The footman had laid out a tea service and revealed a plate of lemon tea cake, cream and sandwiches on the trolley.
Lord Seton dismissed him with a wave and a nod, standing as still as a statue until the man had closed the door behind him, leaving them alone.
Benedict cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair somewhat agitatedly. He indicated the trolley parked beside her workstation.
“You missed your tea this morning, my apologies. The staff told me this was your favourite.”
Emmaline blinked at the repast in confusion, then up at the man who had touched her with such passion in the dark of the night before.
He thought she wanted tea?The impulsive urge to laugh was so strong, that she had to cover her mouth and avert her eyes.
Was this the same man, had she imagined the whole thing?
“You are late this morning,” she managed to murmur, the unspoken question hanging in the air between them.
Looking at him, she could still feel his kisses on her mouth, his hands on her skin. She burned for him to touch her again, for him to look at her and see her for who she was.
Her very heart hung there too, only Emmaline was the only one who knew that.
Benedict stepped up close, looking down at her as she sat, breathless, staring up at him.
He reached out and picked up her rag, leaning close as he gripped her chin and tilted her face towards him. Taking the cloth, he gently wiped at something on her cheek and Emmaline realised she must have paint smudged there.
She must look like an urchin. A dishevelled, paint-stained raggamuffin not fit to be in his presence.
“And you look beautiful, as you always do,” said Benedict in a low tone, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His gaze blatantly dropped to her mouth as Emmaline felt her stomach flip with desire, her chest heaving to draw breath past the lump of hope that lodged in her throat.
He still thought her beautiful.
He turned and walked to the dias, stepping up and settling himself on the settee where he had so thoroughly ravished her.
“I am sorry for making you wait, I had to attend to something important. Do you still want to continue with our session?”
“Umm, yes, of course,” Emmaline stammered, seating herself quickly and picking up the paintbrush in confusion.
She hid her face behind the canvas and frowned, utterly confused.
Was this what he wanted, for them to pretend like nothing had happened?
Emmaline sniffed in misery and then raised her chin, steadying herself against the disappointment that flared in her chest.
Very well, she would pretend the same. She could be a professional.
Lord Setonwould never know her true feelings, or how much he had hurt them.
CHAPTER TEN
Benedict exitedhis carriage at the address he had on file for Mr Winters, taking in the modest townhouse before him on a quiet side street.
Nodding to his driver to wait, Benedict stepped across the cobbles and rapped smartly on the door with the head of his cane.
Slowly approaching footsteps acknowledged his arrival and Benedict glanced at his watch impatiently as he wondered, not for the first time that morning, just what in the blazes he was doing here.
He had got it into his head to find out exactly what was going on with Mr Winters and it seemed he was committed to the course of action now.
An elderly servant cracked open the door, bowing profusely as he waved Benedict into the hallway. Within minutes, Benedict was escorted into a sunny front parlour, finding Mr Winters ensconced at a table near the window, taking tea and peering at a stack of letters with something like annoyance.
“Lord Seton,” exclaimed the man, jumping quite nimbly to his feet for a man of his advanced years and shuffling quickly across the room to usher him in.
