Kate’s eyes widened, and she turned to stare at the building. “Is it?”
Unsure whether to tell her more, he began to wish he hadn’t spoken. “It attracts some unsavory people,” he finally said.
“Oh. I imagine it would.”
He held the door open for her to enter the foyer, unaccountably annoyed that she wasn’t impressed or shocked by the revelation. “They are said to charge barren couples quite a lot of money to assist them in their quest for a child. With the use of special beds.”
“How interesting.” Kate put her head down and continued walking.
Bemused, Robert wondered how an innocent comment could stir up a veritable nest of unspoken feelings. “It mainly serves as a brothel offering no end of delights,” he added, striding to catch up with her. His somewhat callous remark was an endeavor to guide their conversation in a safer direction. But it only served to make him recall the one night of passion they’d shared. A glance in Kate’s direction confirmed she was thinking of something similar, for her footsteps had faltered, and she flicked her bottom lip with her tongue. He suffered a strong urge to draw her into that dark corner and kiss her. He found himself seriously considering it, and far more. Raising her skirts and…
He took her arm. “Kate?”
“Yes?”
A door opened at the end of the corridor and a servant poked his head out. “Would you please come in, my lord and lady.”
Robert took off his hat and held it somewhere near his groin.
“Shall we go in, my dear?”
Kate nodded, her eyes a little vague.
Robert introduced Kate to the famous artist, a dark-eyed gentleman well into middle-age. He studied her with a critical painter’s eye, which obviously made her uncomfortable.
“Come and sit in the light.” Sir Thomas led her over to a chair.
The studio smelled heavily of oil paint, varnish, and turpentine. Brushes of all sizes and pungent oil paints were spread over a large table. Canvasses were propped around the walls and a blank one perched on an easel. Finished works graced the walls, exquisitely rendered. Kate turned to gaze at Robert as if imploring him to change his mind.
He frowned and folded his arms. Would she never accept her new position in life?
The artist took Kate’s chin in his hand and turned her head this way and that. “You’ll make a splendid subject,” he said smiling. “But not in this gown.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “What would you have me wear?”
“I’d like to see you in topaz, which will pick out those warm lights in your eyes and hair. Do you have something suitable?”
“No. I’ve never worn that color.”
His sandy brows rose. “Well, you should.”
“I believe you have a Norwich shawl in something similar, don’t you, my love?” Robert interjected.
“The one with the border of acorns? Yes, I’d forgotten it.” She turned to the artist. “Would that do?”
“Splendidly.” He glanced around the room at the books piled high on tables and urns of flowers. “I have an idea for the portrait. We’ll talk tomorrow. Wear a white gown and bring the shawl. And that hat, I particularly like the feathers.” He massaged his gnarled fingers as if in preparation. “We’ll begin straight after luncheon.”
Kate curtsied. “Thank you, Sir Thomas.”
He turned to Robert. “No need for you to come, my lord. Having one’s portrait painted is a long tedious business, as you are aware.”
Robert was surprised to find he was disappointed. Perhaps his interest in art was increasing with age.
As they returned to the carriage, he nodded his head toward the wing of the building where the brothel was situated. “Just be careful who you speak to here.”
She raised her brows. “Do you think they might kidnap me or invite me to join them?”
He stared at her, tamping down the rush of passion that found its way to his groin. “I don’t think that’s funny.”
