Page 88 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“Ah. You have no need of donations at the moment, then? For your school? Because I’ve found myself in possession of a tidy sum, and I wish to do some good with it.”
She wove their fingers together, then tugged him toward her study, and once she had him inside, she shut the door, locked it, and pulled him toward the fire where she retrieved theAckermann’sprint and held it out for him to see.
“Not my best,” he said, taking the paper and sinking into a chair.
She sat across from him, not wanting to let him go. Much needed to be said, though, and if the words were right, and true, they would have more hours and days than she could count to touch and kiss and love.
Because that’s what the drawing meant, wasn’t it? Did he love her?
He tugged at his cravat and laid the paper on the table between them. “Stay over there because I have several things to say, and I cannot say them if you tackle me.”
“I will not tackle you. I promise.” Not yet at least.
He took a deep breath and rested his elbows on his knees, leaned forward, and hung his head. “I showed my mother my drawings. The ones I made of you at the party. She saw in them what I’d been hiding from myself.”
She held her breath.
“She rewarded me with my inheritance. A valuable Rubens that Zander has already found a buyer for. I want you to have it. For your school.”
“Thank you. But… what will you do if you give your money to me?”
“I sold an entire portfolio of sketches toAckermann’s, that one included.” He nodded at the paper. “They offered quite a bit and asked for more when I have them. Not as much as I would have gotten for a scandal, but… I’ve changed my mind on that pursuit. One cannot guarantee a scandal. It’s a dicey business, not nearly steady enough for a man who wishes to marry. But the sort of sketches I sold this week… they provide steady income.”
“Is that all, then? Steady income?”
He shook his head, ducked it so she could no longer see his expression.
She knelt before him and cupped his face, lifted it so she could see his eyes. “What else then, Theo?”
The corner of his lip quirked up. “They make me laugh. I have recently discovered it’s one of my favorite activities. Not my absolute favorite one, though.” His gaze dropped to her lips then lower, stopping at the low line of her bodice. He reached across the space between them, knocking the print to the floor, and gathered her to him, pulled her onto his lap, and kissed her cheek, her temple, her neck.
Her breathing quickened. “We’re done talking, then?”
“No. I’ve a few more things to say.”
“Say them, then. So we cando.”
“I find I’m searching for a second position. I was hoping… do you have an opening at the Waneborough Charitable School of Art for a drawing instructor?”
“Hmm.” She tapped her cheek. “I’ll have to check my notes and perhaps speak to the investors.”
“I am one, or I intend to be, and we’re speaking right now. I say it’s a wonderful idea.”
She bit her lip then buried her face in his chest, a doubt heavy as a stone in her chest. “But will you be happy?”
He lifted her chin with his knuckles until their eyes met. “My mother saw in my drawings what I’d been hiding from myself, remember?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I love you.” He kissed the words to her forehead. “I love you.” He burned them into her temple. “I love you.” These whispered against her lips. “I don’t want to live reacting to the past. I want to live in the present. With you. If you want—”
“I do, Theo. I do, I do, I do.” She untied his cravat and tugged and pulled and soon she had it off along with his coat and jacket and waistcoat so that it pooled in a puddle of wool and silk on the floor beneath them.
“You’ve made it farther than the widows did the first time I met you.” His words, his laughter, kissed into her collarbone.
“I have,” she sighed, pushing the V of his shirt wide and flattening her hands on the warm muscle beneath it.
He stood, taking her with him, cradling her in his arms as he strode for the door. “Bed.”
