“I saw the painting you had covered and set aside,” he continued, swirling his own wine, his dark eyes fixed on her. “Willa as a child. Intriguing.”
“There are three paintings of her,” Hattie said, more terse than she’d intended. “That one, the one with her late husband, and the one with us. I cannot find the last. Do you know where it is?”
Mal shook his head, his smooth brow wrinkling for once. “No. That is odd. Where it could it have gone?”
“I’d forgotten we sat for that,” Ruby said, a little wistfully. “Elias, were you there for that? Or had you left already?”
Hattie’s head swiveled back around to watch him, to observe his answer.
He gave a soft smile, setting his glass down with his long fingers lingering on the stem. “I wasn’t here for the sitting,” he said, “but she made me sit for the painter when I came home for Christmas so he could add me to the ensemble. I’m in it, but I wasn’t really with you all. There but also not.”
“Just like you always were, I suppose,” Monica said softly. “But I’m glad you are there, even so.”
He gave her a little chuckle, shaking his head. “I did it to myself, you know.”
No one replied to that, though Hattie thought they all looked a little shocked that he had said it.
“I’m ready for dessert,” she announced, startling most of them. “Something sweet, please!”
“You heard her,” Rhys said, looking a little alarmed. “Get the baroness her sugar before she has an episode.”
“Not the baroness yet,” Elias pointed out, fingers sliding over that carved crystal, reflecting the red of his wine onto his knuckles as he observed her. “But soon.”
Hattie managed not to make any noises of abject distress.
“Ah, my berries,” Errol said with delight as the crumble was served. “You’re all in for a treat. They were particularly plump and juicy this year.”
At that, Hattie did moan. Just a little. And filled her spoon and her mouth to prevent any further outburst.
She didnotwatch Elias Selwyn eat his berry crumble or the way he smoothed out the dollop of clotted cream over the rich compote and buttery rolled oats. She did not document the curve of his smile as he lingered with the spoon over his lips before taking a bite, every time someone spoke to him.
She ate. And minded her business.
“Fittings tomorrow,” Monica reminded them all as they’d dispersed. “Donottry to wriggle out of it. Rhys.”
“Me?” he said, already clipping to a trot to get away from her.
“Rhys!” she said again, exasperated. “I know you modified that jacket! Come back here.”
“Do you think she’ll catch him?” Elias’s voice, rich and soft, sliding over her skin like warm rain, asked at Hattie’s ear.
She could feel him, the heat of his body, just a little too close, and closed her eyes for just a fraction of a breath, memorizing it. She shivered, turning to gaze up at him, so close, she could smell the sweetness of fruit and cream on his breath.
He paused, surprise flashing in those dark-blue eyes, as though he could see the desire in her face. His gaze flickered overher features, settling on her berry-stained lips. “Hattie,” he said, a little hoarsely. “Stop it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she breathed, marveling at how the air seemed to spark and crackle between them. She wondered if it would shock her if she reached out to touch him just now. She turned her eyes up to lock on his. “Do you want to see the suite? Now that it is finished?”
He inhaled sharply, pressing his lips together. “Do you think that wise?”
“Yes,” she said in barely a murmur. “Come.”
He watched her for a moment, his hands flexing at his sides, and then released a gust of air, taking a hurried step back with a shake of his head and widening of his eyes. “God,” he said. “You have to stop.”
She frowned. “All right. I suppose you can see it after we’re wed.”
“That is when I’m supposed to,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “See it.”
She nodded, disappointment sagging in the heat that roared through her chest, dripping there like melting ice. “All right,” she said again. “Good night, Elias.”
