dampened her spirits.
She placed her teacup on the table. ‘So, how do we proceed with this portrait?’
A crease formed between his brows. ‘I need to know what you would like it to be.’
She waved a hand. ‘I have no notion. I first heard of this idea an hour ago.’
He glanced away and his brooding expression intensified. ‘I first heard this morning.’
‘Lord Tranville has been busy,’ she murmured, taking a sip of tea.
He made a sound of disgust, pausing before looking back at her with shrouded eyes. ‘I did not expect you to come alone. If you desire it, I shall ask my sister to be present. She is but a few doors away.’
What maggot had taken up lodging in his brain? ‘Why did you think that?’ Actresses did not require chaperons.
He continued to stare at her. ‘Tranville is not with you. Perhaps you would like another woman to be present.’
‘Tranville?’ Why did he persist in bringing up Tranville? He wasn’t her father. Who else would care if she were chaperoned?
Suddenly her brows rose. He thought Tranville was her lover.
Jack Vernon would be surprised to know she’d had only one lover, a long time ago. Yes, she’d been deceived once, even though she ought to have learned of men’s fickle natures at her mother’s knee. Never again. In fact, she’d not even been tempted—until meeting the mysterious stranger at the Summer Exhibition.
In spite of his present behaviour, he still tempted her with his sorrowful eyes holding wounds of the past.
She gave herself a mental shake and made an effort to retrieve their conversation. ‘I require no chaperon, Mr Vernon. No one expects propriety from actresses. There is some freedom in that.’
He merely sipped his tea.
She took a breath and tried again. ‘Shall we discuss the portrait?’
‘You and I must decide how you are to appear as Cleopatra.’ He spoke as if all emotion had been leached out of him.
Except from his eyes.
‘I am not at all certain how to do that,’ she murmured.
He shrugged. ‘We try different poses. I sketch you, and we select the best image.’
This struck her as insufficient, like trying to prepare for a play by guessing one’s lines.
‘Have you read the play?’ She rubbed one finger on the arm of the chair. ‘It might provide you with some ideas.’
‘Not since school days.’
He glanced at her hand, and she curled her fingers into her palm. ‘I have my copy in my rooms. Let us get it so you can read it.’
He blinked. ‘There is no need. Bring it tomorrow.’
‘Then we will be delayed another day. My residence is nearby. It will take no time at all.’
He stared at her and the moment stretched on. ‘Very well,’ he finally said.
He went into another room to get his top coat, and a minute later they were outside in the cool, breezy air.
She took his arm and glanced at the street ahead. ‘Which of the “few doors away” is your sister?’
‘Not far.’ As they passed, he pointed to it. ‘This one.’
‘And is there a wife behind those doors, as well?’ Please say no, she thought.
He shook his head. ‘I am in no position to marry. My sister lives with my mother in those rooms.’
Her heart skipped a beat.
‘You have seen my sister,’ he said to her as they walked on.
She glanced at him in surprise. ‘I have?’
‘Hers was the painting you admired at the exhibition.’
She stopped. ‘Of course it was. Now I understand.’
‘Understand what?’
She met his eyes. ‘Why it was such a loving portrait.’
His colour heightened and she sensed him withdrawing from her again.
And they’d almost returned to the comfort between them at the exhibition.
Ariana asked more questions about his sister, hoping she’d not lost him again. She asked his sister’s age, her interests, how she’d been educated, anything she could think of that seemed safe. The short walk, a mere few hundred yards to her residence on Henrietta Street, was by far the most pleasant she’d had in an age.
When they entered the house, he turned towards the open drawing-room door.
She pulled him back. ‘Come up to my room.’
His brows rose. ‘To your room?’
She waved a hand. ‘No one will mind, I promise.’
She chattered to him about how she came to live at this place, about the other boarders who lived there as well, anything to put him at ease, to put her at ease, as well.
When they entered the room, Ariana pointedly ignored the bed, the most prominent piece of furniture and the one that turned her thoughts to what it might be like to share it with him. It unsettled her that he could so quickly arouse such dormant urges in her. If she’d learned anything from her former lover, it had been that her senses were not always the best judge of a man’s character.
She took off her cloak and flung it over a chair. He removed his hat and gloves, but not his top coat.
He glanced about the room. ‘Where is your copy of the play?’
‘On the table.’ She pulled off her gloves and gestured to a small table by the window.
He picked up the small, leather-bound volume. ‘I will have it read by tomorrow.’
He opened the book and flicked idly through the pages. Quickly snapping it closed, he slipped the book into a pocket of his top coat.
Which passage had caused that reaction? she wondered. Antony’s line, perhaps?
There’s not a minute of our lives should stretch; Without some pleasure now.
He seemed to gain no pleasure from her company. ‘I should return to my studio.’
She had not moved from the doorway. ‘When should I come and sit for you tomorrow?’
‘At the same time, if it is convenient.’ His manner was stiff.
‘Tomorrow, then.’ She nodded.
He strode towards her. As he passed, she caught his hand. ‘I would greatly desire our time together to be pleasant. We started as friends. May we not continue that way?’
Again that mysterious distress flashed through his eyes. What bothered him so?
He stared into her eyes. ‘’Til tomorrow, Miss Blane.’
She released his hand and he hurried out of the door. From the hallway she watched him descend the stairs and walk through the front door, not even pausing to put on his hat and gloves.
When Jack reached Adam Street he was still reeling with the unexpected pleasure of being in Ariana’s company again, as well as the crushing knowledge that she was Tranville’s actress.
Jack walked with his head down against the chilly wind from the river. It was even more appalling that Tranville had chosen an actress young enough to be his daughter.
Instead of going back to the studio, Jack called upon his mother. He found her alone in her sitting room doing needlework by the light of the window.
She