Page 29 of To Sketch a Scandal (Lucky Lovers of London #4)

He might as well not have added the direction; Warren’s eyes went wide in spite of it, brows climbing.

There was no opportunity to talk about it further.

The figure model was set upon his stool and Mr. Buttersnipe began pointing out the way the afternoon light cast certain shadows on the lad’s face, his talk of shapes coming into play again along with shade.

It was not long before the pencils were out and moving, clouds of self-consciousness joining the heady turpentine in the air as the so-called “master of the craft” made his rounds with hands behind his back and glasses perched on his nose that Matty knew for a fact contained false lenses.

After a few quiet circles, he began approaching each student in turn, offering advice.

Matty didn’t dare catch Detective Ashton’s eye until it was his turn.

At that point, he did not dare avoid it.

“Hello, Mr. Harris,” he said lightly, as the fellow’s shadow fell heavy over his paper. “Have you come to help me?”

Ashton paused, scanning Matty’s drawing, which wasn’t turning out too badly. “I’ve just come to see how you’re faring. I heard you’ve taken to the art more slowly than expected.”

A lump of dread appeared in Matty’s throat, so hard he might as well have swallowed his eraser.

“I’m working to the best of my ability.”

“I see.” Ashton caught Mrs. Buttersnipe’s eye, shook his head a little. “Can I speak to you in the hall, Mr. Shaw?”

“You’ve told everyone else what you think at their stations.”

“Yes,” he said mildly. “But I should hate to embarrass you, is the thing.”

With a last look at Warren (who was still a bit bug-eyed), Matty followed Ashton out into the hallway.

“What are you doing here?” Matty snapped once the door was shut behind them.

“As I said,” whispered Ashton. “You’ve been moving too slowly.

Frost sent me in a few days ago. I’ve spoken to the Buttersnipes twice now, and investigated this building top to bottom.

I don’t think they did it.” He sneered at the door.

“They’re certainly doing something untoward, with these extra classes, but only because the price is steeper than the skill they can teach.

Can’t rule out shady dealing of some sort, but it’s not the exact fraud we’re concerned about.

I’ll remain on the case a bit longer to confirm—the international angle is shoring up their own evidence as we speak—but you’re off the case as of this morning. ”

Matty couldn’t seem to get a good breath. Off the case?

“Why didn’t Frost tell me this before I bothered coming here today?” he said, voice choked.

Ashton looked annoyingly unsurprised and even pleased to see Matty crack.

“You haven’t been in.” He shrugged.

“Yes, I have.”

“Not as often. Not as expected.”

Matty paused, trying to master himself. His breath had re turned, but now it was trying to come in gasps. “Does Barrows know I’m off the case?”

“Barrows was told this morning.”

“When there was no time for him to inform me. Brilliant.”

Ashton shrugged. “Look, Shaw. You were taking too long—”

“Because of the rules Frost set for my investigation!” Matty hissed. “In spite of that, I was set up to find the same conclusion you did this sodding afternoon. And if I’d been able to handle it my way from the start—”

“You mean the way that was decimating your soul ?” Ashton smirked.

Matty instantly regretted letting that slip, but it didn’t seem Ashton had believed the excuse to begin with.

“I got nothing personal against you, aright? But let’s not play games.

We all know where you came from. Your bosom buddy Barrows tried to downplay it, but it’s not hard to figure out.

I could have easily finished this out without coming into the class today, but Frost wanted me to make sure your efforts looked earnest and up to the moral standard you promised.

Admittedly, they do, at least at first glance.

” Through his false glasses he looked Matty’s attire up and down, going so far as to reach out and touch one of the patches on his lapel.

“Unless you’ve gone and made a little friend in here like I heard you might have done in your last couple cases. ”

Matty could feel his lip curling. “Go fuck yourself, Ashton.”

“Temper, Shaw.” Ashton put casual hands in his pockets.

No one would take him for a portraitist in that posture.

“If you don’t give me a lot of lip, I can return to Frost with as glowing a report as is possible for someone who’s bungled his case the way you did.

I can honestly say that it looks like you tried, and you’re going to need that, if you plan to stick around.

He’s trying to get rid of you, you know, Frost is.

Whereas I’m not. You should count yourself lucky, given I’ll now be your direct supervisor when Barrows takes his final bow next week.

