by Lacey, Lilac
Leo gave a chuckle that turned to outright laughter as their eyes met. ‘Holes!’ he said. ‘You know as well as I that tale was as elaborate a piece of lacework that ever came out of France from start to finish. I simply gave him the opportunity to further embellish it.’
‘You needn’t have made it so obvious,’ Tara said crossly. The other guests were drifting back into the drawing room, where no doubt Freddie had had card tables set up during dinner. Antonia, she was pleased to see, was being escorted back by Philippe. ‘If Miss Palmer weren’t so gullible you’d have ruined Philippe’s chances with her.’
‘She is very naive,’ Leo said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps it is my duty to relieve her of her innocent incredulity - before she makes any rash decisions.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Tara said, quite incensed at his proposed perfidy. ‘Poor Philippe has been through so much and he needs to marry well. But he is so entertaining and charming that there is no reason he should settle for some rich old spinster whom nobody else wants. He needs someone lively, young and wealthy. Antonia Palmer would suit him perfectly.’
‘Ah, but would he suit her?’ Leo asked. ‘He is obviously completely broke and he is taking no steps to remedy that other than try to catch himself a rich wife.’
‘What else would you have him do?’ Tara demanded. ‘He can hardly hire himself out as a lamplighter for the parish of Westminster.’
‘But that is exactly what he could do,’ Leo said, catching her free hand and drawing her round so they were looking straight into each other’s eyes. ‘He could do that or any other honest job, shop assistant, fishing hand, farm labourer. He’s strong and healthy, there is nothing to stop him earning his own living, nothing at all. But he’s been here what, four or five years? He was very vague on dates in his story, and he has done nothing to improve his position except hanker after heiresses, all of whom so far, thank goodness, have had enough sense to steer clear of a shameless gold-digger.’
Tara wrenched herself apart from Leo. ‘How dare you insult my friend!’ she exclaimed. ‘Philippe is not a gold-digger, he simply wants to reclaim his rightful position in society.’
Leo’s eyes glittered dangerously. ‘If he is so eligible why haven’t you married him?’ Tara was caught completely off guard, coming from Leo the question was so entirely unexpected. Leo must have seen her surprise for he pressed his advantage. ‘You flirted with him during dinner, some might say you led him on. Perhaps for all your talk you secretly don’t want him to look at other women.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Tara snapped, struggling to regain her composure. ‘Philippe and I could never be more than friends and I am perfectly sure he knows that.’
‘But why not?’ Leo demanded. ‘Isn’t a poverty-stricken refugee good enough for you? You said he was delightful and charming. Could it be that you along with all the other women of the ton regard position and wealth as an essential a quality in a man as a compatible personality?’
‘Of course not!’ Tara said before she could think about it and then felt the colour rise in her cheeks as she wondered if she did. Was that why she was so sure she should make an effort to convince Leo she had no interest in himself? Did she think an artist was not good enough for her? Angrily she pushed the thought away. ‘Philippe could never be a farm labourer,’ she said, hoping to distract him. ‘He is far too refined, he would never be happy in such an occupation.’
It worked. ‘He could write, or act,’ Leo suggested impatiently. ‘He has amply demonstrated his ability in both those areas tonight.’ Then when Tara remained stubbornly silent he added ‘Look at me, I took up painting.’
It was as if a puzzle piece suddenly righted itself in her mind. She didn’t have the whole picture, but all at once something about Leo made a little bit more sense. ‘What do you mean?’ Tara asked. Leo was tall and powerfully built, he didn’t look as though he would balk at farm labour, and he clearly wasn’t French, yet he had compared something in his own situation to that of Philippe.
‘Nothing,’ Leo said brusquely. ‘Look, the others are waiting for us to make up sets for cards.’
