a friend. I do consider you a friend, Sophie. I hope you will come to consider me as a friend.’
A friend. Sophie’s heart thudded.
‘Can a man and a woman ever be friends?’ she asked lightly.
‘I like to think you are. We share a secret.’
Friends for now, strangers in a few weeks. She’d miss him. ‘How could I refuse when it was given in the interests of friendship?’
He stood there without moving and she wondered if he expected a kiss. She carefully placed the box down on the table with the drawing paper and pencils next to them, making a show of straightening them, but all the time watching him out of the corner of her eye.
‘I shall start a painting today to show you I’m serious,’ she said to cover the awkward silence. ‘You can see it tomorrow … I mean, whenever you next come to call.’
‘Tomorrow will be fine. There is a concert of Handel’s Water Music on at the Royal Theatre. I thought you and your stepmother might enjoy going. You did enjoy the theatre so much in Liverpool last March.’
‘I promise not to flirt with any strange men with my fan. I gave that up after I met you. Lesson learnt.’
A tiny smile touched his lips. ‘You have our story down.’
‘It is important not to make a mistake.’ Sophie turned back to the paints. ‘I’ve no wish to come undone over it. I’ve told the story so many times now that I almost believe it myself.’
‘Do you have a subject in mind for this painting of yours or shall I pose for you?’
Sophie examined the carpet of the small sitting room. If he posed for her, he’d have to stay. A large chunk of her wanted him here, but the more prudent side knew he should go. She had given up being reckless years ago. And while Richard might say he was different, she had no desire to put him to the test. Once bitten, twice shy as her nurse used to say.
‘It normally takes me an age to decide on the subject,’ she said. ‘I like to spend time arranging things and doing preliminary sketches. Paintings don’t happen like that. They need to be prepared.’
‘Do you draw people?’
‘I used to.’ Sophie gestured towards the pen-and-ink portrait of her stepmother that stood on a side table. ‘I did that one the spring before I made my début. My stepmother was a poor sitter. She kept moving her hands and changing expressions. Most aggravating—the drawing took twice as long as it should have done.’
‘You are very talented.’
‘You’re being kind.’
‘Kindness has nothing to do with it. I merely appreciated your talent.’ He nodded towards the paints. ‘Another time, then. When you are more confident at drawing people. I promise to sit very still and not move a muscle … no matter how much my nose itches.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘No perhaps. I shall look forward to sitting with anticipation.’
Sophie’s mouth went dry. And she privately decided the time would never come. The risk to her resolve was far too great. There would be too many opportunities for seduction. Richard might proclaim to be different from Sebastian, but she didn’t want to tempt fate.
She hugged the paintbox to her chest. ‘I will think about it, but your suggestion to paint the wax fruit is a good one. My stepmother has a silver bowl which will work admirably. Nothing too complicated to begin with.’
‘I am counting the hours.’ His mouth quirked upwards at her expression. Her cheeks burnt. ‘Until the theatre. It is your decision if you need a model. Know that I am a willing volunteer, if required.’
‘And I will let you know if you are ever required.’
‘We understand each other.’ He took the box from her nerveless fingers and placed it on the table. ‘Don’t worry, I shall show myself out. You get on with your painting.’
Sophie stood in the middle of the sitting room, staring at the paints for a long time. Why did Richard Crawford have to turn out to be kind? He was right. He wasn’t like Sebastian at all. He was infinitely more dangerous.
‘There you see, all done.’ Sophie held up the still life of wax fruit in a silver bowl for Richard’s inspection a few days later. Her eager expression lit the room with its glow.
He’d done the right thing coming here, instead of going to the club or sitting and fuming about his mother’s spending habits. Somehow being with Sophie made all of this morning’s annoyances fade into insignificance.
He took the painting from her and their fingertips brushed. A warm pulse shot up his arm. Demonstrating to Sophie that he was far removed from Cawburn was getting harder and harder when all he wanted to do was to take her into his arms and kiss her.
Rather than having his desire for her diminish through seeing her, it had grown. But more than that he looked forward to pitting his wits against her and talking to her about things which had nothing to do with his family or the other demands on his time. When he was with her, everything faded into insignificance.
‘You are very talented.’ Richard concentrated on the painting and regained control of his body. Sophie was not the sort of woman one seduced; she was the sort of woman one married. ‘That painting is more than a simple bowl of fruit. It looks good enough to eat. And I love how the shapes complement each other.’
‘It is fine, but the apple gave me trouble. The red proved harder to get right than I thought it would.’
Sophie moved closer to him and their shoulders accidentally touched. Richard kept his body rigid.
‘I could never do something like that. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.’
‘I had a strict drawing mistress. Do you know how many different colours a simple shadow can be? They are not dabs of black paint.’
He shook his head. Even now, Sophie wanted to belittle her accomplishments. ‘It is more than simple-rote, schoolgirl painting. There is something indefinable here. You must learn how to take a compliment, Sophie, or I shall be forced to pay you them until you do.’
Her eyes danced. ‘How do you take a compliment?’
‘You say thank you and don’t attempt to deflect it or apologise for it or make it seem less than it is. All it takes is a thank you and nothing more.’
He put the painting down. Sophie needed to have her confidence grow. He could only keep making excuses to his mother about the need to ensure Hannah’s engagement for so long, before awkward questions would be asked, and Richard knew he wasn’t ready to share Sophie with his family. His relationship with Sophie had no bearing on his relationship with his mother or sister.
‘I shall try to remember that.’ Sophie gave a mocking curtsy. ‘Thank you for the compliment about the painting.’
‘Shall
