to do.
He drew in a deeply controlling breath. ‘Perhaps I will have that cup of tea, after all,’ he drawled, before making himself comfortable in the armchair opposite hers.
But his gaze didn’t leave the cool beauty of her face, meaning he missed none of the dismay at his words that she wasn’t quick enough to mask. And Brice knew, despite having invited him to have tea in the first place, that Sabina actually wanted him out of here as quickly as possible.
Because Richard Latham might return at any moment and put paid to any effort on her part to elude having Brice paint her portrait…?
‘I’m not in any hurry.’ He made himself more comfortable in the armchair.
‘Fine,’ Sabina bit out in clipped tones, standing up gracefully. ‘I’ll just go and speak to Mrs Clark.’
And also take time to compose herself, Brice easily guessed. He knew he wasn’t mistaken now, was absolutely sure that Sabina had no intention of letting him paint her portrait.
Why? What was it about him that she didn’t like? Although Brice was sure it wasn’t actually dislike he had seen in her eyes in that brief unguarded moment. It had been something approaching the fear he had sensed when he’d first seen her a week ago…
Sabina didn’t go straight to the kitchen, running up the stairs to her bedroom first to splash cold water on her heated cheeks.
It had never occurred to her, when she’d refused to take any of Brice’s telephone calls this last week, that he would actually come here!
But now she realised that perhaps it should have done; there was a ruthless determination about Brice McAllister that clearly stated he did not like to be thwarted. And never being available for his calls would definitely fall into that category in his eyes. Sabina now realised her mistake, knew that she should have taken one of his calls, if only to put him off coming here in person.
Well, it was too late now. Richard should be back within the hour, which meant she would have to hurry Brice McAllister through his tea, put up all sorts of obstacles to any immediate appointment to go to his studio, and then continue to cancel them thereafter.
Because she was even more convinced by this second meeting with him that she did not want Brice McAllister to paint her. She knew that he was every bit as good an artist as he had been proclaimed, and she also knew the reason that he was so good; Brice McAllister was exactly what she had thought him to be last week. He was a soul-searcher.
Those green eyes saw beyond the layers of social façade, past the protective barriers, straight into the soul, and deep into the real emotions that made a person exactly what they were, and what had made them that way. What had changed her from being happily sociable into a woman who now put up a protective barrier she was determined no one would penetrate?
‘Tea will be through in a moment,’ she announced lightly a few minutes later when she rejoined him in the sitting-room. ‘Richard tells me that you have painted a rather magnificent portrait of your cousin’s wife, Darcy McKenzie?’ she prompted politely as she sat down.
He nodded abruptly. ‘So I’ve been told.’
Sabina gave a bright, meaningless smile. ‘I think he’s hoping you will do as magnificent a one of me.’
Brice McAllister looked across at her with narrowed eyes. ‘And what do you hope, Sabina?’ he drawled.
He didn’t really need to ask her that. Sabina was sure he already knew exactly what she hoped—that he wouldn’t paint her at all, that he would just go away, and leave her with her barrier intact…
‘The same thing, of course,’ she returned smoothly, meeting that continuous probing gaze with a completely blank one of her own.
‘Of course,’ Brice finally echoed dryly. ‘I—’
‘Ah, tea.’ Sabina turned to smile at Mrs Clark as she came into the room, the tray she carried, as Sabina had instructed the housekeeper a few minutes ago, containing just the tea; she did not intend offering Brice McAllister cake as well and delaying his departure by even a few minutes!
‘No sugar for me, thanks,’ Brice McAllister murmured as the housekeeper left the room and Sabina sat forward to pour milk and tea into the cups.
‘Sweet enough already’ didn’t quite apply to this man, Sabina acknowledged wryly. Tough, determined, slightly arrogant, very insightful, but Brice McAllister was definitely not ‘sweet’!
‘You seem quite at home here,’ he drawled mockingly.
Despite being caught slightly off guard by the abruptness of the statement, Sabina managed to continue to calmly pour her own tea into the cup. ‘Why shouldn’t I? It is my home,’ she returned coolly, once again sensing that disapproval of the fact that she lived here with Richard.
Which was slightly old-fashioned coming from a man who was probably only aged in his mid-thirties. Or perhaps it was the age difference between herself and Richard that Brice McAllister disapproved of…?
‘So when are you free to sit for some sketches for me?’ he prompted suddenly.
She shook her head regretfully as she sat back to drink her tea. ‘I have a very busy schedule for the next few months—’
‘I’m sure you must have an hour free somewhere,’ he challenged, his mouth twisted derisively.
An hour, yes, possibly even the odd day here and there. But she didn’t wish to give any of that time to Brice McAllister.
‘Possibly,’ she dismissed. ‘But even I deserve some time off for rest and relaxation.’
‘Sitting in a chair while I sketch you is not exactly going to tire you,’ he returned dryly.
No—but trying to keep that blank wall in her eyes for an hour or so, shutting his probing gaze out of her inner self, definitely would!
She shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have my diary available at the moment, but as soon as I do I’ll check it over and give you a call,’ she added dismissively, having noted that his teacup was now empty.
He raised dark brows, making no effort to stand up in preparation of leaving. ‘Tomorrow is Saturday—surely you aren’t busy all over the weekend too?’
Sabina held in her frustrated anger with effort. This man wasn’t just determined, he was dogged!
He was also, she was slowly coming to realise, all the more intent on doing those sketches because he sensed her own reluctance not to have him do them.
She shook her head with feigned regret. ‘I’m afraid Richard and I are away this weekend,’ she was able to tell him with complete honesty. And some satisfaction, she admitted inwardly.
At least, she was allowed to feel that way for a few very brief moments—because she then became aware of the sound of Richard’s car outside in the driveway!
Usually she was more than pleased to see him, feeling safer when he was around, but today her heart sank at the realisation that he was home. Because Richard, she knew, despite gentle hints from her this last week that she really didn’t want her