‘Did you…’ Tara wasn’t even sure what she had intended to ask, but Leo took her arm again and inexorably propelled her into the drawing room. She couldn’t ask him anything about himself in front of the other guests; it was clear he was hiding something but she was equally sure that he would deflect all her enquiries should she be indiscreet enough to make any here. Besides, much as she wanted to know what Leo wished to conceal she had no desire to make his secret public knowledge. She would have to wait for her final portrait sitting and try to get it out of him then.
Chapter Five
My dear Lady Tara,
I hope this note finds you in good health etc...
Tara smiled when she read the etc, Rodney was not really a man of letters and he made his note easier on the both of them by choosing to circumvent the formalities.
I am holding a small house party at my father’s home at Wallingford, Oxfordshire, beginning on the fifteenth and I would be delighted if you could join me there for the week.
Yours in eager anticipation,
Sir Rodney Hulme
Short and to the point, but that was all that Rodney’s invitation had to commend it. Tara frowned at the letter in her hand. She had been quite sure that the transfer of Rodney’s affections from herself to Lady Susannah was secure, but apparently not. There was no question about it; she would have to refuse the invitation, which was a pity. Wallingford, on the Thames, was a pretty place from all accounts and more to the point it would have made a convenient stop on her way back to Wiltshire for the summer. Tara considered the date and did a quick reckoning. Her younger brother Richard would be returning home from Eton shortly after and she was looking forward to seeing him, the timing and the location of Rodney’s house party would have complemented her plans perfectly. But there was no hope for it; she could not encourage him by agreeing to attend. She would simply have to travel home to Wiltshire by her usual route and stay in a posting house on the way if she could not face making the entire journey in one day.
Before she could be tempted by the prospect of extending her season and seeing friends for one more week in Rodney’s home Tara snatched up pen and paper and wrote a brief refusal to the invitation then she summoned her maid Betty. ‘Please deliver this to Sir Rodney,’ she said. ‘There is no need to wait for a reply.’
‘Darling Tara,’ Rodney said the next day, almost as soon as he had helped her into the phaeton preparatory to taking her to Leo’s studio for her final sitting. ‘I had hoped you would do me the most tremendous favour.’
‘Oh?’ Tara said a little warily, but agreeing to marriage wasn’t usually termed a favour so Rodney probably wasn’t about to propose.
‘You turned down the invitation to my little gathering,’ Rodney began, letting the horses set their own pace and Tara had the impression he was allowing time for a lengthy discussion. ‘I had been very much hoping you would come, counting on it in fact.’ He paused, perhaps expecting her to make some reply to show that she was flattered by this revelation, but Tara was still too dubious about where the conversation was leading to want to give him any encouragement. ‘You see the guest list is rather small and the situation might be described as delicate,’ Rodney continued when it apparently became obvious that she wasn’t going to speak. ‘You are one of my closest friends, one of my closest lady friends. In fact I have no others. Freddie is kindly supplying his cousin Antonia Palmer, but she is very young and shy and, well, you are not.’
Tara managed to turn a laugh into a cough at what she expected was an unintentional insult.
‘Not that I mean to imply that you are no longer young,’ Rodney said hastily, ‘But Miss Palmer has just made her come out and while she is Susannah’s age and I am sure they will be friends I need someone like you to be present.’
‘Rodney, are you asking me to chaperone Lady Susannah at your house party?’ Tara said somewhat bemused
ly. She knew she was a few years older than Susannah and Antonia, but she hadn’t seen herself in the chaperone role yet.
‘No, No! Of course not!’ Rodney seemed quite mortified by the suggestion.
‘Then perhaps you could come to the point,’ Tara said gently.
Rodney was apparently lost in thought for a moment and the horses idled to a stop in the middle of the road, then a donkey cart bustled past them and he seemed to come to a decision. He turned to Tara.
‘The thing is this,’ he said. ‘Lady Susannah and I are not yet engaged and it wouldn’t be proper for me to invite her to stay with me on her own, it needs to be among a larger party. So you can see why I need you, and you are so au fait with these things, the other ladies are just out of the school room but conversation at the dinner table would never flag if you were present. Then once Susannah has seen Wallingford…’ he hesitated and she saw him colour slightly, ‘I hope she will agree to marry me. But if there are not at least six in the party I am sure her parents won’t permit her to come. So you can see why it would mean so much to me to have you there.’