If I were you, I’d remember who your friends are, Miss Matty. ”

Friends? Before Matty could even wrap his head around that, Ashton morphed out of his natural posture, back undercover as an artist so fast it was like he flipped a lever.

He opened the door to the classroom. Considering the situation they’d painted, Matty had no choice but to return to his own character and follow.

Fortunately, Ashton did not linger. He made his rounds and gave out his useless morsels of advice, then tipped his hat and took his leave with another half-hour still left in the session.

When he was gone, Warren moved over a couple of surreptitious inches. “What did he want?”

Matty had not thought of himself as having friends at Scotland Yard aside from Barrows, who, frankly, was a friend only in the one direction.

If such friends looked like Detective Ashton, however, he didn’t feel like he was missing much.

He liked the one that he had indeed found in this class a hell of a lot better, even if that friendship was limited and would not culminate in another intimate encounter.

His loyalty, once so staunchly attached to the Met and the Met alone, had apparently found another object in Warren Bakshi.

One that did not send him into dangerous situations or call him names.

“The official story is that Rex Harris thinks my lack of talent is incurable, and I should be refunded my tuition and sent packing,” he muttered. There was enough distressed chatter about Ashton’s criticism filling the room that it wouldn’t carry far. “The real story is that I’m off the case.”

Warren winced. “That sounds like a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing.” Matty snorted a dark laugh at such a charmingly trite observation. “You’re spot-on with that, mate. It’s a bad thing indeed.”

If he was lucky, it meant he’d miss the promotion. If not, if Ashton’s “friendship” did not prove stronger than Frost’s misgivings, he’d be out on his arse after all.

There was nothing for it, though. Nothing to do but get back to his drawing.

Wouldn’t it be nice if that were really all he had to fret about?

If these concerns of shape and shadow, of friendship and art lessons in bed, were for their own sake, rather than a department that was beginning to show very clearly what it really thought of him?

He reached for the ring around his neck with a solemn sense of loss and uncertainty, only to find those feelings shifting into distress when he did not feel it.

He dug around in his neckcloth, but it became quickly clear that the thing wasn’t just hiding out in the folds of his clothes. He reached around to the back of his neck. The chain was missing entirely.

“Everything alright, Mr. Shaw?” Warren asked.

Matty nodded. “I…yes. Don’t worry yourself. Just get back to what you were doing.”

“Did you lose that ring?”

“I know I had it when I came in.”

“You sure?”

He was quite sure, because he’d been fidgeting with it something dreadful as he took his usual place beside Warren, overcome by attraction and awkwardness.

He nodded, then stood up, trying to get a better look round their stations and the next ones over.

Warren helpfully stooped down to check under the chairs as well.

“Not here,” Warren said. “Sorry, mate. Was it something special?”

The question made Matty’s throat tighten up in spite of himself. It felt almost horrifically metaphorical, to lose the thing right on Ashton’s heels like this.

“Special? No,” he lied. “Not…not particularly.”

Matty knew what it looked like when someone spotted his real feelings under the veneer of placidity he’d learned to project in all circumstances.

Those were dangerous moments. Deadly ones.

So when Warren’s whole demeanor shifted, eyes narrow ing as they saw through to what Matty did not want to reveal, his first instinct was to be terrified.

But Warren’s shift was not frightening. It wasn’t even the cool casualness he’d been projecting after their encounter, nor the gossipy excitement of “Mr. Harris’s” secret.

In fact, it was much like the reaction he’d had in their first meeting, when he started trying to get Matty to return to the safety of the club.

“I could use a little air, really take in what Mr. Harris was saying for a minute before I start in,” Warren said, a bit too loud, like he was hoping to be heard by someone. “Tag along?”

He started moving toward the door before Matty answered, so utterly casual about the whole thing that no one even glanced their way, too concerned about their own standing to care what the others were up to.

Matty followed Warren back into the hall a few paces, where they stopped, automatically standing closer than acquaintances of their sort might usually opt for.

But Matty couldn’t bear to be the one to create the distance, and Warren didn’t, either.

In fact, now that they were out of the room and alone, Warren looked like he might actually reach out and touch Matty.

But no. He folded his arms in at the last second.