When she was satisfied with her choice, he paid for it with ready coin from his purse before slipping it back into his pocket. Easy as that, they departed the shop.
“Thank you. It was very kind of you.” She seemed sincerely grateful.
“I was glad to oblige you, Miss Talbot.” He was. What’s more, seeing her happiness, he wished he’d done it sooner before she’d been brought to the brink of tears.
As soon as they were on the pavement, she popped it open, and he stooped to peer under it, amazed at how brilliant her smile despite the sun no longer shining on her face.
His breath caught slightly.How was it that Miss Talbot grew more enchanting each day?
“What now?” she asked, as if they had agreed to an outing or to spending the day together.
“I was going to wait a few minutes and then call upon Prinny to see if he’ll allow me to bring the art to him. Or to force him to look at my crude descriptions of what I’ve brought. I know he’s disappointed, but I believe he will like something.”
“I asked you once if I could help. Maybe if I saw the art first, then I could accompany you and express to the prince my enjoyment of it.”
James hesitated. That would mean taking her back to his home. Alone.
Yet she looked so earnest, he heard himself agreeing. In less than ten minutes, they were at his front door, which remained unlatched until nightfall. He pushed it open and they walked into the foyer where they stood awkwardly.
He considered calling for the butler who came with the house. Mr. Sparks was probably in the back with his feet up drinking James’s tea —hopefully not his brandy— as he was not expected back until later.
“Set down your parasol, Miss Talbot. No one will steal it here.” In turn, he put his hat and gloves on the hallstand.
She had nothing else to remove, at least not if this was to remain a decent encounter. Therefore, he gestured toward the stairs.
“The art is in a bedroom.”
“Oh!”she uttered.
That one little word and the way her cheeks pinkened were nearly his undoing. James wanted to sweep her into his arms and carry her up the stairs, although that was never as easy nor as romantic as one hoped. Usually, there was an awkward amount of huffing and puffing, occasionally a staggering at the top on the landing before that blissful moment when one could set the dead weight of a relaxed woman upon the bed.
These feminine creatures looked like froth and air and light, but they felt like a huge sack of unwieldy coal.
Watching her ascend in front of him, he could not return his wayward thoughts to civility. Rather, they were playing in the lowest level of impropriety, of lusty actions and wicked wantonness.
When they reached the landing, he said, “One more flight up, I’m afraid.”
She turned and shot him a smile, as if to say that was no matter. And again, he followed her luscious figure, with her round bottom making the merest outline of an appearance at each step.
When she turned toward the front bedroom, he had to reprimand himself for almost allowing her to go the wrong way, which would lead to an entirely different showing than one of art.
“No, not that door,” he said. “That’s my room.” He enjoyed the sea view and the breeze in the night. Swallowing his desire, he added, “The other end of the hall. The last door.”
He went in ahead of her and considered the crated contents. With ease, he removed the wooden top of the first one and drew out one of the smaller paintings. Holding this up for her perusal, he waited.
While he hadn’t expected her to adore it, he also hadn’t expected the look of dislike, quickly shuttered over to one of neutrality.
“Maybe it’s the way the sunlight is streaming in here so brightly, but the painting does seem to be rather dark.”
He sighed. “Yes. They are all like that. But in a large room with some grandeur, it could be the perfect decoration.”
She nodded, and he put it back, drawing out a vase of peacock blue porcelain and gold overlay.
Miss Talbot smiled, and he thought it worth more than the entire roomful of art.
“Now that should please him,” she said. “How could it not?”
“Because he is the unpredictable Prince George. But I do think he will like some of these pieces. If not for here, then for Carlton House.”
