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“You see, Count. The thing is. Well...” She fidgeted with the skirt of her dress, tracing one of the patterns on the fabric where it lay on her knee. She glanced up at him. He shifted his gaze from the movement of her hand and looked out of the window. “I asked for the orangery because, to paint, I need light. Lots of bright, natural light. Especially for these pictures. They were inspired by the light of Africa, the colours, the heat, the sensual musk of ripe tropical fruit—”
“Get to the point, Pea.”
“It’s just... No offence to your ancestral home, Count, but it is rather...gloomy.”
“I didn’t ask you to come here.”
“No, that’s true.” She smiled lightly. “But as you’ve never asked anyone for anything, I won’t hold that against you.”
The Count looked at her for a moment. His jaw moved a fraction. Then he turned and waved a hand toward the overhead light. “If it’s dark, turn on the light.”
“But I need natural light. The colours are totally different under a bulb. I need the sun, Count.”
“I’m sure there was plenty in Tanzania.”
Pea looked down, picking at an invisible thread on her dress. Plenty of sun, yes. But it was themoonshe remembered. Or rather, André’s pale bottom in the air, thrusting up and down in the bed they had shared for the previous four months.
“Why did you leave Africa so suddenly, Pea?” the Count asked, his voice a little kinder.
“Well. Erm.”
“You don’t have to tell me—”
“I caught my boyfriend shagging someone else.”
Silence. She risked a glance up. The Count was motionless, his jaw tight, eyes hard.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be so...erm, forthright. It’s just a hard image to forget.”
“Pea...”
“They were in mybed, Count. Our bed. André’s and mine. I mean, I knew it wasn’t serious, but it also wasn’t…unserious. Or that’s what I thought. Silly old Pea.”
She sniffed, surprised to find she was crying. Not much, just a few stray tears leaking down her cheeks. Goodness, howembarrassing. Crying in front of the Count.
Then she jumped slightly, because his large figure was suddenlythere, kneeling in front of her. He lifted a hand and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb, first her left cheek, then her right, methodically and efficiently, his face stern, focused on the task, not her eyes.
He stood up and moved away. Pea started breathing again.
“I know the orangery is basically a ruin,” she said, flustered, wanting to put the tears behind her and be Pea again. Silly, funny Pea who was always laughing, never crying. “But I don’t mind, if there’s somewhere more or less waterproof to store my canvases—”
“You can have the orangery. I’ll arrange for your things to be moved tomorrow. If you need the sun, Pea, I will give you the sun.”
He left the room. Pea could still feel his thumbs on her cheeks. For someone so cold, they had felt surprisingly warm.
Chapter three
Leo
“Thecarisarrangedfor ten, as requested,” said Leo’s steward and general left-hand man Adam. He was a broad, sandy-haired man, around five years older than Leo. He was tapping things off on the tablet in his hand as he spoke. It looked out of place in his large, weather-browned fingers. The man was much more at home patrolling the grounds with his dogs at his heels than standing in Leo’s study, performing secretarial duties. No wonder. He was the estate manager, after all. Or had been, until Leo’s inability to tolerate any of the personal assistants he had hired had left the no-nonsense, Barbour-jacketed Adam stepping into the role.
“Cancel the car. I won’t be going to London today after all,” said Leo, scanning quickly through his emails as he stood at his laptop, one hand leaning on his desk. It was nearly nine. The others would be down for breakfast soon. “I’m stuck here babysitting Lansbury’s little sister for the foreseeable future.”
“Are you sure that’s necessary? I’m here. And your aunt.”
Leo just grunted and muttered, “You don’t know Pea.”
“But I did hear she was living in Tanzania for quite some time. Not that I would dare guess a lady’s age, but Icouldhazard Lady Ashley is a grownup. And not in need of babysitting.”
