Page 44 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“A half dozen? My pieces take rather longer.”

“As I perceive. Are you nearly done yet?”

“Just a bit more shading,” he said.

She sighed. “So much effort. It seems a waste if I’m only to burn it.”

Her statement was met with several seconds of profound silence. It was long enough for her to regret speaking so glibly. She was just opening her mouth to apologize when she heard him set down his pencil.

“It would be a shame if you did.” He tore the page from his sketchbook. “There. It’s finished. It’s yours.”

She turned fully in her chair to find him extending the sketch to her. She eagerly reached for it. Their bare fingers brushed. It was only for an instant. The space of a breath, a heartbeat. But it was long enough.

A jolt of unmistakable heat shot through Stella. Her eyes jerked to Teddy’s. Their gazes locked and held for a moment—hers questioning and his dark with a sudden intensity.

It was the first time they’d touched—ungloved skin to skin. A second’s contact, merely. Yet, Stella had the uneasy sense that it had changed something between them. Indeed, the very air around them crackled with a palpable tension.

She could think of nothing else to do but take the sketch and resume her seat. She focused her full attention on it, doing her best to ignore the quickening of her pulse.

Had she not just experienced a cataclysmic physical response to the touch of a gentleman’s hand, she might have experienced one from viewing the way that gentleman saw her.

He’d reproduced her image in subtle pencil lines and artful shading that softened the contours of her face and lent an otherworldly luminosity to her countenance. He’d made her beautiful. Serene. A grave-eyed creature of stillness and shadow, gazing at the mysteries of some distant horizon.

A lump formed in Stella’s throat. This wasn’t what she saw when she looked in the glass of her dressing table. This youthful, dignified, alluring creature who was somehow equal parts Athena, Artemis, and Aphrodite herself.

She lifted her eyes to Teddy’s in cautious wonder. “Is this how you see me?”

“I see you as you are,” he said. “It’s what I’ve tried to convey, limited by the abilities of my pencil.”

“It’s…” She swallowed hard. “Goodness.”

His brows lowered. “You don’t approve?”

“I do,” she assured him. “Oh, but I do. It’s only that…you’ve managed to surprise me.”

“You presumed I’d present you with something amateurish?”

She shook her head. “No. I knew it would be good. What I didn’t know was that it would be—”

“What?”

“Extraordinary.”

His mouth curved slowly. “I’m glad you like it.” He paused. His voice deepened. “Please don’t burn it.”

Stella held the sketch to her bosom. She couldn’t believe she’d ever considered destroying it. Not even to guard her reputation. “I shan’t burn it,” she promised him. “I shall treasure it always.”

His smile turned wry. He closed his sketchbook. “Well, I suppose that’s something.”

Stella knew he was disappointed that he couldn’t do a formal portrait of her. Given the quality of his sketch, she was disappointed, too. “I’m astonished you’re not tempted to keep it yourself,” she said.

He flashed her an unreadable glance as he put away his pencils.

Stella belatedly realized how vain she must sound. “Not because it’s of my face, obviously,” she added, “but because it’s such a fine example of your work.”

“Your face is the only reason I’d consider keeping it,” he said frankly. “But I don’t need to.” He tapped his forefinger to his temple. “You’re etched up here, more indelibly than a pencil drawing. I won’t easily forget you.”

Her heart beat hard. She couldn’t think how to respond.