Although it was exactly what she wanted to hear, Tara found herself at a loss for words. She was very thankful that Rodney had so sincere an attachment to Lady Susannah and there was no longer any danger of his proposing to her. She had no doubt that Susannah would accept, she had been inseparable from Rodney at Freddie’s dinner party, so why did she have a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of spending a few days in the country with a group of her friends. Surely she didn’t secretly want Rodney to dangle after her? Tara shook her head to try and clear it. If that was how she truly felt it was a secret from herself as well.
‘Oh please say you’ll come,’ Rodney said, beside her and Tara realized he must have thought she had been replying to him.
‘I, er, it’s very kind of you to invite me,’ she said, trying to think of a plausible excuse with which to buy time before answering him. Much as she would like to help Rodney she wanted to discover the source of her reluctance to join him for the week before she committed herself. ‘I have one or two affairs which need my attention,’ she said vaguely. ‘I shall let you know if I am able to attend as soon as - oh, here we are.’ The phaeton turned the corner into the top of Leo’s street and Tara was well aware that she had ample time to give Rodney a straightforward yes or no. But with their destination in sight she was counting on him to be too much of a gentleman to press the question. He did not disappoint her.
‘Please rest your arm on the pillar,’ Leo said as Rodney departed. Tara obeyed, wondering how she could naturally bring up the subject of how Leo became a painter, but he gave her no openings. In fact he simply stood and looked at her for a disconcertingly long time. His gaze was different from last time, he brushed over her face and concentrated almost exclusively on her hair and Tara found that the feeling of being touched by Leo’s eyes simply was not there. Her heart seemed to lurch inside her chest. Had she misinterpreted professional appraisal as something far more personal and intimate? It seemed that she had. ‘Is something wrong?’ Leo asked.
‘No, no, of course not,’ Tara stammered, wondering what she could say to explain herself, but Leo seemed to have jumped to his own conclusions.
‘It can be rather fatiguing, staying still while one’s hair is sketched. When I have chalked it in I shall bring you a stool.’
‘Thank you,’ Tara said faintly.
‘Now there are a few curls which could be arranged to better advantage,’ Leo said. ‘If you will permit me…’
Unsure what she was agreeing to Tara murmured ‘Of course,’ and was quite taken by surprise when Leo advanced upon her, comb in hand. Deftly he drew it through the loose sections of her long, dark hair, artfully arranging it so that the fullness of the curls rested on her shoulders and framed her face.
‘Your hair is luxuriant,’ Leo said, meeting her eyes for a moment and once more Tara felt her heart leap. While it wasn’t the caressing look of last week, it was as if he had blown her a kiss and she felt an answering smile take her lips. ‘Just a little more here,’ Leo said softly and she felt his fingertips warm on her scalp as he separated an errant lock of hair and drew it forward. ‘And this curl should be…so! Perfect.’
He thought she was perfect. Only for the purposes of painting this portrait, Tara told herself hastily, but it made no difference. She couldn’t help it, she was happy that he thought her perfect no matter how limited the sphere in which the statement was made.
Leo began sketching and Tara held very still, unwilling to disturb his work, but after quarter of an hour he laid down his chalk. ‘Please try to keep your head at the same angle,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring you the stool and you can sit down as long as you are careful.’ She couldn’t turn her head to see exactly where he put it, so she allowed Leo to help her onto it, trusting him completely as he guided her onto the tall stool behind her. ‘You’re very quiet today,’ Leo observed. She sensed a challenge in his voice, but he had given her the opening she had been waiting for.
‘I was simply wondering,’ she said as artlessly as she could. ‘What led you to take up painting.’ He froze mid-step, and she suddenly realized she had asked the worst possible question she could have possibly asked.
