The door opened behind him, and he paused at the center of the table, throwing the balled-up letter at the roaring fire with as much force as he could muster. It landed behind the flames, rapidly consumed by the fire until it was reduced to ash.
His butler cleared his throat behind him.
His chest heaving, Bentley’s gaze was fixed on the fireplace. “What is it, Egerton?”
“You’ve a visitor, Your Grace.”
A cool chill ran over Bentley’s body, and he turned, his stomach dropping when his eyes fell upon Hattie standing just behind Egerton, her eyebrows lifted the slightest bit. She wore a simple navy gown, appearing to be made of thick and sturdy material, and her hair was loosely piled behind her head. She certainly had not been concerned with appearing to advantage, and somehow that made her even more beautiful.
Desire to paint this woman flooded him, and he clutched the back of the chair beside him, hoping to appear at ease, though he desperately wanted to ask her to sit for him.
“I’ve come for Romeo,” she said. “But if this isn’t a good time—”
“No, no, do not concern yourself with that,” he waved a hand toward the fire as though he had not just been caught acting out like an errant schoolboy. He glanced over her shoulder, but the corridor remained empty. “And Mrs. Green, she is…”
“She did not accompany me,” Hattie said, her gaze flicking to the butler.
Her words did much to soothe Bentley, the tightness leaving his shoulders at once. “Romeo is this way, if you would follow me.”
“Of course.”
Egerton left them, and Bentley stepped around his guest, leading her down the corridor toward the blue room. His painting room.
He hadn’t intended to allow her inside his sanctuary, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t very well subject his servants to more of Romeo’s sharp claws. And while he had offered to keep the cat indefinitely, he’d assumed Hattie wouldn’t take him up on that.
Bentley hesitated only a moment, his hand resting on the cool knob as he swallowed his reservations. He’d never shown this part of himself willingly to another soul outside of his own minute household.
“Has he been very terrible?” Hattie asked, her voice traveling over him like a warm blast of air. “I feel I ought to reimburse you for your trouble, but I do not know how.”
She could pay a fee in the form of allowing him to paint her…but those words died swiftly on his tongue. He’d done nothing for her cat that he wouldn’t have done for any other animal in a similar situation. He hadn’t known who the cat belonged to when he’d taken it in. Accepting payment now wouldn’t be right.
“You owe me nothing. I am perfectly happy to have been of service.”
Her lips tipped into a soft smile, and he found himself riveted by them. If it had been anyone else, he would have forced his thoughts into submission, but the more he looked at the woman, the better he would be able to recreate her later on paper.
Scrubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw, he tried to smile. He was aware of just how awkward his words were. What a blessing that they remained in his head, for him alone to stew over.
“Truly. It was my pleasure,” he finally said.
She gave him an odd look, and he opened the door and motioned for her to precede him. Holding his breath, Bentley watched Hattie’s eyes round as she stepped into the room, her gaze flitting from canvas to canvas, unable to settle on just one. A small gasp left her lips and his body pulsed with satisfaction. Perhaps allowing her into his sanctuary was not so bad, after all.
“You’ve done all of these?” she asked, awed.
“Yes.”
Hattie stepped around the room, looking at each painting on display. It suddenly occurred to Bentley just how conceited he must appear for his walls to be so utterly covered in his own work, but he sloughed the feeling away. He enjoyed the things he painted, so what was wrong with displaying them? Nothing, in his mind.
“Such beauty,” she whispered. Pausing before the bureau at the end of the room, she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. “You mix your own paint?”
He nodded.
“Is that not a lot of work?”
“It can be.” He shrugged. “But I enjoy it. It is something of a hobby for me.”
Eyes bright, she clasped her hands together before her, and he felt a strong sense of foreboding.
“Will you teach me?”