Page 68 of The Trouble with True Love

“They’re awful, I know,” she said as if reading his mind. “But I can’t cancel the meeting. He’s such a curmudgeon, he’s likely to withdraw the entire campaign if I’m not prepared, and if he does that, we could lose over a thousand pounds in advertising revenue. More, if he’s in a sour mood.”

“Never fear.” Rex stood up and began unbuttoning his black evening jacket. “You shall not lose a single penny.”

“What are you doing?” she asked as he slid his jacket off his shoulders, slung it over the back of his chair, and began unfastening his cuff links.

“What do you think I’m doing?” He dropped the heavy silver cuff links into her pen tray and began rolling up his shirt sleeves. “I’m going to help you.”

Chapter 15

If Rex had any hope his announcement would cause Clara to deem him her knight in shining armor, rush into his arms, and shower him with grateful kisses, he was immediately disappointed.

She frowned, her skepticism obvious. “Have you any talent for drawing?”

“More than you, my sweet,” he countered, plucking her charcoal pencil from behind her ear. He spread out her sketches, and a quick glance over her stick men, skewed bottles, and scribbled notes told him what she was attempting to do. “Shaw’s Liver Pills has a new patent medicine, I see.”

“A cure for colds.”

He made a scoffing sound that earned him a disapproving look.

“Disparaging our advertiser’s product,” she said dryly, “is not inspiring my confidence in your ability.”

“Perhaps this will.” Rex pulled a fresh sheet of drawing paper in front of him, bent over the desk, and began to sketch. It only took a few quick strokes to capture the essence of a happy baby and relieved mother, and by the time she had circled around to his side of the desk, he’d added a replica of a medicine bottle to one side and scrawled the Shaw’s insignia at the top. “There,” he said, straightening. “How’s that?”

Staring down at the page, she made a choked sound of relief, something halfway between a sigh and a sob, and he began to think her initial dim opinion of him was getting a polish at last. He wasn’t sure if he deserved it, but he savored it just the same.

“It’s good. Truly good.” She turned toward him, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank you, Rex. Thank you.”

Her brown eyes were filled with enough gratitude and relief that he thought of pushing his luck and demanding some sweet, sweet compensation, but he refrained. “I just wish I’d known you were in this sort of difficulty earlier,” he said instead. “I’d have come straight here this evening and spared myself the pain of listening to two hours of Wagnerian opera.”

“Is that where you were? Covent Garden?”

He nodded. “That’s where I spoke with Lady David. I saw her across the way, in the duke’s box, noted you weren’t with her party, and decided it was time to run you to earth.”

“I’m so glad you did. Can you... would you mind doing a few more of these?”

“That depends. Have you anything to eat?”

“You want food?”

“Well, there are other compensations I could ask for,” he couldn’t resist saying, “but I’ll settle for a plate of sandwiches.”

“I think I can manage that.” She gestured to some handwritten pages piled on one side of her desk. “Those are the notes of my meeting with Hazel before she left for Surrey. Read those and you’ll have an idea of what we had in mind. We want to propose six advertisements.”

“So, six sketches?” When she nodded, he resumed his seat and reached for her pile of notes. “Consider it done.”

Clara went off in search of sandwiches, and after reading through her notes, he set to work. By the time she returned, he had completed two sketches and was halfway through a third, but when he caught sight of the tray she put on the desk beside him, he stopped.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as he stared askance at the four miniscule triangles on the plate.

“If you expect work out of a man, you’ll have to feed him better than that, Clara.”

“It doesn’t seem like much food, I suppose, not to you. But—” She stopped, and as he turned in his chair to look at her, he noted in some surprise the hot color flooding her cheeks. “It’s j... just that our cook is still in the kitchen. Sh... she’s always the last to... umm... to go to bed. If I had asked her for more food than I usually eat...”

“She’d get the wind up?” he finished for her when she stopped again.

Clara nodded, looking at her feet. “It’s not really proper, you know,” she whispered. “You being here. Alone. With me.”

It wasn’t proper at all. More than that, it was risky as hell, especially given what had already passed between them, but he had no intention of pointing that out.

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