Evelyn peered up at the redbrick townhouse, closing her parasol and narrowing her eyes against the bright sunlight. “It’s a pleasant building. A private home, you said?”

Richard’s throat was remarkably dry. “Yes.”

“It is so rare to be permitted to see private art collections,” she said curiously. “You are completely certain that the owner does not mind?”

It was all he could do not to grin. “I am certain. The owner… The owner understands your love of art. He thought that you would appreciate seeing his collection.”

Evelyn pursed her lips. “Indeed. How intriguing! Shall we go in?”

Richard had to admit, Verwood did an admirable job of keeping his face straight as he welcomed the two of them in, a footman ready to collect their things beside him.

“Sir, miss.”

“‘Miss’?” repeated Evelyn with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh—I, I thought it would be more pleasant if we did not give our full names,” Richard added hastily. Blast, he should have thought of a better explanation than that . “It’s… It’s more private.”

“Oh.” Clearly, she had never been referred to as ‘miss’ before, and from what Richard could see, Evelyn appeared to like it. “Incognito.”

He could not be further from incognito if he tried. “Something like that.”

As the footman hung up Evelyn’s bonnet and parasol and Richard’s top hat, but before he could step away, Laurent cleared her throat.

“My lad— miss ,” she said. “I will follow this man to the servants’ quarters for some tea. My throat is parched.”

Verwood raised a brow at Richard, and Richard shrugged. The butler gave the order.

It was not as if his own servants would gossip about the two of them left alone without a chaperone. Especially since Evelyn was soon—he was certain—to be his viscountess.

“Very well,” said Evelyn cheerily. The footman and Laurent walked away.

Richard watched her as she slowly turned on the spot and took in his hallway.

“What do you think?” he asked finally, unable to help himself.

Evelyn did not answer immediately. She continued to turn and look around her, while Richard attempted to guess what she was marveling at.

It was just his hallway. Nothing spectacular—nothing compared to his country estate, at least. These red bricks did not permit much of an entranceway, but there was sufficient room for an umbrella stand, a coatrack, two landscapes, a small console table by the front door, and a longcase clock.

And that was it. As far as Richard was concerned, there was not much here to entertain.

“What is it?” he asked again eventually, unable to help himself. “What do you see?”

Evelyn started, as though she had entirely forgotten that he was there. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello,” said Richard, stifling a smile. “What are you looking at?”

“Just trying to imagine the person who lives here,” she said softly. “I think I have a good impression of him.”

That did not sound particularly as though it boded well. Richard attempted to hold his head high and not catch his butler’s eye as he asked, “Oh?”

“Yes,” mused Evelyn, a thoughtful look on her face.

“He is a wealthy man, I think. Not extravagant—the ceiling has needed to be painted for perhaps a summer or two, but it would last another and he has evidently decided not to part with the funds until it is desperate. And yet these paintings—a Rembrandt and a Sir Godfrey Kneller. Not cheap painters to have in your home. And look at the frames.”

Richard did so. He remembered ordering them from Sotheby’s.

“Impressive. Gold gilt, and in a style that fits the paintings,” pondered Evelyn quietly. “Here is a man who thinks about these things. But he’s not vain.”

Richard’s chest puffed out. “He’s not?”

She shook her head. “Look at the coat stand.”

For a moment his heart lurched almost out of his ribcage. Hell, had he accidentally left something there that would betray him?

“Those scarves of many different colors,” Evelyn said, pointing. “A red one, a blue, a yellow—no one’s complexion could suit all those colors. He does not care, even if he must look ridiculous in at least one of them.”

Richard’s shoulders slumped and he deflated. Ah.

“How very well put, Miss,” said Verwood gravely. “I quite agree.”

Richard shot him a look, but his butler only inclined his head dutifully.

“Let us look around the rest of the house,” Evelyn said lightly. “I suppose the Viscount Sempill will wish to return to his home eventually.”

It was fortunate, indeed, that Richard had not been attempting to walk at that moment. He would surely have tangled his feet in a knot and slipped over, making a most disagreeable mark on the carpet, and undoubtedly his own face.

How the devil did she discern that?

