Page 78 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
She should feel victorious about that. Perhaps he’d stayed to do as she’d asked him to—speak with Pentshire. But she could muster only an achy sort of grumpiness. Part of her had wanted him to give chase, to prove he wouldn’t, like all the rest, simply leave her. Forget her in the end.
She walked aimlessly through her house, tracing her fingers along the walls, righting picture frames, and slightly turning vases. Theplonkof piano keys echoed from the second floor, and the voices of teachers echoed up from the ground floor. She was as surrounded as she’d been at the party, but lonelier than ever. She’d done it to herself.
But for a good cause.
The door to her Gallery of Shame was closed, and she pressed a palm to it until that hand fisted tight, the need to fling open the door and smash all her failures to the ground almost crushing her. But she flattened her palm again. Her lack of talent as an artist was no failure, but living life to please others was. Theo had called her an artist of life, and that felt much truer than painter, sculptor, or any other more esteemed title. She’d cling to that, bring her visions to life.
Even if Theo hated her now.
A banging below made her jump, and she rushed to the top of the stairs.
“Mrs. Barkley?” she called out.
Mrs. Barkley ran into the entryway, peeked through the slender window on one side of the door and screeched, “The gargoyle!”
He’d arrived. Her heart leapt, and she told it to shush. No matter how much she wanted to fling herself at him and kiss him, she had to stay strong.
She fled down the hall. “Whatever you do, do not let him in!”
The lock slammed home in the front door.
“Cordelia!” Though his yells were muffled by thick wooden doors and stout walls, they shook the rafters. “Cordelia!” More banging. “Open up!” he bellowed.
She swung into her bedroom at the front of the house and took a steadying breath. She’d have to face him, and she could not quite be sure of how she’d react. Leap out of the window and into his arms? Hopefully not. That’s why she’d chosen the first-floor window in the house to speak to him through. Unlikely she’d ever be truly ready for this, so she faced it anyway, flinging the window open, sticking her head out, and wrapping her hands round the sill.
Oh. There he was, and where she’d expected to confront the gargoyle, he stood before her as the man, the Theo who brushed her hair and gave funny drawings to street children. The window wasn’t that high. And he was a strong man. He’d catch her. Right? She should just jump right into his arms and—
No! She must remember her purpose, stay focused on her principles.
“Cordelia,” he said, his voice a ragged breath, a tear in the air around them.
Ignore it.Ignoreit. “Good afternoon, my lord. It is lovely to see you. Now, will you please scurry off? Return to whatever rooftop you swooped down from.”
“Let me in.” He lifted his hands, palms up and open, vulnerable.
“You’ve come for your sketches.”
“I’ve come foryou.”
“Liar.”
“Of course I want the sketches back, Cordelia! But I want you, too. Now stop being such a little fool, and—”
“A fool, am I?” Yes, quite. She disappeared back into the house, slipping her hands into her hair and tugging. She rather thought she might pull it all out before he understood her position.
“Will you come downstairs and let me in?” he called out.
“No!” she shouted, returning to the window.
“Very well, then.” His gaze bounced around the front of the townhouse, then he removed his gloves, smashed them halfway into his pockets, and rubbed his bare palms together, inching toward the house.
“What are you doing?”
He put a foot on the window ledge and hauled himself upward, reaching high to grab the top edge of the window. “I think that should be obvious. If people can exit through your windows, Cordelia, then I can enter through them.”
“Theo! This window is much higher up than the other!” The window she’d pushed her instructors out of had been at ground level. This one on the first floor.
“I can manage.” He grunted, swung his leg up to the side, and found a step of some sort in the brick momentarily before his foot shot off and he hung from his fingers, cursing.
