Elizabeth Rolls – A Scandalous Liaison (страница 3)
“
He didn’t really need to; they were Lionel’s. “Easily remedied.” He strode past her to a stack leaning against a battered table, and crouched down, flipping through them backward and forward. Mountainscapes; Italian, he supposed. Beautiful, evocative, painted by the old Lionel. Any or all of these could grace his collection. Evelyn put one aside…and his breath stopped. The next canvas glowed. A lonely shore with a single, distant figure standing bathed in golden light where the sand met a dreaming sea…Silently, he set it aside, and kept looking through the stack until he came to the last one…
His hands shook as he drew it clear. He knew this one. Not the painting; he’d never seen it before. But the subject—the young girl curled up reading in that shabby old wing chair she’d loved, one hand caressing a tabby kitten asleep in her lap, red-gold tresses tumbling over her shoulders, glimmering against the dark, cracked leather.
Lionel must have painted it just before or after…as a reminder?
“How much for these three?”
She stared. “You want those? Even the seascape?”
“Yes. Especially that one. How much?”
The mask had crumbled. Instead there was panic in the wide golden eyes and parted lips. “I…I don’t know.”
“Fifty, then?”
“Fifty? For three?” Some of the spark rekindled and she scowled at him.
“Fifty each.”
“But that’s too much!”
“No, it isn’t. They’re good. Better than good.” They were, too. Especially the beach scene, which must have been painted after whatever cataclysm had transfigured Lionel’s style; it had the same quality of yearning that infused the murals.
“What happened to him, Loveday?” he asked, without looking up from the painting.
“What…what do you mean?”
Glancing up, he tapped the beach scene. “The man I remember didn’t paint this.”
She paled, eyes huge. “What—”
“Something must have changed him,” said Evelyn, watching her. “Oh, the technique might be his, but the rest isn’t.”
Her expression eased very slightly. “Oh. Well, nothing, just…just Italy. Yes. Just Italy.” She finished in a rush, her face now red and her hands, those expressive hands, twisting together. “We’ve all changed, my lord.”
“I see.” She’d never been able to hide a lie. He let it go. For now. “I’ll take these three today, deposit the money at Hoare’s with the rest, and come back tomorrow for the other paintings.”
Her jaw dropped. “What other paintings?”
“The other paintings I’m going to buy. I’ll look at them now.”
Loveday watched, heart and stomach inextricably tangled, as Evelyn worked his way through the stacked paintings. Dear God in heaven—what now was she to do? He was putting so many paintings aside!
Looking down, she discovered that her hands were twisting in her paint-smeared apron. Sweet Lord! If he noticed
He was absorbed in the paintings, though, and didn’t so much as glance up. She watched, imprinting every detail on her mind, renewing and overlaying memories. He crouched, flipping through canvases, and she knew the easy strength it took to hold the position, could see in her mind’s eye the taut stretch of muscles hidden by the elegant trousers. Her trembling fingers remembered the ripple of muscle under warm skin in his broad back as he set one painting aside and reached for another. Icy fingers of fear clenched to a fist in her gut. How close was he to realising the truth?
As if catching her thoughts, he looked up, frowning. Her mouth dried.
“I’ll have to bring a carriage tomorrow,” he said. “What will you tell Lionel?”
She took a shaky breath, her brain scrambling for coherent thoughts, for an honest answer.
“When did I ever tell Lionel anything but the truth?”
The deep blue eyes held hers, searching. “I know, but he refused to see me, so—”
“That was me…that is—” She floundered. He looked as though she had struck him, straightening slowly, face rigid.
“You didn’t trust me.”
“No! I mean—yes. That is…” She fought to steady her restless hands. “I made such a fool of myself!”
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