to play the lighthearted gadabout?
Why should she care?
“If you think I’m intruding, I shall take myself off,” he finished.
Before Clara could speak, Aunt Aurora recovered. “Oh, dear me, no! We are so glad to see you!” she cried happily. “We were just discussing you.”
“I hope you were only saying good things of me,” Lord Mulholland said genially, looking at Lady Hester.
Although Hester Pimblett’s smile lighted her good-natured face, Clara couldn’t help noticing that she did not meet his gaze. “I believe I hear the music for dancing,” she said softly, moving toward the door. “So if you will excuse me, I shall look forward to meeting you again at Mulholland House, my lord.”
She hurried out of the room, and Clara fought the urge to follow.
“I have been reconsidering your offer,” Lord Mulholland said.
“Really?” Aunt Aurora cried, clapping her hands like an excited child. “How delightful! How wonderful! I do think you owe it to posterity, Lord Mulholland.”
“That shall be for posterity to decide,” he answered. “I only know I should be honored to sit for you.”
He sounded so sincere, Clara could almost believe he meant it. Nevertheless, she kept her attention firmly fastened on Aunt Aurora, who was apparently perfectly content, and further, quite delighted to think she had achieved so much so soon.
Then he frowned slightly. “However, I am leaving London tomorrow, so it occurs to me that you must come to my house in Lincolnshire to do the picture, if you are able.”
“Oh, my lord! How marvelous! Of course we shall be only too delighted to go! Clara, isn’t he just too kind?”
“Too kind, indeed,” Clara replied flatly. Her mind was full of suspicions. Why would this rich, titled man want Aunt Aurora to do his portrait?
“I will happily pay your travel expenses,” he offered.
“Well, my dear man, this is so sudden — so unexpected. I shall have to finish one or two small commissions—a matter of mere days—and a few trifling bills to pay...then the house must be shut up.”
“Aunt, we cannot abandon the household,” Clara protested.
“Bring the household along, by all means,” Lord Mulholland said languidly. “Or perhaps your niece would prefer to remain in London?”
To her great chagrin, the idea that he could so easily leave her behind disturbed Clara immensely. Had she somehow imbibed far more wine than she realized?
Fortunately, Aunt Aurora looked as if he had proposed doing away with her niece. “I certainly could not! She cannot remain alone in London, Lord Mulholland. It would not be proper.”
There! Clara thought triumphantly. This man had best understand that she belonged to a family every bit as moral as his own. Or, considering what she knew of the upper classes, considerably more so.
“Very well,” he acquiesced graciously. “Then she must come, too, by all means.”
Damn him! She didn’t want to find him gracious, or charming or handsome. Nor did she want to go to his house in the country, even if it meant getting out of London for a while.
Had Aunt Aurora forgotten everything they had heard about Lord Mulholland? The flippant bets, the mistress who had made a bonfire of all his clothes when she thought he was dallying with another woman who was said to be married, the money he wasted on frivolous entertainment? Surely Aunt Aurora wouldn’t wish to expose her niece to such a man, not even for the sake of a major commission.
“Perhaps we should settle the details of our arrangement at once,” Lord Mulholland said, his deep voice persuasively soft as he gazed at Clara. “Then your niece will believe that my desire is a serious one.”
Clara had read of women’s knees weakening at certain romantic moments, but she had always considered it an invention of fiction, until Paris Mulholland said, “desire.” Now she knew that it could indeed happen. Nevertheless, she would die before she would let him know that his words or tone had any effect on her at all.
“You are too gracious, my lord!” Aunt Aurora cried, obviously completely oblivious to the undercurrent of anxiety her niece was experiencing.
“Don’t you wish to see examples of my aunt’s work?” Clara asked, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice.
“Not at all,” he said. “I’m sure I will be completely satisfied.”
She risked a glance at the noble wastrel, and saw the laughter lurking in Lord Mulholland’s eyes. So, he found them amusing, as if they were clowns he could hire? Perhaps, while having her guardians for jesters, he thought to practice his seductive skills on their surely easily-wooed niece.
Anger built inside Clara. Aunt Aurora could be absurd, but she was a kind, generous woman who truly thought of herself as an artist. Despite his lack of skill, Uncle Byron took his writing career seriously. As for seducing her, she was no easy prey for any man, not even the famous Paris Mulholland, as he would inevitably learn.
She summoned every reserve of calm she had, so that when she faced him, her countenance was bland and her voice controlled. “Don’t you want to know my aunt’s usual commission?”
“I must go tell Byron about your proposal, my lord!” Aunt Aurora said excitedly, obviously believing that only the details remained to be settled.
“Aunt!” Clara said swiftly. “You can’t—!”
“Oh, never fear. I’ll find him somehow. And you know I never like talking about money!” With a dismissive wave of her hand, Aunt Aurora trotted off in search of her husband, leaving Clara alone and unchaperoned with the most notorious wastrel in London.
“I won’t bite,” Lord Mulholland remarked coolly.
“This is most improper, my lord, as you well know,” Clara said, wanting to run out the door, but just as determined not to seem frightened or flustered.
“Then you can afford to pick and choose who your aunt will paint?”
Like the Paris of the myth who shot and killed Achilles, he had found her weakest spot. They did need the money, and badly, too, a weakness she hesitatingly acknowledged.
“Very well. Let us do our haggling and rejoin the others before there can be any hint of impropriety.”
“Oh, yes, we wouldn’t want your reputation to suffer,” Clara replied sardonically.
He tugged the cuff of his jacket into perfect alignment with his shirt. “I was thinking of yours.”
To her surprise, he sounded absolutely sincere. But then, he had sounded the perfect fop in the drawing room. She decided it would be better to settle the price at once, and get away from such a chameleon.
When she met his interrogative gaze, she thought it might be better just to get away. She would run and fight another day. “The hour is late,” she said
