But he tested one crate and then lifted another to place on top of it. He pulled the cloth off an object to reveal a very odd wooden statue. He picked that up, looked around, and found a safe spot for it on top of some soft-looking bundles.
Then he turned and gestured. “My lady?”
He’d made a space for her in front of the mural.
Against her will, Ariana was charmed—by his thoughtfulness and by a hint of true warmth on his face. This was more like the man she remembered, and her body was still humming from that outrageous moment of close contact.
But the picture summoned, and she went forward into the space he’d created. He didn’t retreat, so he was still close, but not as close as before.
Which might be a shame.
Focus on the mural, Ariana.
“It’s as if it is a wall,” she said.
“Probably painted on plaster laid on wood.”
“So quite easy to do. Anyone could have such a thing created.”
“You would?” he asked.
“I might. My father would have.”
“It would be an odd addition to a lordly seat.”
“But an interesting one.” She glanced at him. Which was a mistake when they were so close. The light hung behind them, casting his face in shadow. That concealed all his shortcomings but hid none of his perfections.
“It would certainly excite conversation,” he said, their eyes only inches apart.
There was a kind of intimacy, as if of nighttime and privacy, and...
Ariana stepped as far from him as she could, until the backs of her legs pressed against a box. She excusedher movement by turning to inspect the mural more closely. Carefully, she touched it, finding a stonelike surface.
“You’re correct, I think. Plaster, or perhaps stucco, on wood. I wonder how it was brought down here, and how it will be taken out.”
“There’s a door to the outside.”
A dip in awareness told her that he’d turned away to look for that door. She’d known his old magic lingered in her mind, but after his disgusting behavior yesterday, she’d never imagined it might still have power over her.
Or perhaps she had.
Even yesterday, in a wretched state, he’d captured her attention in every way.
She composed herself and then turned to look around the room for herself. “So many mysterious shapes and intriguing containers.”
She peered into a tall, ornately painted urn and caught a ghost of stale spices that was almost as disturbing as the smell of rot in the house above. How old was it, and what had it contained? She was ready to face Kynaston again and did so. But he was standing stock-still, staring into a corner—at a mummy case.
The dead body in the basement!
It stood upright, tilted back slightly against a wall, and half in shadow.
As always, it was shaped like a bundled person—narrow at the feet, wide at the shoulders, and then head-shaped above. The case was elegantly decorated in black, brown, and ocher with touches of gold, but the most striking aspect was the portrait set into the head where the face might be. It wasn’t the stylized picture she would expect, but a vivid, lifelike portrayal the equal of modern artists such as Lawrence and Phillips.
Ariana edged sideways to take hold of the base of the hanging lamp and move it to throw more light. A young woman’s dark eyes seemed to come to life, looking directly at her, holding a slight, questioning smile, as if she were wondering,Who are you?
Her brows were as dark as her eyes, but lighter brown hair clustered in curls around her face in a style that would pass as fashionable now. Her lips were pink and full, and despite a complexion somewhat too dark for English fashion, she was lovely.
“It’s as if she’s alive,” Ariana whispered. “I assume that’s a picture of the...” She’d been about to say “the corpse,” but it seemed cruel under that lively gaze. “She looks so young. Perhaps less than twenty...”
