Mr. Dorian chuckled. “I believe I could paint that very image even if I was blindfolded.”
My grip on his arm tightened, and I pointedly turned away from him. Something about our exchange made me uncomfortable, which was the exact opposite of the image I needed to project. As we reached the front door, I could still feel Mr. Dorian’s eyes lingering on my profile, but I kept my gaze firmly ahead, determined to stay focused on the task at hand.
Mr. Dorian gave his name to the footman manning the door, and we were quickly ushered inside. The entryway reminded me of Lord Linden’s home, with its black-and-white marble checkered floor, high ceiling, and walls covered with treasures. I was so distracted by the space that I stopped in my tracks.
“Are you coming, darling?”
That immediately got my attention, and my head snapped to Mr. Dorian. He gave me a beseeching look, and I managed a nod.
Darling.
My stomach had somersaulted at the sound of the pet name, and a wave of shame quickly followed. I should have told him not to call me that, but other guests were close by milling about. Besides, I knew perfectly well he meant nothing by it. My reaction was my own issue.
Another footman directed us towards the ballroom, where the auction was to take place, and as we made our way down the hall, I was stunned by the number of items on display. Itseemed like every available surface contained some priceless treasure from every era of civilization.
Even Mr. Dorian was awestruck. “Good lord,” he murmured. “Is that a Ming vase?”
We stopped to inspect the vase more closely. I was no expert, but it certainly looked genuine to me. We then glanced at each other with mutual expressions of surprise.
“I was just at the British Museum yesterday,” I began. “And this collection is still very impressive.”
Mr. Dorian hummed in agreement. “The man may not have the space for Egyptian monuments, but the variety is incredible.”
“It must have taken him years to put this all together.”
“Try decades,” came a deep voice.
I whirled around to find an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, a large black mustache, and spine-straight bearing I guessed came from many years of military service standing just behind us.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said with a faint smile. “But I always make a point to greet new guests.”
Mr. Dorian stuck out his hand. “Stephen Dorian. Thank you very much for admitting us, Sir Armstrong-Hughes.”
The man shook his hand, but kept his gaze on me. “And who is your companion?”
“Mrs. Collins,” I said in a low voice, before Mr. Dorian could answer.
He took my hand and pressed it to his lips. “Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Collins. I’ve always had a weakness for a woman in a veil. Reminds me of the years I spent in the desert. People always underestimate the romance of the place.”
I let out a nervous chuckle, and the man’s smile deepened.
Mr. Dorian cleared his throat. “When does the auction begin?”
Sir Armstrong-Hughes tore his gaze away from me. “Inhalf an hour or so. I like to give people a bit of time to mill around and spread rumors about what will be for sale. I find it makes the bidding more robust,” he added with a glint in his eyes.
“Right,” Mr. Dorian said in a clipped tone. “Well, I suppose we should continue on. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
“It’s no trouble,” Sir Armstrong-Hughes replied, though he kept his gaze on me.
I was thankful for the veil, as it made it far easier to deal with the man’s forwardness. I gave him a little nod before Mr. Dorian tugged me away.
“You didn’t need to be so brusque,” I said once we were out of earshot. “What if he decided to make us leave?”
“He was staring at you like you were another item to add to his collection,” Mr. Dorian said with surprising force.
“I don’t know why,” I demurred. “He could barely make out my features.”
“As if it would matter,” he grumbled as we entered the ballroom.
