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She chuckled. “I think I could go shorter too,” she agreed, sounding pleased, “as really, it’s quite long at the front. If I pull it straight, it practically touches my chin. She was quiet a moment, then mused, “I wonder if the reason you like my nape so much has anything to do with how much you like to be touched there.”

Fuck. “I don’t know,” he admitted raggedly. “Maybe?”

“Can I get up and grab a book?” she asked.

“Of course.” She retrieved one from a side table. “What are you reading?” he asked to distract himself as his fingers worked the crayon over the page, his pencil strokes slowly forming a semblance of her lovely, lovely neck.

“I found a copy of a sanitized version of Romeo and Juliet in the parlor,” she told him guiltily. “I think it must be Harold’s as Felix and Hetty both feel the same as I do about leaving the Bard intact. I was curious and took it, but I will be sure to put it back once I am done.”

“How are you finding it?” Clem asked lazily, but really only because he wanted to hear her voice.

“An awful lot of the original text has been expunged,” Dora said disapprovingly. “The character of Juliet’s nurse has disappeared altogether, and I just cannot imagine what the ending will be. I mean, if the ending has been rewritten then … well, it’s not even a tragedy anymore, is it?”

“What was the original ending?” Clem asked without much interest.

“Mmmm? Oh, the lovers both die,” Dora said absently.

Clem snorted. “Sounds nearly as bad as that play we saw the other week.”

“But through their death, their family’s feud is ended,” she explained. “So, it was not as bleak as The Duchess of Malfi. But now that Romeo has not killed his wife’s cousin, then … well, a lot of the motivation does not make sense.” He could practically hear the frown in her voice.

“Killing his wife’s cousin sounds a stupid thing to do, in any case,” Clem remarked dispassionately.

“Yes, but people are always doing ridiculous things in tragedies …” she trailed off, turning the page.

Sometimes in real life too, Clem thought as the room fell into silence save for the scrape of the crayon against the page and the crackle of the fireplace. He was fully absorbed now in his task and let her concentrate on her book. He was just wondering if she had finally nodded off when she finally snapped the book shut almost an hour later.

“Well?” he asked.

Dora turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Have you finished your sketch?” She looked surprised to see he was now sat at the other end of the sofa.

“I wanted to see your profile,” he explained. “I’ve done a few scribbles, but they’re nothing to get excited over.”

Dora stretched, then walked over to the table where most of the drawings lay. He heard her sharply indrawn breath. “Oh Clem,” she quavered and kept a reverent silence as she sifted slowly through the pages, darting the odd incredulous glance his way. “You’re really talented.”

He made a dismissive noise in his throat. “How did the revised play end?”

“Hmmm?”

“Romeo and Juliet, was it?

“Oh, well it was all a bit … anti-climactic to be honest,” she said, still examining his sketches. “I mean, they’re not star-crossed lovers anymore, are they? They just run off together to Mantua at the end.” She chewed the side of her mouth. “It always broke my heart when Juliet awakes from her drugged slumber just that fraction too late to prevent Romeo from taking his life, but …”

“But what?”

“Well, the revised play simply does not have the impact at the end that it does with their death.”

Clem grunted. It sounded fucking stupid to him, but what did he know? He was an uncultured lout, even if he had been to school.

“Clem, could I have one of these?” she asked, clasping her hands together. “Please?”

He snorted. “You can have all of them. Except these two,” he said glancing down at the drawings he had spent the longest over, the ones that still rested on the drawing board in his lap.

She moved across curiously. “May I take a look?”

He nodded but made no move to hand them over. Instead, she sat down beside him and leaned across, resting her shoulder against his as she stared at the uppermost picture he had drawn which showed her side on profile as she sat reading her book. She reached up to trace her finger over her nose. “I always thought I had a rather long, bony nose,” she murmured. “But you make it look perfectly in proportion to my jawline.”

“It is,” he said dismissively. “Your face is perfectly balanced.”