‘It seemed a passable way to make a living,’ Leo said stiffly after a long moment, making no move to pick up his brush, and she was sure there was a great deal more he wasn’t telling her. Should she change the subject or push for more, Tara felt uncharacteristically indecisive. This was the last time she would see Leo, should she risk offending him even more than she had at Freddie’s dinner party when she knew there would be no further opportunity to make amends? But she felt consumed with the desire to know more about him and she decided to push for more.
‘Was your father a painter?’ she asked, somehow sure his father was no longer alive.
‘No.’ It wasn’t a promising reply. Tara was plucking up the courage to ask what his father had done when suddenly, in one stride, Leo stood before her. He did not meet her eyes and she could see his pulse beating at the base of his throat through the open neck of his white shirt. She longed to put up her hand and touch him there or better still to press her cheek against his chest and breathe in the scent of him but she didn’t dare. Then he took her hands in his own.
‘I don’t like to talk about my family,’ he said so softly that had his face not been only inches from hers she never would have heard him. His grip tightened on her hands as he spoke and she instinctively returned the pressure. Ever so slowly he raised her right hand to his lips and kissed it, just once. But with that kiss, so tender yet so sure, Tara felt herself fall completely under his spell.
‘It’s finished,’ Leo said a long time later.
‘Did Rodney tell you he plans to give the picture to his father?’ Tara said, suddenly nervous, wondering if the beauty she had seen in the half finished picture would still be there or if had only been an interim step in the process.
‘Does he really?’ Leo asked. She thought he sounded surprisingly pleased but she was too taken up with wondering how she would look to consider it further. ‘Aren’t you coming to see?’ Leo asked after a moment.
Tara glanced at him, and when their eyes met it was as if he could see through to her soul and could tell how unsure she was. He smiled and held out his hand. Hesitantly she put her hand in his and let him lead her around to the front of the portrait.
She looked even more stunning than she had when the work was only half finished. Her deep brown curls framed her face and her dark eyes gazed out, ensnaring the viewer, while her expression, lips slightly parted and laughing, looked just as merry and inviting as she had remembered. Her décolletage was daringly low, her skin rising up from the plunging coral neckline was smooth and creamy and her shape voluptuous. So this was how Leo saw her. She felt as though he had stripped her naked and then clothed her in his paint.
‘You are magnificent,’ Leo murmured beside
her. She turned and saw he was not looking at the painting but instead he gazed directly at her. His look was aphrodisiacal. She felt her nipples straining under the silk of her dress and she longed for the feel of his hands on her breasts. As if he read her mind he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. ‘You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met,’ Leo said softly. He bent his head until his lips grazed hers. ‘Deeply, erotically beautiful. You are Cleopatra and Venus de Milo.’ She felt his lips move against hers with every word, tantalising her with this not-quite kiss. ‘But would you stoop to a tryst with a penniless artist?’
Yes. Driving home with Rodney afterwards Tara could not be sure whether or not she had actually whispered her answer. Whether she had or not was lost as the door banged open and acting on instinct alone she placed her palms on his chest and forcibly pushed them both apart. Leo’s face looked stricken, but surely he could not have wished Rodney to catch them in so compromising a position. If his seduction of his female sitters became common knowledge amongst the ton his clients would stay away in droves. His reputation was quite as much at risk as hers.
‘Is the daub finished then?’ Rodney asked cheerfully. Tara felt overwhelmed with relief. Even if Rodney’s interest in her was no longer proprietal she was sure he would have taken umbrage had he actually seen her in Leo’s arms. ‘I say, she’s turned out very pretty. I’ve half a mind not to give this to my father after all, although Susannah might be a little miffed if I keep it.’
‘Is this painting really for your father?’ Leo sounded quite scandalized, but Rodney seemed to notice nothing untoward.
‘Yes, he’s always had an eye for a pretty lady. This will make a perfect birthday present for him.’
‘He’s not…’ Leo’s expression looked rather strained, ‘he’s not contemplating an alliance with Lady Tara, is he?’