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Well, perhaps she was simply uncertain of what he wanted. Or uncertain of him, since this was their first session. He gestured to a position across from the window where the light would highlight her frame. “Here. Stand here, please.”
She moved into place with slow, hesitant steps. “Here?”
“Yes. This will be a standing statue, so you’ll need to stand the entire time. Find a pose that is comfortable. A walking or standing pose, as if you were waiting for someone special.”
“I...all right.” She shifted a few times, then looked back at him. “Is this what you were thinking, my lord?”
Daniel studied her. It was a pose, more or less, but she looked so uncomfortable she gave the impression she might bolt at any time, rather like a startled yearling. Her hands were still tightly clenched in the sheet, and the way it fell obscured the lines and curves of her figure rather more than her dress had.
He was tempted to tell her so. Even more tempted to confront her about her ruse. It was obvious she had never been a model. She was far too uncomfortable, too awkward.
On the other hand, he could certainly start with her face. Even in awkward embarrassment, she was inspiring. The way her hair seemed to be escaping its confines, the delicate lines of her face, the slender pertness of the nose and the full lips. They almost begged to be captured in the marble.
He would start with the face, then. Perhaps even inexperienced and uncertain as she obviously was, she would relax enough to fall into a more natural pose, something that showed her figure rather than hid it.
He selected some of his smaller tools and set to work, watching her with one eye, his stone with the other, and his thoughts in a different place entirely.
Why had the young woman come to him, if she were not in fact a model looking for work? And why continue with the ruse if her purpose was other than what she claimed?
Heavens! Unless it was an attempt at securing his title and fortune for herself and her family! In such a case, there was little doubt that their current positions and states of dress, or ratherundressin her case, might be enough to raise questions…and a scandal he’d no wish to become embroiled in. Surely, she would not be quite so callous—a daemon with the face of an angel.
If that were the case, there would no doubt be an angry male relative on his doorstep soon enough. He wondered whether it would be her brother or her father. Perhaps both. He fought the urge to sigh.God as my witness, if this is another ploy to trap me in matrimony, I may just go back to war to get away from them! Losing such a source of inspiration to such a shallow ruse and banal reason as wealth and title...the battlefield might be preferable to the behavior of the ton if such a story were to reach their ears.
Be that as it may, he would make use of his source of inspiration for as long as he could, damn what scandal should come of it. If he were destined to lose his muse to the schemes of friends and family, he would make the most of the opportunity.
He roughed out the lines of the face, and a vague suggestion of the hair. A hint of the slope of the delicate shoulders. He was just considering what his next step should be, when Hetty spoke.
CHAPTERSIX
Henrietta watched the Marquess set to work. By the look of it, he was working on the head and face of the sculpture first. She wondered if that was his preference, or if he was only being polite. Heavens knew, if she looked half as mortified and embarrassed as she felt, then it was a minor miracle he had not called her out on the obvious falsity of her claim to be an experienced model.
He looked so stern, so solemn as he worked, as if his thoughts were not pleasant or his art was less a passion than a duty. And he was so very quiet.
She wondered if he was the type to prefer silence or conversation in his work.
It was a question she could find the answer to easily enough.
“My lord, is this pose acceptable?”
Green-gray eyes flicked over to her, then back to the stone. “It could use improvement.” She waited, but he made no suggestions, seemingly engrossed in his work.
Another question then. “My lord, I confess I know little of you, aside from your reputation as an artist. It is perhaps impertinent, but might I know your given name?” She had learned it on the rumor mills of course, but it was the sort of thing a young lady from a poorer household would not know.
There was a moment of silence, then his eyes met hers. “Daniel Thynne.”
Daniel Thynne.It was a lovely name, and she liked the way it sounded in her head.Daniel Thynne, Marquess of Salisbury.Yes, it was a very nice name, very well suited to him.
Though she could wish for a little less brevity in his responses. Well, perhaps she had not asked the right question. She smiled to herself.
He could be as verbose or as silent as he liked. So long as he did not request her silence, she would test the waters and see what she could learn. But first…
“My lord, I must admit I am somewhat curious and not overfond of the quiet. If it is not improper, would you be willing to answer some more questions for me?”
The question earned her a brief sideways glance and halfhearted movement of one shoulder—as though he was of a mind to shrug but was too well-bred to do so. “I suppose.”
“And it will not disturb your work?”
“No.”
