Her mouth hung open as he extended his arm, as if he expected her to come with him without question. But perhaps the most surprising part was that she obeyed his command. Placing her hand on his arm, she hurried after him as he weaved through the people to bring her into his luxurious carriage. Nobody bumped into him or jostled them. The crowd seemed to part to grant them passage, no doubt dazzled by the sheer power he radiated.
No sooner had they boarded the coach and settled onto plush armchairs, than the train chugged forward, slowly at first, then gaining speed. King’s Cross faded into the distance, giving way to the English countryside.
Looking at the handsome man lounging opposite her with all the menacing grace of a lion, she had the sense that she was embarking not on a brief trip, but on a grand adventure that would change the course of her entire life.
ASHFORD OBSERVED HISunexpected guest from half raised lids and couldn’t believe his luck. He would have hours of sitting in her presence, absorbing and capturing every little detail of her face. How fortunate that he never traveled without his modeling kit. He couldn’t envision a better way to pass the time than shaping clay into pleasing forms. And the form of the woman sitting across from him was pleasing, indeed.
But first, he should put her at ease. She was sitting ramrod straight, her gaze staring out the window when not skittering around the luxurious interior. Despite the manifold comforts of his coach, which were not limited only to the visible luxuries, but also to a superb spring system that made the ride most smooth, she was decidedly uncomfortable.
“Would you like something to drink, Lady Renier?” He stood from his armchair and wandered over to a cabinet. Opening it, he perused the offerings, reacquainting himself with the contents of the bar. “We have brandy, whisky, port, claret—”
“No, thank you,” she replied.
“Perhaps some tea, then?” he insisted.
“Are you able to provide tea inside a train?”
He pointed to the back of the coach. “Through that door, there is a small kitchen. I’m afraid it won’t be able to produce a full meal, but tea and sandwiches are well within its scope.”
“In that case, tea would be lovely, thank you.”
He nodded in response, attempting to look congenial, and went to the door. After giving the order to his servant, he walked to the other end of the carriage and went through the other door into his sleeping berth. From there, he retrieved the sculpting implements he would need to make the clay model. The trip provided the perfect opportunity to start sculpting her, sitting as she would be facing him, a captive audience, or perhaps a captive muse, for several hours. But there was no time to waste.
Returning to the main compartment, he found her in the same position he had left her. Still staring through the window at the passing scenery. The position left her face in profile, and he studied it.
Her face was a thing of beauty. He only hoped he could do her justice. Resuming his seat in the chair across from her, he opened a compartment on the wall and produced a table. When he propped up his armature on top of the table, her eyes focused on it, then a small frown marred her brow.
“What is that?”
“An armature. It is used to give stability to sculptures made of clay or other soft materials.”
“I see.” Her frown intensified. “Actually, no. I don’t see. What are you going to do with that thing?”
“I’m going to sculpt,” he said.
“Here? Now?” And then after a brief pause. “You sculpt?”
He smiled, gratified at having surprised her. There was genuine interest in her tone. Few people outside his family knew of his less-than-aristocratic passion for sculpting. When he’d left the country after the death of his wife, rumors had circulated that he was escaping scandal and prosecution. The idiots. In truth, he had been planning his trip to the land of the Renaissance since before the debacle with his wife. Her inconvenient death and all that came before that had only delayed his already laid plans.
“I do, Lady Renier. It’s one of my passions and the reason I moved to Tuscany. I wanted to improve my art. Tell me, do you have any passions yourself?” he asked with a wicked glint in his eyes while he laid out his instruments, inclined to tease her.
“You mean hobbies?” she replied primly, not raising to the bait. “I suppose I like to sketch.”
“Hmm, and what do you like to sketch?” he asked as he unpacked his roll of clay from its oilcloth wrapping and testedthe moistness. It was an idle question, an attempt at small talk, so he was intrigued by the blush that gently flushed her face. This one was more violent than the previous, and her answer was evasive.
“Oh, nothing important. People, animals, landscapes, and such. It’s just a trifling hobby. You, however, seem to take sculpting with all due seriousness.”
“I do. Do you mind if I remove my coat? I find it’s not comfortable to wear while working, and it will only get smudged.”
“Certainly, my lord,” she stammered and then averted her eyes.
He had to bite down a smile while he removed his coat, then hung it on a peg. Her blushes were delicious. And so revealing. The curse of a fair redhead. How far down would those blushes go? Would they tinge the peaks of her bounteous breasts? Hmm, what a delightful prospect to explore.
CHAPTER 5
THE MARQUESS WENT TOhang his coat on a peg by the opposite wall, giving Thalia the perfect opportunity to feast her eyes on the magnificence of his broad back. Emphasized by the cut of his waistcoat, it was a perfect inverted triangle, tapering from wide shoulders to slim waist and well formed...buttocks. Her face flamed, and she snapped her eyes up. Just in time to avoid getting caught ogling him.
The glint of humor in his silver eyes told her he had an inkling of the effect he had on her. Of course he did. A man like him must be used to provoking such reactions in the female population. Hers would be quite obvious, given away by her blasted blushes.
