“Mr. Harris,” she said, somewhat shocked. “I, um… What are you doing here?”
“I was told that you were only offered broth for dinner,” he said, revealing a bunched-up cloth he held clenched in his fist. “I thought you could stand to eat something slightly heartier.”
Faith smiled as he came around the bed, handing her the tied-up napkin. Leaning forward, she untied it to reveal apple slices, a sandwich of bread and cheese, and several shortbread biscuits.
She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling too widely. Perhaps she really had been too harsh in her first understanding of this man.
Looking up, she began to thank him, only to see his gaze was focused on her bare ankle. It was the oddest thing. He was completely still and had the strangest expression on his face. For some reason, Faith felt suddenly uncomfortable beneath his scrutinizing stare.
Slowly, she pulled her foot back and snaked it beneath the blankets.
“Thank you,” she said, holding up an apple slice. “I do appreciate it.”
But Logan didn’t answer. Instead, he just looked at her as if some puzzle that had eluded him had suddenly made sense. Faith was about bid him goodnight when he spoke.
“Who was your art teacher, in London?” he asked, his tone uneven.
“Excuse me?” she asked, a minor panic filling her heart.
“Your art teacher. Who was he?”
“Ah, it was Mr. Delaney,” she said after a moment’s pause to ensure she didn’t tell her first teacher’s name. “My friend Renee’s brother.”
“And no one else?”
Her brow scrunched together defensively.
“Who else would there be?”
Logan stared at her as if struggling to decipher her words. But instead of answering her, he asked another question.
“Have you ever had your portrait painted?”
An alarm sounded throughout Faith’s body as her eyes widened, and she grew cold. Why would he ask such a thing? She leveled him with a straight stare, unwilling to tell him anything.
“No.”
“No?”
“It’s what I said, isn’t it? No.”
Her tone was forceful and unpleasant, but he stepped toward her and leaned over, crowding her. When he spoke, she shivered.
“I don’t believe you.”
What could he know? Certainly nothing of importance. And yet Faith’s entire being seemed to scream out to beware, because he already knew too much.
Suddenly, her breathing felt laborious, and she shook her head.
“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said, pushing his napkin of treats away, ignoring how close his face was to hers. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get some rest now.”
Logan’s eyes dropped to her mouth and for the briefest of moments, she thought he might kiss her. She inhaled, worried that there was a part of her that actually wanted him to do so, but that would be insanity. Of course she didn’t want him to kiss her. There certainly wasn’t an amorous feeling between them, and she wouldn’t admit it even if there was. But beneath his analyzing stare, Faith felt her skin grow hot.
“Itisyou.”
Faith shook her head. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know. It was impossible.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to—”
