Page 31 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

There was no time to wonder about that because at that moment, Daphne clambered into the carriage and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Shall we go?” she asked cheerfully. “Good gracious, why are you two glaring at each other like that?”

CHAPTER 9

Ihate art galleries. So pretentious, Christian thought moodily. He eyed the painting they were currently inspecting, a rather blurry-looking portrait of a mournful long-haired woman.

Perhaps there was some fine, deep meaning that he was missing. Or perhaps it was simply a poor collection of paintings.

Why on earth did my sister want to come here? What clue have I missed?

He glanced around the gallery, frowning. The Castwell Art Gallery was made up of one large room with a mezzanine around the top half of the space. Pictures hung on the walls, seemingly at random. There were no other nobles here currently. There’d been no mention of the gallery in the Society papers, and it was certainly not a fashionable spot.

Efforts had been made to make the gallery a little more interesting. For example, sculptures were set in rounded alcoves, flanked by large stone pillars. Anybody wanting to look at the sculptures in private might step behind a pillar and earn themselves some privacy.

Daphne, who had a great interest in the arts, had wandered off with Edwin in tow. Since their marriage, the two had seldom been apart. Still, when Christian invited them to accompany him, he had hoped she would try a little harder to chaperone Thalia.

He had not told them the truth. He had simply said that he wished to take a young woman out to an art gallery and let their imaginations take care of the rest.

The young woman in question stood beside him, scowling at the mournful portrait.

“I wish I had more taste for art,” she murmured, “but these paintings are all rather bland. Pretty but not breathtaking. I prefer a more fiery scene, you know. Judith cutting off the head of the Assyrian is one of my favorites.”

“Of course, it is,” he muttered, biting back a smile.

She scowled at him. “Are you teasing me?”

“Naturally. But if you would like me to stop, all you must do is ask. I am always happy to oblige a beautiful lady.”

Thalia shot him an incredulous look. “Are you flirting with me?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “There’s no need to sound so horrified.”

“Isn’t there?”

“No.”

“Well, I might have thought that you would contain yourself. After all, this is supposed to be a mission to track down your sister, is it not? Can you not be serious for two minutes?”

Christian narrowed his eyes, stepping towards her. Her eyes widened, and he heard her breath catch in her throat. She did not step back, however. No, she was entirely too proud for that.

“My sister will not be served by my breaking down in tears and curling up on the floor,” he responded evenly. “I can assure you, my dear, that my face is like a large lake. You might see the calm surface, but you cannot guess what is underneath.”

“That is a stupid metaphor,” she scoffed. “One can jump in a lake. Anyway, there’s generally not much there except silt, pondweed, and fish. Now, I can’t tell what is inside your head, but I can assure you that my head is not full of silt and seaweed.”

“Seaweed? In a lake?” he wondered aloud.

She gave an annoyed growl, loud enough to make a frilly-clothed woman beside them flinch and spin around in horror. “You are the one who introduced this ridiculous metaphor to the conversation.”

“It is a perfectly good metaphor.”

“It is not. It is stupid.”

“Perhaps too lofty a concept for you?”

Thalia looked like she wanted to stamp her foot, but wisely decided against it at the last moment. The woman scrambled away, casting horrified looks over her shoulder.

Perhaps we are a little too loud.