Page 6 of Temptation and the Artist

He was examining the sketches on his pad with some concentration, but now his dark gaze lifted slowly to her face, and her heart gave a funny little flip.

“Whatever makes you imagine,” he said, “that I am puritanical?”

The air rushed from her lungs, for indeed there was nothing remotely pure about the heat in his eyes. And for once in her life, she could think of nothing to say.

As if nothing had passed between them, his gaze returned to his sketch, and the pencil was again busy. She didn’t know how long passed before he set down the sketchbook and picked up his glass, taking a sizeable drink, though the glass still remained almost half full.

“When does Basil stop his lessons?”

“When Mr. Flowers feels he has done enough.”

“Shall I fetch him?”

On the strength of that heated look, she had half-expected an attempt at seduction. Her every nerve seemed to tingle. But his question appeared to be genuine, leaving her even more confused.

“If Mr. Flowers will release him. But, perhaps I should—”

“No, allow me. Where are they?”

Chivalry, she thought with amusement, while she told him the location of their room. He was reducing the risk of her being seen leaving or entering his room. And then, he was gone, leaving her utterly bemused. Though one rather charming thought gradually emerged from her tumult.

He was not indifferent to her.

Unable to be still, she jumped up and again began pacing the room. With anyone else, including her husbands and Johnny Winter, whom she had come very close to loving, she had always known exactly what to do about mutual attraction. With Stephen Dornan, she had no idea, for either he had hidden it before or it was very sudden. Or for some reason, he was pretending.

Passing the chair he had just vacated, she paused and picked up his open sketchbook. Her eyes widened, for there was not just one sketch. Both facing pages were covered in her head in various sizes and details, in beams of light and occasionally in shadow when she had moved. One even showed her wine glass. All captured her different expressions, and she wasn’t quite sure she liked that. He saw exactly when she was teasing him or provoking him, when she was amused, or interested, or even anxious as when she had told him about the Monteignes and Basil…

He worked at extraordinary speed, to have done all of those.

She replaced the book on his chair and prowled around the room once more. She would not allow this situation to get away from her. Dornan was unusual, fascinating for a man, but she was merely passing the time. Basil was her prime concern.

*

In the passage, Stephen paused, his back to the wall, his eyes closed. He’d had to leave to recover his focus. Letting her see his desire had been deliberate, to catch her expression in response. But it was his body, not his pencil, which had reacted the most, for in that instant he had seen behind her surprise to a longing, a passion that had acted on his ardor like tinder. Deliberately or otherwise, she had turned the tables.

But dear God, Aline Hagerin would be the most amazing lover… If she ever stopped laughing at him for long enough.

Pushing himself off the wall, he made himself stroll along the passage and upstairs, nodding amiably at fellow guests he met on the way. When he knocked on the door of the room Aline described, it was opened by the large tutor, who looked surprised to see him.

“I bear a message from the princess, who would like her son to join her when his lessons are finished.”

The tutor looked unimpressed. “Would she?”

“May I go now, sir?” came Basil’s eager voice, just ahead of his equally eager little person, which tried to catapult out of the door.

The tutor’s hand descended on the boy’s shoulder, pinning him to the floor. “Coat,” he said mildly.

Basil spun around, trotted back to the little desk set up in what appeared to be his bedchamber, and yanked his coat off the back of the chair. “Is Mama outside in the gardens?”

“No, she’s waiting to take tea with you in my studio. I’ll show you.” Stephen turned to go as the tutor followed the boy out and locked the door. “You will join us for tea?” he added politely as the tutor somehow inserted himself between Stephen and Basil as they walked along the passage.

“Not unless the princess requires. But I’ll escort Basil nonetheless.”

Stephen regarded the tutor’s large hand, hanging at his side. It curled into a fist. The man moved easily, without any of the slowness of many big men.

“You look like a useful man in a fight,” Stephen observed.

“I’ve had to be with a name like Flowers.”

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