“You do not need to look so startled,” said Evelyn, laughing at his surely astonished expression. “I do not suppose it matters overly if I know to whom we are indebted.”

No, Richard supposed not—though he would have to alter part of his speech now. “I just… How did you…?”

“The man is not very observant,” said Evelyn with a grin. “Much like you. You haven’t noticed that his post has been left here, on the table, and not brought through at breakfast?”

Richard stared down in horror. He had not had breakfast, his attention entirely affixed upon getting the house ready for her visit. The post, most unfortunately, he had entirely not noticed during their wild clean and tidy of the place.

Viscount Sempill

14 Bourdon Street

Mayfair

Evelyn was peering through the doorway into the drawing room. “Shall we continue? I have heard Viscount Sempill is a truly renowned art collector—why did you not say you knew him?”

Richard tried hard not to wince as he followed her into the drawing room, but it was a challenge. “It… It was actually the current viscount’s father who was the art collector. I believe.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now. I wish he had continued collecting,” Evelyn said vaguely as she glanced about. “Dear Lord, is that a Mercier?”

That was the common refrain as they moved throughout the house. Every room revealed another artist Evelyn raved about for several minutes before they moved a few feet to the left and she discovered another artist she could not believe was here.

“A Reynolds right beside a Ramsay!”

Each one of her comments cast the paintings in a fresh light. Richard had never paid much attention to them, yet as Evelyn chattered about this one’s use of red or this artist’s love of symbolism, he realized he lived within a treasure trove.

Soon, they both would.

“Well, I must say, this has been delightful.” Evelyn beamed as they reached the second floor. “I did not believe one building could hold so many treasures!”

“And there are just two more to go,” Richard said quietly. “I… I hoped this would be a memorable day for you.”

Unbidden, Evelyn slipped her hand into his. “Every day with you is memorable. Whenever I wish to return to one, I can close my eyes and step into the moment. It’s crystal clear.”

His heart lurched. This was it. This was the moment.

“I thought you would like to see a portrait of the man who collected such striking artworks,” he said aloud.

Evelyn nodded and they progressed along the top corridor, drawing to a halt by the almost full-sized portrait of his father.

Richard watched her carefully.

“He was truly a striking man,” she said quietly. “Look at his bearing. You can tell he was a kind man.”

“He was,” Richard whispered.

It was the wrong thing to say. Evelyn turned to him with a look of curiosity. “You knew him?”

“Not nearly so well as I would have liked,” he replied honestly. Are fingers supposed to tingle like this?

Evelyn’s attention, however, had returned to the painting. “I know almost nothing about him, save his art. I suppose he had a son, the current viscount?”

Surely, she could hear the thunder of his pulse. Surely, she could see that anticipation was painting his cheeks pink? “Yes. Yes, he had a son.”

“He has looked after the collection remarkably well,” said Evelyn, peering closely at the oils. “Though this one will need a little cleaning.”

That jolted him from his stupor. “It will?”

“Oh, yes,” said Evelyn, gesturing with her little finger. “Along here, see? I would have hoped the viscount would have noticed. Perhaps he is not so attentive to art as his father.”

“I think he has grown a recent appreciation,” said Richard, his mouth dry. “There… There is a painting of him farther down the corridor, if… if you would like to see it. Finish off our tour.”

Evelyn sighed, and for a heart-stopping moment, Richard thought she would decline. But then…

“It is hard to accept that the tour is almost over, but I suppose the man must be permitted to return home. We’ll end with the current Viscount Sempill, then.”

So we will , thought Richard, his pulse throbbing at his temple. So we will.

Their footsteps seemed to echo painfully loudly as they stepped along the corridor. Richard could not recall the distance between the two portraits being so long, but eventually, they turned a corner and—

“There,” Richard said quietly, turning to face Evelyn with his own portrait behind him.

Evelyn stared at the portrait. Then she stared at him. Then her gaze returned to the portrait, her face expressionless.

Precisely what Richard had hoped for, he was not sure. More than this, certainly. He had not expected there to be such silence, or such a lack of response from the woman he loved.

Dear God, had he aged so greatly over the last five years that it was impossible to recognize him in the painting?