She added a few more strokes and dropped the pencil, frowning. “I doubt myself, Fox.”
He pulled the paper over and stared at it a long moment, his gut clenching. The mind’s eye could be nearsighted, could even be blind, the memory mistaken. It was how some artists got away with the lies they painted to accommodate the vanity of patrons.
She tapped her fingers on the table. “It was very dark. And I was frightened out of my wits.”
“Let us try something. Close your eyes. I promise I will not hurt you.”
She did as he asked, so quickly that it humbled him.
“Keep your eyes shut and see.” He put his hands to her throat so gently he was barely touching. Still she froze, squeezing her lips and eyes in a grimace.
When he dropped his hands, her eyes shot open, shining with tears.
“Oh, Fox.”
He pulled her against him and stared down at the paper where the face of Sir Richard stared back.
Perry’s head settled on his shoulder again, the soft plumpness of her breasts on his chest sending his blood churning. It was a miracle the men on the road had not unmasked her. And if she but touched her lips to his neck again—
“Fox.”
The whisper into his neck cloth sent him from half-staff to full erection. His hands slipped down to her buttocks and carved handfuls of softness.
“Oh, Fox,” she said, tilting her head to touch his lips.
He matched her demand and guided her off the chair and onto his lap. His hands were busy, inching her skirts up, while she clutched his head at an awkward angle and plundered his mouth.
The sound of footsteps and men’s voices floated in the hall and stilled them. Jane had left the door ajar when she’d walked out. Perry sighed and rested her cheek on his shoulder.
Fox groaned. “He can move more stealthily than that. He’s giving us fair warning.” And thank God for it.
A tremor went through her and she sat up, her eyes searching his. “I believe Father arranged for us to meet here.” She sat up, her eyes searching his. “Did you expect me?”
“No. In fact, your brother warned me away from you.”
She looked away a moment. “Bakeley?”
“Yes.”
“Bakeley was upset that we danced twice at his ball.”
“It was before the ball, when he visited my rooms with your father.”
She sat up.
Perhaps she hadn’t known about the visit that preceded Bakeley’s wedding ball. There had been undercurrents then between the Earl and his heir, frustrations that Bakeley took out on the drunken artist. Hewasdrunk that day, as he’d been most days when he wasn’t working.
Fox had considered not attending the ball, though he’d designed the chalk art for the ballroom floor and was curious to see its execution. When he’d stepped into the ballroom, Perry had drawn him a like a moth to a flame, and all of the threats and warnings had been nothing to him.
A rumbling throat-clearing came from the doorway. Perry sighed, but he was grateful for the interruption.
“I see I’ve come just in time.” The voice was Kincaid’s, not the Earl’s, after all. “Leave off comforting the lass, will you now, Fox? His lordship wants you to join us.”
Perry’s chin went up.
“Lady Perry is coming also.” Fox patted her bottom and moved her off him.
She looked up, a world of love in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.
