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If not rendered by Lord Cassius, then by another artist. And that would take time. Not two and a half years, but she welcomed anything that delayed the painting’s completion and subsequently, forcing her to trudge down the aisle against her will.
Not that she intended to let the painting progress to the point of Uncle Cedric ever seeing the finished product. How fortuitous that Lord Cassius wanted her to bring her pets to his studio. All manner of accidents might occur.
Hadn’t dear Nala already proven that?
Beatrice raised her gaze to Lord Cassius, startled to find him observing her intently. He saw much more than he commented upon. She understood the power of observation, for she practiced it too. It was, however, rather uncanny to be the object and not the observer.
“Two pence for your thoughts, Miss Fairfax.”
Chagrin almost made her drop her gaze, but avoidance would certainly give her away.
She managed what she hoped was a winsome smile rather than a guilt-ridden one. “I assure you, they are not worth t-two farthings.”
“Why is it I doubt that?” He cast a side-long glance toward the easel. “I think you’ve forgotten I’m an artist. We can see what most people try to hide.” He pointed to his eyes—so striking, so blue. “The eyes speak—windows to the soul and all that.”
“Quoting Shakespeare?” She didn’t much care for the famous bard’s works. A fact she kept to herself since so many revered the playwright.
Lord Cassius shook his head, a dark shock of hair falling over his high forehead. “Actually, I referred to the Roman philosopher Cicero, when he said, ‘The face is a picture of the mind as the eyes are its interpreter.’”
“So you think you can read my mind?” He couldn’t possibly know her thoughts—her devious scheme.
He cocked an aristocratic eyebrow.
“You, Miss Fairfax, are far more complex than you let on.”
Beatrice cast a worried glance at Millborn, who had perked up at the conversation’s strange turn.
“I have n-no idea what you mean, Lord C-Cassius. I am simply and dutifully sitting for a portrait.”
Beatrice purposefully widened her eyes to appear innocent, except her blasted stutter gave her away. Up to now, she’d barely stuttered in his presence today.
Eyebrows pinched together, Millborn wavered her attention between them, obviously confused and suspicious. “Did something happen while I napped?”
The coach rolled to a stop in front of the studio, saving Beatrice from having to answer. Instead, she took Millborn’s elbow.
“We’ll see you Friday, Lord Cassius.”
“Don’t forget the dogs,” he reminded with a good-natured smile.
Was he teasing her?
Once settled inside the coach, Beatrice leaned forward and peered out the window.
Lord Cassius stood in the doorway, a bemused smile bending his mouth.
On a naughty impulse, she stuck her tongue out, and he threw his head back and laughed.
As she settled back into the seat, her blood rushing through her veins, the truth hit Beatrice with such force that she slumped against the seat.
That was what flirting felt like.
And she liked it.
Liked it very much, indeed.
