“It does look like her, very much.” He handed the paper back to Barnaby. “She was a pretty little girl, and she’s grown into a lovely young lady.”
“She’s a perfect angel.” Barnaby cast a yearning glance across the room, where Lady Cora sat with her mother, Lady Fosberry, and Juliet, all four of them admiring each other’s drawings. “Rather a pleasant way to pass an afternoon, eh, Cross? I don’t say it compares to grouse hunting, but it was diverting, for all that. It was clever of Miss Templeton to think of it.”
Julietwasclever. Too clever, and too…everything. Too distracting, too provoking, and too beautiful. Every instinct of self-preservation screamed at him to toss her out his front door and let the wind and rain blow her back to London, before it was too late for him.
But it was already too late, wasn’t it?
Six days. Six short days, and he was already thinking of her as Juliet again, despite his every effort not to think of her at all. Somehow, without his permission she’d become Juliet in his mind, if not on his lips—
“Stop that incessant glowering, Cross.” Barnaby frowned at him. “Do you suppose Miss Templeton doesn’t notice that every time you look at her, you’re glaring?”
“Don’t be absurd. I’m not glaring at Miss Templeton.”
Miles tore his gaze away from her, but a moment later it was already wandering back to her again. He was helpless to resist the temptation of that face.
She was studying the sketch she’d done ofhim—he knew it, somehow, though he didn’t know how he could, since he couldn’t see her paper. Perhaps it was the puzzled expression on her face, as if she couldn’t quite make sense of what she was seeing.
Miles forced his attention back to Barnaby. “How is Lady Cora’s sketch of you? Did she do you justice?”
Barnaby grinned. “More than justice. I never realized I was such a handsome devil.”
Miles snorted. “All the Cross men are uncommonly handsome, Barnaby.”
“Miss Templeton seems to thinkyouare.” Barnaby gave him a sly nudge.
“Does she?” Miles followed his cousin’s glance, his own catching and holding on Juliet’s face, as it always did whenever he risked a look at her.
“Yes. I can’t think what she sees in an unpleasant fellow like you, Cross, but there’s no denying there’s a certain… affection in her portrayal of you. Warmth, even.”
Warmth?No, surely not. “You’re mistaken, cousin.”
“Not a bit of it, Cross. Have a look at her sketch yourself, if you don’t believe me.” Barnaby took up his drawing of Lady Cora, slid it into his coat pocket, then gave Miles a friendly slap on the back. “I’m off to escort Lady Cora and her mother through the portrait gallery. They expressed a desire to see it, though I can’t think why. There’s nothing to see but a bunch of dull portraits of fusty old Cross earls and countesses.”
Miles nodded, but Barnaby’s ramblings slipped meaninglessly through his ears.
All of his attention was once again absorbed by Juliet Templeton.
Her sketch of him… he wanted to see it.
No. It was more than that, worse than that.
Heneededto see it.
Burned to see it.
Yet what good would come of it? He’d see her sketch, and then what? She’d demand to see his sketch of her, and it would only delay the inevitable end of this strange attraction between them. With every word they exchanged, every furtive glance between them, he slipped a little further under the surface.
Soon enough, he’d be drowning in her again.
But even as these dark thoughts wound through his head, he was winding his way across the room, bypassing his other guests with hardly a glance, his gaze full ofher.
Always her.
“Miss Templeton. May I have a word?”
She gave him such a wary look he caught her wrist—again, because he couldn’t seem to stop touching her—to forestall a refusal, but before she could say a word, Lady Fosberry gave Juliet a tranquil smile and a little pat on the shoulder. “Go on, dearest. I fancy a rest before it’s time to dress for supper.”
Juliet shook her head, her blue eyes wide. “Oh, but I don’t think—”
