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‘Thank you, but no, my lord.” She shook her head, which sent the soft waves of her hair dancing prettily over her shoulders. “I should not like to keep you too long from your rest.”
“I thank you for your courtesy.” He hoped she did not hear the edge of sarcasm that sharpened his words. He lifted his cup into his hands, letting the warmth and the faintly sweet scent of the frothy liquid soothe and ground him. “I suppose, given the hour, that your carriage, or whatever means of transport you have, has suffered some misfortune on the road?” He took a breath against the weary frustration that filled him, taking a mouthful of his drink to curb his tongue before he could say anything imprudent.
And he promptly choked at her amused reply.
“Not at all, my lord. My carriage is merely waiting at the end of the drive with my driver. My presence here is quite intentional, I do assure you.”
CHAPTERTHREE
She hadn’t meant to make the poor man choke on his...milk, was it? But she hadn’t been able to resist. He’d looked so resigned, his voice so heavy with weariness. And she’d not missed the edge to his voice when he’d spoken of her ‘courtesy’.
Still, what was done was done. She watched him recover himself, setting the drink aside and wiping at his lips with the napkin.
The reports were right. He was quite a handsome man. Four years her senior, but he hardly looked it. Dark hair tumbled over his brow in shaggy dishevelment to frame the sides of a strong, stern-looking face. His nose was ever so slightly crooked, broken at some point if she was any judge. And his eyes…
Not emeralds, she thought. Nothing so clear and plain as emeralds. Lamplight altered the look of many an appearance, but she fancied his eyes were more the color of heather fields or the grass-covered heath on a misty day, a dancing and ever-changing hue of greenish-gray that hid intriguing secrets within mysterious and uncertain depths.
She looked away before she could ruin her plans by blushing like a girl-child with her first dance partner, and she took in the rest of him.
Broad shoulders, lean waist. She’d caught him at some sort of vigorous activity, by the look of him. His art, perhaps? The thought was intriguing.
His rolled-up sleeves afforded her a glimpse of strong arms, pale and toned with clearly defined musculature. Across the side of his left arm, she noticed an uneven-looking scar some three or four inches long, well-healed but with the reddish coloring that seemed to indicate it had been acquired not long ago. She wondered at the source of the wound, and whether he had many more like it.
The Marquess laid his napkin aside and breathed, then focused his intense eyes on her. “I beg your pardon, Miss Smith.”
“I think perhaps that it is I who should beg for yours.” With some effort, she wrenched her mind to the matter at hand. “And, if I might offer an explanation for my words…?”
“Indeed. You have my full attention.” She could well believe that. It was all she could do to avoid stammering like a nervous child.
“I shall be blunt, given the lateness of the hour, my lord. I am a model.” She was sure she did not imagine the way his eyes lit up or his posture straightened somewhat. “I do work in London, modeling for various individuals of artistic inclination. Painters, mostly. But I’ve a younger brother to be looking after, and well...one must earn enough to put bread on the table.” She felt herself blushing and dipped her head modestly. “I had heard that Your Lordship was an artist, and I thought perhaps you might have some work for me…” She trailed off.
“As a model?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Sharp eyes raked over her face and figure, and it was all she could do to keep from blushing like a maiden once more. But she had a part to play, and she was quite sure that a young woman who was used to being a model wouldn’t blush under such a forthright gaze.
The Marquess’ eyes traveled over her from head to foot, then back again. “I believe I can most certainly use your services, Miss Smith. I’d like to engage you for the duration of my current project. Would you consider ten shillings a session to be adequate recompense for your time?”
Henrietta bit her lip in consideration. She really had no idea of the rate models could command for their services. On the other hand, her servants made twenty pounds per year, and they were counted as generous to their hired help. So half-a-pound for her services per day did seem a rather good pay. “That is most generous of you, my lord.”
“Excellent.” He rose, and Henrietta hurried to do the same. “Then I shall expect you tomorrow at precisely ten o’clock in the morning.” He held out his hand to gesture for her to follow him from the parlor. “I must stress, most seriously, that you be punctual. Be here precisely at ten o’clock. It is most important.” He guided her out to the hall, and to the front door.
Henrietta followed, bemused by his tone as he shepherded her out of his home. “I shall do my best, my lord.”
“I shall not accept excuses for tardiness, Miss Smith. I have work to do, and if I engage your services, I expect punctuality as well as obedience to my other requirements of you.” He pulled the door open and held it politely for her. “I am aware that it is something of a journey back to London, so I will keep you no later. I shall see you in the morning.”
Henrietta dipped her head. “As you will, my lord. I shall return at ten o’clock.”
“I will see you then. Be sure to be well-rested, and dress simply.” With that, he shut the door firmly in her face.
Henrietta stared at the door. In all her life, she’d never been dismissed so cavalierly. Of course, Hetty Smith had none of the status and position that Henrietta Stanton, daughter of the Earl of Crawford, possessed.
But still, to be so calmly and completely dismissed, with only the minimums of courtesy and civility… She had never experienced the like. And the way he had ordered her about, like a common servant! Well, he knew her as nothing else. And she had to admit, the command in his voice, the control in those dark, serious tones—it was intriguing.
Intriguing, and not entirely unpleasant. She could well imagine such commanding tones on the battlefield, and in much morepleasantcircumstances.
Henrietta gave herself a firm mental shake as she turned and made her way back to where her carriage waited at the end of the drive.I am here to make a match between Eva and the Marquess. And I know well the traps the heart can lead one into. I will not have myself becoming overly...involved...with a subject of my work. And no doubt the Marquess shall feel the same way about me as a model.
