more questions about his sister, hoping she’d not lost him again. She asked his sister’s age, her interests, how she’d been educated, anything she could think of that seemed safe. The short walk, a mere few hundred yards to her residence on Henrietta Street, was by far the most pleasant she’d had in an age.
When they entered the house, he turned towards the open drawing-room door.
She pulled him back. ‘Come up to my room.’
His brows rose. ‘To your room?’
She waved a hand. ‘No one will mind, I promise.’
She chattered to him about how she came to live at this place, about the other boarders who lived there as well, anything to put him at ease, to put her at ease, as well.
When they entered the room, Ariana pointedly ignored the bed, the most prominent piece of furniture and the one that turned her thoughts to what it might be like to share it with him. It unsettled her that he could so quickly arouse such dormant urges in her. If she’d learned anything from her former lover, it had been that her senses were not always the best judge of a man’s character.
She took off her cloak and flung it over a chair. He removed his hat and gloves, but not his top coat.
He glanced about the room. ‘Where is your copy of the play?’
‘On the table.’ She pulled off her gloves and gestured to a small table by the window.
He picked up the small, leather-bound volume. ‘I will have it read by tomorrow.’
He opened the book and flicked idly through the pages. Quickly snapping it closed, he slipped the book into a pocket of his top coat.
Which passage had caused that reaction? she wondered. Antony’s line, perhaps?
There’s not a minute of our lives should stretch; Without some pleasure now.
He seemed to gain no pleasure from her company. ‘I should return to my studio.’
She had not moved from the doorway. ‘When should I come and sit for you tomorrow?’
‘At the same time, if it is convenient.’ His manner was stiff.
‘Tomorrow, then.’ She nodded.
He strode towards her. As he passed, she caught his hand. ‘I would greatly desire our time together to be pleasant. We started as friends. May we not continue that way?’
Again that mysterious distress flashed through his eyes. What bothered him so?
He stared into her eyes. ‘’Til tomorrow, Miss Blane.’
She released his hand and he hurried out of the door. From the hallway she watched him descend the stairs and walk through the front door, not even pausing to put on his hat and gloves.
When Jack reached Adam Street he was still reeling with the unexpected pleasure of being in Ariana’s company again, as well as the crushing knowledge that she was Tranville’s actress.
Jack walked with his head down against the chilly wind from the river. It was even more appalling that Tranville had chosen an actress young enough to be his daughter.
Instead of going back to the studio, Jack called upon his mother. He found her alone in her sitting room doing needlework by the light of the window.
She looked up as he entered. ‘Jack, you are back again.’
He glanced around the room. ‘Where is Nancy?’
‘She and our maid went to the market.’ His mother’s smile was tight. ‘I fear Nancy finds these four walls tedious. She takes every opportunity to venture out of them.’
He did not respond, but stared blankly at the carpet.
‘Sit, Jack.’ She indicated a chair. ‘Tell me why you are here.’
He wandered over to the mantel, absently moving one of the matched pair of figurines flanking a porcelain clock.
Finally he looked at her. ‘Did Tranville tell you that his actress is almost as young as Nancy?’
She stabbed her needle through the cloth. ‘That is no concern of mine, and ought to be no concern of yours, Jack.’
‘No concern!’ He swung away, then turned back to face her. ‘Does it not trouble you? How can it not? How are you able to insist I paint this portrait?’
Her eyes creased in pain. ‘It is what he wishes.’
He felt his face flush with anger. ‘You do not have to do what he wishes, Mother. He treats you abominably.’
Her expression was stern. ‘That is your opinion. In my opinion he has enabled me to live in comfort, to rear my children in comfort, to give them an education, a future.’
He gave a dry laugh. ‘I could debate what sort of future he’s provided Nancy with, but, that aside, have you not more than paid him for what he has done for you?’
She merely pulled her needle through the cloth.
Jack paced before walking to her chair and crouching down so that he was at eye level with her. ‘Mother, I will make a living as an artist. I will earn more commissions. If we economise I will have enough to care for you and Nancy. You do not need to accept another shilling from Tranville. You can tell him to go to the devil.’
She gazed directly into his eyes. ‘I will not do that.’
He blinked. ‘Why not? I promise I can take care of you.’
She went back to her sewing. ‘I am certain you will be very successful, my son, but I still will not spurn Lionel.’
Jack stood. ‘He has spurned you. In the most insulting way.’
She gazed up at him again. ‘I do not need to explain myself to you and I have no intention of doing so. I will not change my arrangement with Lionel.’
It was no use. Where Tranville was concerned his mother was blind and deaf.
‘Do you stay for dinner?’ she asked, breaking the silence. ‘It is not for a few hours yet, but you are welcome to stay. If you are hungry now, I’ll send for tea and biscuits.’
He shook his head. To sit down at dinner and pretend this day had not happened would be impossible. ‘Do not expect me for dinner. I have much to do tonight.’
She smiled wanly. ‘You are still welcome if you change your mind.’
He walked over and kissed her. ‘I must go.’
She patted his cheek, but her eyes glistened with tears. ‘I hope we will see you tomorrow.’
Once he stepped back out into the winter air, he hurried to his studio and let himself in. He leaned against the door with visions of Tranville hopping from his mother’s bed into Ariana’s.
