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He broke away when he heard a voice. A low, male voice and footsteps. For several moments, he pressed his forehead to hers and heard her ragged breaths matching his.
Then he pressed a kiss to her nose. “We need to be away from here, sweeting,” he whispered. “You need to be away from me.”
“Yes.” Her grip on his arms remained and he didn’t move.
The voice returned and Blake realized it was someone speaking to himself. And that someone was his cousin.
Demeter’s eyes widened when the door handle rattled. Foster was going to discover them.
Chapter Eighteen
Demeter shoved Blake back, twisted and pulled open the door before Foster could enter the room. The door shielded Blake from view but Foster stilled upon seeing her.
“Lady Demeter! What are you...that is...”
She smiled swiftly, stepping directly in front of him and effectively forcing him back from the door. “I was, um, l-looking for you.” She glanced at her feet, hoping he would mistake her action for bashfulness and not for her trying to hide her useless lie.
She glanced under her lashes to see his lips press briefly together before that bashful smile slid back into place.
“I-I-I saw you come up here,” she said swiftly, “and I had thought you had come into this room but of course I was wrong.”
Her smile felt tremulous but she hoped it was charming enough that he could not tell. Oh, how she wished she was like Chastity or Cassie, who would have blinded him with their charms in but a moment.
“And what was it you wanted from me, my lady?”
She swallowed. Think! “The painting!”
“The painting?”
“I had heard you have a Boucher,” she replied on an exhale. “It is one of my favorites and I wished to view it but I was not certain where it was.”
“Ah.” Mr. Foster’s expression relaxed. “My mother had excellent taste. It is practically priceless you know.”
The thudding in her chest slowed. But of course Mr. Foster could be relied upon to wish to show off his new wealth. He wouldn’t know that her father had many, many priceless paintings, some stored away in houses they rarely visited.
“Will you show it to me?” she asked sweetly.
Mr. Foster glanced around. “Perhaps you should fetch your aunt or one of your sisters,” he suggested.
“Oh no.” She shook her head. If she ran off to get an escort, he might discover Blake. She couldn’t risk that.
His eyes widened.
“They are having far too much fun and we shall be but a moment, I am certain. Will you not show me the painting...alone?”
Sweat sprung up on his upper lip. Demeter could not fathom why. She’d seen his careful act. Surely such a man would not be put into a sweat by her mild attentions?
He nodded vigorously. “Of course. We shall be but a moment, as you say.”
He motioned down the long hallway, lined with many paintings and several small tables topped with plants and vases. The decor was a little darker and older than Demeter liked but Blake’s aunt had been of a different generation so it no doubt still matched her tastes. How long would it be before Mr. Foster changed it all, she wondered, and how would Blake feel about that? It was clear he cared deeply for his aunt.
“You actually walked past it.” He motioned to the painting of a nude woman, lounging upon a chaise, hung from the picture rail in a huge, gilded frame.
“Oh, how silly of me.” She pressed a hand to her chest and stopped in front of the painting. “I do so love Boucher.” It was a lie. She found his taste for naked women sprawled in awkward positions off putting. Why had the name sprung to her mind?
The memory of a very recent kiss overwhelmed her senses, and Demeter forced it away. She had to concentrate.
“I would have thought you’d noticed it,” he commented. “It is in quite a prominent position.”
