Page 54 of A Figure of Love

It was Gareth who’d asked her, making a special trip out to her workshop to make the request.

Serena had commenced working on the statue the day after Etienne’s visit, and the work was coming along quite nicely. She was looking at the sketches she’d tacked all around her when she heard something behind her. Her heart jumped into her throat and a hundred thoughts raced through her mind in the time it took to turn: was it Etienne? Had he returned like he’d threatened?

But no, it was not.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Lombard.” His light gray eyes studiously avoided the dozens of overlapping, messy drawings covering the walls. “I understand many artists do not like their work viewed before completion?”

Serena smiled. “I am not so high strung, Mr. Lockheart. If I’d had such reservations, I never would have survived in the studio I was trained in, which had three or four apprentice sculptors working at all times.” She paused. “Would you like to see what you have commissioned for the centerpiece of your garden?”

He stepped into the room. “I already know—Judith holding a likeness of Mr. McElroy’s head.”

Serena laughed. “That was bad of me, was it not?”

Rare amusement glinted in his eyes. “I would like to see what you are really sculpting.”

She turned, intensely aware of his body as he came to stand beside her. She pointed to the first of the drawings. “These represent all sides starting from the front. I’ve chosen an unusual classical figure.”

She turned in time to see a tiny, but wry, smile flex his lips. “Ah, for an unusual house and it’s unusual owner.”

“Something like that.” She gestured to the first drawing again. “This is Coeus—have you heard of him?”

“My knowledge of the classics is not strong. A Greek deity, perhaps?”

“Close, he was one of the Titans, and is associated with intellect and inquisitive minds.”

When he didn’t speak, she turned. That’s when she realized he wasn’t looking at the wall at all, but at her sketchbook, which lay open to a nude picture of his body, from the rear. Before she could gather her wits and pounce on the book, he leaned down and turned the page. This picture was of the front, and there was no mistaking who it was.

He continued turning pages, only stopping when he reached a blank one. Thirteen sketches in all; she’d never counted them before.

Serena’s body was hot all over; a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and arousal flooded her anew with each page he turned.

He looked up at her, his gray eyes wintry, like an ice-covered lake. “It seems you have the advantage of me, Mrs. Lombard.”

Serena tried to smile but failed miserably.

“I would say these are from your imagination, but the details,” he shook his head and glanced down, flipping the pages rapidly before looking up again. “Well, this is undoubtedly what I see when I look in the mirror. You are quite a draftsman. When?”

“At the river.”

His eyebrows arched over his frosty eyes. “You were there?”

“I came to see Oliver. But when I arrived, you were both swimming and enjoying yourselves. If I had interrupted you? Well—” she shrugged.

“So instead you spied and sketched me.” It was not a question.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lockheart. I never should—”

He raised a hand and she stopped.

“I don’t want your apology, Mrs. Lombard.”

“Oh?” The single syllable was more of a squeak than a word.

“No, I want an opportunity to make my own sketches.”

“What?”

He nodded, his expression as serious and unreadable as ever.