“I do not know whether I should feel insulted,” Jeremy chuckled lightly. “I am sure Ralph merely overlooked the possibility that I might be available to escort you,” he added, forcing a smile and offering his arm to Harriet, “still, I will endeavor to take my place alongside your two other chaperons.”
They each proceeded inside. Agnes first, escorted by a footman. Harriet and Jeremy followed, and Beecham shadowed them all.
Harriet was acutely aware of Beecham's presence, feeling his eyes on her with every step. She held Jeremy's arm, conscious of seeming to be perfectly appropriate at all times but unable to dispel the memories of the intimacies they had shared. Those memories always came back with touch. His cologne was familiar by now, insinuating itself into her head. She took a discreet inhalation, then reprimanded herself for indulgence.
I am here for the purposes of a transaction only. He is a reprehensible rake who plays wicked games with women. He has drawn me into a lie involving my friends and family in order to fool some others that he is respectable!
They slowed at the first painting, a seascape in which the water appeared to be in motion, so skillfully had its properties been captured.
“You grip my arm like a vice,” Jeremy whispered.
Lost in thought, Harriet startled at once. She realized that she had, in fact, been holding on far too tightly to Jeremy's arm. She eased her grip with a grimace but did not let go.
“Sorry, my mind was elsewhere,” she murmured back.
Agnes had summoned an attendant to explain the painting to her and was demanding Beecham's utmost attention.
“If we are to someday purchase similar paintings, we must be prepared, and if we are to be prepared, then the staff must share in a fair share of knowledge, fair share, mind you, Beecham. So pay attention,” she was ordering of the clearly befuddled butler.
She did not glance at Harriet and Jeremy, who had silently stepped back from the fold, but it was clear to Harriet that the diversion was for her benefit.
“I feel sympathy for whoever you were lost in the reveries of just then. I should not like to be them,” Jeremy whispered.
“It was you,” Harriet near enough snapped, “oh, and flippancy is not attractive.”
Jeremy glanced at her, then back at the painting, tilting his head as though to examine it from a fresh perspective.
“Why should I care whether you find me attractive?” he began, putting as much ice in his voice as she had in hers.
“You should not. Attraction is not required to make this illusion succeed.”
“Which you are gaining from as much as I,” he put in.
“Indeed. Perhaps you could tell me something of this painting?”
Harriet deliberately changed the subject, not wanting the day spoiled by another bout of verbal sparring with Jeremy.
Why do I allow him to get under my skin? This should be the simplest of all propositions. We appear in public together. I experience freedom, and he is seen as respectable. That is all.
“I know little of art. I do not even know who painted this,” Jeremy replied dismissively.
“But you do know about painting. I have seen you when you are in a more… appreciative mood,” she reminded.
“Mood is the key. I am not in it,” he shrugged, “now, shall we move on?”
Harriet smiled briskly and allowed Jeremy to guide her along to the next picture. Then the next. At a portrait, he lingered, as though reluctant to move on.
“A very accurate likeness, I should say,” she remarked, trying to pry into his inner thoughts. “It has the look of realism.”
He rubbed his chin. “Do you think? Hmm. I find the artist has flattered the subject immensely. See the light in the eyes—just a dab of color, yet it conveys so much. Remarkable skill.”
“But not lifelike?” she asked.
“Hardly,” he scoffed. “I can think of no one I have ever met, present company excepted, with such light in their eyes. Particularly not of the gentry, which by the dress of this woman, I would hazard a guess she is.”
Harriet suppressed a smile at the compliment that she did not think Jeremy had even realized that he had paid her. It made her feel warm inside, making her close her fingers about his arm tighter until she caught herself.
I must not get drawn in again. It will only complicate what should be a simple arrangement. This is about experiencing the world, not experiencing Jeremy's eyes or hands upon me—
