Page 17 of Temptation and the Artist

“A moment,” Aline said quickly. “You do not mean to keep the appointment you made with your father?”

“I am a dutiful son,” he said sardonically.

“Are you?”

“No. But I am as polite as I can be. And besides, I need to know what they want before I can say no and be rid of them.”

“Be careful,” she said austerely. “Better still, I shall accompany you and use my august presence to prevent violence.”

The surprise in his eyes melted her heart. “That is the kindest of offers, but I must decline. For one thing, I would not subject you to them twice in one day. For another, I have been dealing with them all my life and know how to manage them.”

He hadn’t fought for the sketchbook, knowing his brothers would merely toss it between them until it was damaged, forcing them to find another way to torment him with it. He had broken Clive’s hold and escaped him without violence or temper. Perhaps he did know, but she could not like it.

“Then have dinner with me afterward,” she blurted. “Otherwise, I shall worry.”

His eyes warmed. “Will you? I could not have that on my conscience, too. On the other hand, it would not be a pleasant meal if my family joined us in the dining room.”

“Then we shall dine here,” she said recklessly. “Mr. Flowers can join us as chaperone.”

He was silent, perhaps recognizing that Mr. Flowers, as well as the footmen, were excellent guards. But his eyes were focused unblinkingly on her face. “They won’t actually hurt me, you know. They are family, and they need me to do something. But I shall gladly dine with you and Mr. Flowers.”

With that, he bowed and walked away.

*

“Remind me,” Sir Oliphant said coldly to his elder sons when they were once more ensconced in his rooms, “not to listen to any of your ideas ever again.”

“Why not?” Gordon demanded, almost hurt. “She didn’t care for the scene, and we made him look pretty small.”

“And yet she walked off on his arm, leaving us to be told off by the damned waiters!” Sir Oliphant snarled. “No more public scenes.”

“Whatever you say, Papa,” Clive muttered, flexing his shoulder.

Stephen must have twisted it for him when he’d flung the bigger man in the chair. Although it went against his own interests, Sir Oliphant was fiercely glad someone had punished the fool.

“So, what do we do now?” Gordon demanded.

“Talk to him like a human being,” Sir Oliphant said, somewhat reluctantly conceding that the days of bullying Stephen might be over. “Tell him what we want, and I’m sure he’ll agree to come home with us.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Clive asked skeptically. He stretched out on the sofa with his feet up on the cushions. He hadn’t troubled to remove his boots.

Sir Oliphant bared his teeth. “Then we’ll favor the direct approach and be done.”

His sons speculated on that directness with obvious pleasure, until a knock sounded on the door.

“Prompt,” Sir Oliphant observed, encouraged, and jerked his head at the door.

Gordon rose from the chair he’d been lounging in and opened the door. “Stephen,” he said with mock affection. “Look, Papa, Stephen has honored us with a visit.”

“I have,” Stephen agreed, walking in and leaving Gordon to close the door behind him. “But I can’t stay long. I have a dinner engagement.”

“The beautiful princess?” Sir Oliphant said before Stephen’s brothers could mock. “Quite a catch you have there. I’ll be honest—never thought you had it in you.”

“I don’t. We merely have an agreement that I paint her portrait.”

“Whatever you say, Stephen. Budge up there, Clive, let your brother sit down.”

Reluctantly, Clive moved his feet and sat up to leave space. As though he didn’t notice, Stephen sat in the armchair.

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