LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘No perhaps. I shall look forward to sitting with anticipation.’

      Sophie’s mouth went dry. And she privately decided the time would never come. The risk to her resolve was far too great. There would be too many opportunities for seduction. Richard might proclaim to be different from Sebastian, but she didn’t want to tempt fate.

      She hugged the paintbox to her chest. ‘I will think about it, but your suggestion to paint the wax fruit is a good one. My stepmother has a silver bowl which will work admirably. Nothing too complicated to begin with.’

      ‘I am counting the hours.’ His mouth quirked upwards at her expression. Her cheeks burnt. ‘Until the theatre. It is your decision if you need a model. Know that I am a willing volunteer, if required.’

      ‘And I will let you know if you are ever required.’

      ‘We understand each other.’ He took the box from her nerveless fingers and placed it on the table. ‘Don’t worry, I shall show myself out. You get on with your painting.’

      Sophie stood in the middle of the sitting room, staring at the paints for a long time. Why did Richard Crawford have to turn out to be kind? He was right. He wasn’t like Sebastian at all. He was infinitely more dangerous.

Chapter Eight

      ‘There you see, all done.’ Sophie held up the still life of wax fruit in a silver bowl for Richard’s inspection a few days later. Her eager expression lit the room with its glow.

      He’d done the right thing coming here, instead of going to the club or sitting and fuming about his mother’s spending habits. Somehow being with Sophie made all of this morning’s annoyances fade into insignificance.

      He took the painting from her and their fingertips brushed. A warm pulse shot up his arm. Demonstrating to Sophie that he was far removed from Cawburn was getting harder and harder when all he wanted to do was to take her into his arms and kiss her.

      Rather than having his desire for her diminish through seeing her, it had grown. But more than that he looked forward to pitting his wits against her and talking to her about things which had nothing to do with his family or the other demands on his time. When he was with her, everything faded into insignificance.

      ‘You are very talented.’ Richard concentrated on the painting and regained control of his body. Sophie was not the sort of woman one seduced; she was the sort of woman one married. ‘That painting is more than a simple bowl of fruit. It looks good enough to eat. And I love how the shapes complement each other.’

      ‘It is fine, but the apple gave me trouble. The red proved harder to get right than I thought it would.’

      Sophie moved closer to him and their shoulders accidentally touched. Richard kept his body rigid.

      ‘I could never do something like that. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.’

      ‘I had a strict drawing mistress. Do you know how many different colours a simple shadow can be? They are not dabs of black paint.’

      He shook his head. Even now, Sophie wanted to belittle her accomplishments. ‘It is more than simple-rote, schoolgirl painting. There is something indefinable here. You must learn how to take a compliment, Sophie, or I shall be forced to pay you them until you do.’

      Her eyes danced. ‘How do you take a compliment?’

      ‘You say thank you and don’t attempt to deflect it or apologise for it or make it seem less than it is. All it takes is a thank you and nothing more.’

      He put the painting down. Sophie needed to have her confidence grow. He could only keep making excuses to his mother about the need to ensure Hannah’s engagement for so long, before awkward questions would be asked, and Richard knew he wasn’t ready to share Sophie with his family. His relationship with Sophie had no bearing on his relationship with his mother or sister.

      ‘I shall try to remember that.’ Sophie gave a mocking curtsy. ‘Thank you for the compliment about the painting.’

      ‘Shall we practise to make sure you understand the concept? Your blue dress looks exceptionally charming today, Miss Ravel.’

      ‘This is hardly necessary. I do know how to take a compliment.’

      ‘I used to think your eyes were the colour of sapphires, like your ring, but now I see the colour depends on your mood. Midnight blue when you are angry right through the blue of a summer’s day when you are happy.’

      ‘You are being foolish. Cease this blather immediately.’

      He took a step closer. ‘I intend to keep paying you compliments until you show me that you know how to take them. I prefer your hair like this when it makes little ringlets of its own accord.’

      Sophie wet her suddenly aching lips. Her entire being trembled. Where did he intend taking this game? Her dreams had been full of him lately but ever since the carriage ride, he had made no attempt to kiss her.

      ‘Thank you,’ she gasped out as he took another step closer, so close her skirt brushed his leg. Another step, and she’d be in his arms. What was worse, she wanted to be in his arms. She wanted to taste his lips again and see if they matched her memory of them.

      ‘At last my fiancée shows some sense.’ His eyes danced with a thousand different lights. ‘Shall I continue?’

      ‘No.’

      He inclined his head and stepped backwards. ‘I bow to your no and stop immediately.’

      A tiny bubble of amazement burst through her. He’d obeyed her no. She hated that she wished she’d urged him to continue. She put her hand to her mouth, exploring the way it faintly tingled as if he had indeed kissed her. The trouble with Richard was that she liked him far too much.

      To cover her confusion, she grabbed the painting and held it out.

      ‘You may have the painting if you like it. I painted it with you in mind.’

      He tilted his head and she caught a sudden flaring in his eyes. ‘It is kind of you. I will treasure it. I don’t think anyone has ever done something like that for me before.’

      ‘A thank you for the paints and for getting me started on painting again.’ Sophie clasped her hands together and hoped he’d think the redness of her cheeks was from the fire, rather than the awkwardness she suddenly felt. ‘I hope you don’t consider it too forward.’

      ‘Forward?’ His eyes widened. ‘Perish the thought. I’m very touched and honoured.’

      ‘It is funny how you don’t realise you missed something until it comes back into your life and suddenly your life takes on a new meaning.’

      He stilled. ‘Have you decided to start painting people again?’

      Sophie put a hand on her stomach to stop the butterflies. Somehow she knew she had to get the answer right. Because if she got it wrong, he’d go and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

      ‘I have only ever done pen-and-ink drawings, but some day, I will start using oils for painting portraits. I promise.’

      ‘I live in hope, then.’

      Sophie let out a breath. She had passed the test.

      He reached for the painting and his fingers brushed hers, almost a caress. A little touch which could have been accidental, but she chose to consider it deliberate. ‘You will go with me tomorrow to the cricket? The match is an important one.’

      ‘I look forward to it.’ Sophie held her body utterly still.

      ‘Out with it, Sophie. What is wrong?’

      ‘How could you tell that something was wrong?’

      ‘You

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