He placed the portrait in his brilliant contraption, then began cleaning his brushes in what she learned was turpentine. “Why don’t we pause for a while and see if the clouds clear. Perhaps you can show me how you’re progressing on the piano?”

Mother, who had been sitting in a far corner, peered up from her embroidery. “She’s becoming quite accomplished, Mr. Pratt.”

Although Juliana wouldn’t consider herself accomplished as Mother had implied, she’d been practicing furiously, wanting nothing more than to make Victor smile at her attempt at Mozart’sTwelve Variations on “Ah Vous dirai-je, Maman.”Her piano teacher had been ecstatic over her improvement. She couldn’t manage all twelve variations, especially those which grew in complexity, but she managed the simpler ones with ease.

Once Victor finished cleaning his brushes and put away his paints, he rolled down his shirtsleeves and donned his coat.

Pity. Juliana rather enjoyed admiring his forearms.

In the music room, Mother rang for refreshments and Juliana took her place at the piano with Victor standing next to the instrument. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the music before her, hoping to calm her nerves and shaking fingers. Thank goodness it started off simply, and Juliana executed the first variation to perfection. Sunshine—not her horse, of course—flooded her chest at Victor’s nod of approval.

But the moment she met his gaze, she fumbled the quick, right-hand notes. Victor took a seat beside her on the bench,his thigh pressing against her skirts, which only exacerbated her trembling.

“It helps me to do some finger exercises to limber them up. May I?” He dipped his head toward her hands.

Thinking he meant to play and show her, she lifted her fingers from the keys, only to have him take her hand in his. The same energy as the day before sizzled up her arm, and she inadvertently gasped. Her gaze snapped to Victor’s, discovering his own eyes had widened.

He broke the connection, dropping his gaze to her hand and began moving her fingers. One at a time, he stretched and bent them. And with each touch, her heart beat a little faster.

“Excuse me,” Frampton’s voice broke through her haze of longing. “Lord Felix Davies?—”

“Is here,” Lord Felix said, stepping from behind Frampton.

“Sir, as before, I requested that you wait in the entry.” Frampton frowned, his tone censorious.

Lord Felix waved his gloves in Frampton’s face, his lips spreading in a smirk. “But I’m practically family.” His gaze swung to where Victor still had Juliana’s hand in his.

The smirk vanished, and he took several steps forward. “What’s this? I come here in good faith regarding my offer to court Miss Merrick and save her reputation, and I find you two...” He waved his gloves again, this time at Victor and Juliana.

Victor’s fingers tightened around hers, not painfully so, but Juliana recognized it as a gesture of support.

“Yourservicesare neither needed nor wanted, Davies.” Victor released her hand and stood.

Juliana already missed his warmth.

“As you have rightly deduced, I am courting Miss Merrick, so you can take your self-serving offer and leave.”

Juliana’s heart raced at Victor’s possessive tone and stance. Pretend or not, Victor portrayed the part of a possessive suitor to perfection.

Mother rose from her seat on the sofa. “Frampton, escort Lord Felix out—again.”

Frampton bowed. “My pleasure.” Frampton extended his arm toward the door. “Mylord.”

The disdain coloring Frampton’s address registered with Lord Felix, who turned on his heel, muttering as he left, “You two deserve each other.”

When Victor turned back, he was grinning. “That felt good.”

But Juliana had a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Simon and Charlotte didn’t trust Lord Felix.

And neither did Juliana.

Two days later,in his bachelor apartments, Victor stepped back from the portrait of Juliana. Even in the quiet of his studio, with the scent of turpentine thick in the air and Juliana’s likeness gazing softly back at him, the world felt watchful, as if something waited in the shadows.

He brushed the bleak feeling aside, attributing it to exhaustion. He’d been working on some extra background detail in private in order to utilize his time more efficiently. Victor wanted to finish quickly, hoping to impress Burwood enough to allow him to continue with the rest of the—admittedly, more important—portraits.

Although in retrospect, Juliana’s portrait might very well be the most crucial, as it would either win Victor the commission with the duke or send him into the pit of despair should Burwood decide to hire another portraitist.

A lot of work remained to be done on Juliana’s likeness, especially her eyes. That particular aspect was something he couldn’t work on without the actual subject. He studied the portrait again. Close to what he wanted, but he needed to get it right. The tilt of her head, the easy curve of her mouth. The spark that overtook her, transforming her and making him forget their courtship was a pretense.