Page 107 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

He frowned at her. “Alone?”

“Of course, alone.”

His frown deepened to a scowl. They had been engaged fewer than two weeks, and already he didn’t like the idea of her venturing out unaccompanied. A ridiculous masculine reaction. It was directly at odds with Teddy’s principles. He’d never been one of those witless, overbearing men who thought women should be safeguarded and surveilled like pieces of valuable property rather than rational individuals.

Nevertheless…

She glanced up at him. “I can see what you’re thinking,” she said, setting down the sketch. “But I’m not a young lady having a season anymore. And I’m no longer the sister of a clergyman. I’m soon to be an artist’s wife. The rules are different for us, I believe.”

Teddy refrained from pointing out that she was still the sister of a clergyman. “You’re not an artist’s wife yet,” he reminded her instead.

“I very nearly am. We’ve had an engagement dinner, I’ve met your family, and Mr. Finchley has only yesterday finished drafting the documents protecting my inheritance and my ownership of Locket.”

In case things fell apart between them, she might have added.

But she didn’t.

“The terms are very probably not enforceable, Mr. Finchley said,” she went on. “Not by traditional legal means. But he’s assured me that won’t be an impediment with him as my solicitor.”

Teddy imagined not. Tom had never yet met a legal objective he couldn’t attain for one of his clients. It’s what made him so dangerous. Teddy was glad Stella had him on her side, whatever the future might hold.

She crossed to his canvas, registering its size for the first time. “Goodness. Is all this for me?”

Teddy rolled his chair to join her. The wooden wheels caught briefly on a fold in the drop cloth. His biceps contracted as he forced his chair over it. “And for the sea. It’s not a small piece by any means.”

“How will you reach it all?”

“Different sized easels,” he answered. On its own, the canvas was just an inch or two shorter than he was when seated in his chair. It would have to be raised higher at times, depending on which section he worked on.

“Do you already know exactly how you’re going to paint it?” she asked.

“Not exactly, no.” The vision wasn’t set in stone. Far from it. It hovered ahead of him, just out of reach. A luminous, starry vapor, shifting and swirling, at times settling into the form of a woman. Of Stella.

He rubbed the side of his jaw, gazing at the blank canvas along with her. It had already been primed and prepared with a light background. He’d learned the technique from Gleyre in Paris, working alongside one of the atelier’s French students, Mr. Monet, who was of a similar age to Teddy. A light background was better at reflecting the light than a dark one.

“Pity I couldn’t have taken you to Devon with me,” he said. “The cliffs overlooking the sea would have been perfect.”

“Will that be an impediment? Beginning indoors as we are?”

“Not an insurmountable one. I’ve painted that sea so many times. It’s already here.” He tapped his temple. “And here.” He touched his chest. “Echoes of all the work I’ve done. I can conjure them whenever I like.”

Her skirts brushed his leg as she drifted closer. He heard it, rather than felt it. That didn’t stop his heart from losing its rhythm. Sometimes sound could be a physical sensation. Especially when it was the sound of her—her clothes, her voice, her breath.

“Am I there, too?” she asked softly. “In your heart and in your head?”

He met her eyes. There was the barest hint of uncertainty in her face. He recognized that look—that fear. It was the same fear he had about painting her. That vague but persistent feeling that, despite their engagement, despite the promises they’d made to each other, it might all slip away before he could truly grasp it.

Perhaps he’d continue to feel it until they were married. Until that moment when she was actually his.

“You’re in both of those places,” he said. “You have been since I first set eyes on you. But…” His brow creased. “I can’t capture you in the same way as I can the sea. For that I need more than an echo. I need you here—in front of me.”

She gestured to herself, half smiling. “I’m here, as you see.”

“So you are,” he said. The warmth of her nearness gave way to the overpowering urge to commit her to canvas. “Would you mind locking the door?”

Stella did as he asked her.

It was frankly a miracle that the door had a lock. It hadn’t to begin with. Teddy had made a point of having the workmen install one first thing.