Page 94 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“Would it you?”

She briefly looked away. “I suppose that, deep down…I’d always hoped I might marry for love, as my friends have.”

A sense of impending rejection tightened his throat. Good God. After all that—the risk to his pride, to his very heart—was she truly going to refuse him? His voice went hoarse. “Have you someone in mind? Another gentleman?”

“No. I’ve never met anyone I liked enough.” Her eyes returned to his. There was an endless pause. “Not until you.”

Teddy swallowed hard. “There you are, then. You have your answer. It may not be love or romance or some high-brow courtship struck up during the season, but we like each other well enough. It’s more than most couples can boast.”

“What about children?” she asked.

His stomach tightened. “What about them?”

“Do you want children?”

“Do you?” he countered.

Her cheeks darkened with a rising blush. “What if I did?”

An answering heat crept up Teddy’s neck at the unspoken question. He might have known she would be bold enough to broach the subject. “I’m capable,” he said, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

It was the truth as far as he knew, though he’d never yet fully tested the proposition. Despite the many prostitutes who had come to pose at the atelier, most of whom had engaged in regular affairs with the other artists, Teddy hadn’t yet experienced the ultimate intimacy.

Not because he was unnecessarily prudish, or on account of some high-blown romantic ideal. It was a question of vulnerability. He’d have to trust a woman—really trust her. And perhaps something more. Not love, no. But a certain sense of mutual affection and care. There would have to be that, at least, to offset the chance of any difficulty.

And there might very well be difficulty.

What if things didn’t work as he’d hoped? What if he lost control? Made a fool of himself?

A prostitute would have undoubtedly managed his deficiencies with an air of jaded professionalism. But Teddy had never wanted that experience. Not with a stranger who cared only for his coin.

“Then, would you want…” Stella struggled for words. “Would you expect…”

“I have no expectations in that regard,” he said. “But I daresay we could come to some arrangement. If that’s what you really wanted.”

Her blush deepened from petal pink to crimson. “I don’t…I only wondered—if we did marry—”

He gently took her hand, silencing her embarrassed stammering. “All I ask,” he said, “is that you give me three months to complete this painting. After that, your time will be your own.”

She went quiet, considering the proposition. Having done so, she appeared to collect herself. “As tempting as the arrangement sounds…I don’t want a marriage of convenience.”

The rejection struck Teddy as powerfully as a blow. He nearly released her hand. And then—

“If we marry,” she said, “I intend to fall in love with you.”

Teddy struggled to keep his countenance.

He’d been wrong. She wasn’t rejecting him. She was raising the stakes. Love, she’d said. Not like any longer. Not convenience. But love.

He looked at her steadily. “I should be honored if you did.”

The response seemed to settle her doubts. She took a deep breath. Her expression turned serious. “We would need some sort of legal agreement to protect Locket. I’m not so ignorant of the world that I’d let her fall within a husband’s power. Not even an unconventional husband like you.”

His mouth ticked up at one corner. “I know an excellent solicitor.”

“And I must have my inheritance protected.” Stella’s businesslike tone was belied by the brilliance of color in her cheeks. “I refuse to be left destitute should things fall apart.”

“You shall have everything you require,” he vowed.