must have changed him,” said Evelyn, watching her. “Oh, the technique might be his, but the rest isn’t.”
Her expression eased very slightly. “Oh. Well, nothing, just…just Italy. Yes. Just Italy.” She finished in a rush, her face now red and her hands, those expressive hands, twisting together. “We’ve all changed, my lord.”
“I see.” She’d never been able to hide a lie. He let it go. For now. “I’ll take these three today, deposit the money at Hoare’s with the rest, and come back tomorrow for the other paintings.”
Her jaw dropped. “What other paintings?”
“The other paintings I’m going to buy. I’ll look at them now.”
Loveday watched, heart and stomach inextricably tangled, as Evelyn worked his way through the stacked paintings. Dear God in heaven—what now was she to do? He was putting so many paintings aside!
Looking down, she discovered that her hands were twisting in her paint-smeared apron. Sweet Lord! If he noticed that! Trying to be unobtrusive, she tugged off the apron and stuffed it into a drawer.
He was absorbed in the paintings, though, and didn’t so much as glance up. She watched, imprinting every detail on her mind, renewing and overlaying memories. He crouched, flipping through canvases, and she knew the easy strength it took to hold the position, could see in her mind’s eye the taut stretch of muscles hidden by the elegant trousers. Her trembling fingers remembered the ripple of muscle under warm skin in his broad back as he set one painting aside and reached for another. Icy fingers of fear clenched to a fist in her gut. How close was he to realising the truth?
As if catching her thoughts, he looked up, frowning. Her mouth dried.
“I’ll have to bring a carriage tomorrow,” he said. “What will you tell Lionel?”
She took a shaky breath, her brain scrambling for coherent thoughts, for an honest answer.
“When did I ever tell Lionel anything but the truth?”
The deep blue eyes held hers, searching. “I know, but he refused to see me, so—”
“That was me…that is—” She floundered. He looked as though she had struck him, straightening slowly, face rigid.
“You didn’t trust me.”
“No! I mean—yes. That is…” She fought to steady her restless hands. “I made such a fool of myself!”
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