assessed thoughtfully.
Tentatively, her lips began to lift again.
"A modicum." He said it firmly, as though correcting himself. He glanced at her. "Why are you glowering at me?"
Accuracy, indeed. Flirtation wasn't about accuracy , for heaven's sake. Everyone knew that.
Her silence didn't seem to bother him. "Your drawings are brilliant Miss Makepeace. You're quite talented."
"My drawings are brilliant?" What about my smile? What about my eyes ?
"Yes," he said. "Detailed, accurate, yet still singular and strangely…" he looked upward for a moment, seeking a clean slate for his thought, then returned his eyes to her. "… passionate."
He all but purred that last word, his eyes dancing with mirth, and for the life of her, she didn't know what to say. Susannah studied him warily instead, since his face was the one part of his body she hadn't yet sketched in vivid detail. His features were too strong, perhaps, to be considered classically handsome; his face a bit too long and angular, like a diamond, his nose slightly arched. Light brows, light lashes, and those disconcerting eyes. But in the midst of all those angles, his mouth was a work of art, wide, sensitively curved, indisputably masculine.
And of course, the rest of him was beautifully made, too.
Almost overwhelmingly so.
God help her, she could feel color setting fresh fire to her cheeks at the memory.
"I'd like to make you an offer, Miss Makepeace."
Her head went back and her eyes flew open wide; on the heels of her last thought, his words were genuinely shocking. "I beg your pardon, sir?"
"Of employment . Don't look so hopeful." He was laughing silently again.
This man was absolutely, dizzyingly, maddeningly —
"Employment?" She said the word as though she'd found a tiny sharp bone in her soup.
"Yes. I'm a naturalist by avocation, and I've been commissioned to complete a folio—a study of the flora and fauna of this region. I've need of an accomplished artist to assist me with it. I'll pay you well. Good heavens you should see your face. You'd best change your expression quickly or everyone here will think I've gravely in suited you."
Humiliation had so completely snarled Susannah' thoughts she simply couldn't transform them into words He wanted her to work for him. Like a maid, like a governess, a cook, a—
"How, Miss Makepeace, do you suppose your aunt accommodates one more person in her cottage? She isn't rich. And yet you don't look underfed."
He might as well have kicked her in the ribs.
Susannah thought of the patched quilt that covered he at night, her aunt's faded, sagging furnishings, the humble breakfast, the lack of a maid to poke up the fires.
Shame pooled, molten, in the pit of her stomach. Shi turned her face away from the viscount's direct blue gaze and swallowed hard.
For a moment, mercifully, he didn't speak.
"Forgive my gruff ways, Miss Makepeace," his voice was gentle, conciliatory; it curled deliciously around her like rich smoke. "I lack experience with the tender sensibilities of young ladies."
Susannah cautiously returned her eyes to his face and narrowed them little, not certain she wished her sensibilities to be considered tender. He seemed to enjoy that, for his eyes glinted at her again. Such a blue, his eyes were Like the center of a flame, as though some internal furnace lit them. She was tempted to hold her hand up to them, to see if she could feel heat.
He must have considered himself forgiven, because he kept talking. "Talent is like… money in the bank. You should spend it wisely, of course, but not to spend it at all is simply foolish. I have need of your assistance; your aunt, I'm certain, would be happy for the money. We can be of use to each other. Will you help me?"
"But… work?" she repeated faintly.
"Perhaps you'd prefer to cast about for other employment, Miss Makepeace?"
There it was, that word again. "No," she said vehemently.
"No? Good. I'll speak to your aunt, then, assure her of your safety,
Tentatively, her lips began to lift again.
"A modicum." He said it firmly, as though correcting himself. He glanced at her. "Why are you glowering at me?"
Accuracy, indeed. Flirtation wasn't about accuracy , for heaven's sake. Everyone knew that.
Her silence didn't seem to bother him. "Your drawings are brilliant Miss Makepeace. You're quite talented."
"My drawings are brilliant?" What about my smile? What about my eyes ?
"Yes," he said. "Detailed, accurate, yet still singular and strangely…" he looked upward for a moment, seeking a clean slate for his thought, then returned his eyes to her. "… passionate."
He all but purred that last word, his eyes dancing with mirth, and for the life of her, she didn't know what to say. Susannah studied him warily instead, since his face was the one part of his body she hadn't yet sketched in vivid detail. His features were too strong, perhaps, to be considered classically handsome; his face a bit too long and angular, like a diamond, his nose slightly arched. Light brows, light lashes, and those disconcerting eyes. But in the midst of all those angles, his mouth was a work of art, wide, sensitively curved, indisputably masculine.
And of course, the rest of him was beautifully made, too.
Almost overwhelmingly so.
God help her, she could feel color setting fresh fire to her cheeks at the memory.
"I'd like to make you an offer, Miss Makepeace."
Her head went back and her eyes flew open wide; on the heels of her last thought, his words were genuinely shocking. "I beg your pardon, sir?"
"Of employment . Don't look so hopeful." He was laughing silently again.
This man was absolutely, dizzyingly, maddeningly —
"Employment?" She said the word as though she'd found a tiny sharp bone in her soup.
"Yes. I'm a naturalist by avocation, and I've been commissioned to complete a folio—a study of the flora and fauna of this region. I've need of an accomplished artist to assist me with it. I'll pay you well. Good heavens you should see your face. You'd best change your expression quickly or everyone here will think I've gravely in suited you."
Humiliation had so completely snarled Susannah' thoughts she simply couldn't transform them into words He wanted her to work for him. Like a maid, like a governess, a cook, a—
"How, Miss Makepeace, do you suppose your aunt accommodates one more person in her cottage? She isn't rich. And yet you don't look underfed."
He might as well have kicked her in the ribs.
Susannah thought of the patched quilt that covered he at night, her aunt's faded, sagging furnishings, the humble breakfast, the lack of a maid to poke up the fires.
Shame pooled, molten, in the pit of her stomach. Shi turned her face away from the viscount's direct blue gaze and swallowed hard.
For a moment, mercifully, he didn't speak.
"Forgive my gruff ways, Miss Makepeace," his voice was gentle, conciliatory; it curled deliciously around her like rich smoke. "I lack experience with the tender sensibilities of young ladies."
Susannah cautiously returned her eyes to his face and narrowed them little, not certain she wished her sensibilities to be considered tender. He seemed to enjoy that, for his eyes glinted at her again. Such a blue, his eyes were Like the center of a flame, as though some internal furnace lit them. She was tempted to hold her hand up to them, to see if she could feel heat.
He must have considered himself forgiven, because he kept talking. "Talent is like… money in the bank. You should spend it wisely, of course, but not to spend it at all is simply foolish. I have need of your assistance; your aunt, I'm certain, would be happy for the money. We can be of use to each other. Will you help me?"
"But… work?" she repeated faintly.
"Perhaps you'd prefer to cast about for other employment, Miss Makepeace?"
There it was, that word again. "No," she said vehemently.
"No? Good. I'll speak to your aunt, then, assure her of your safety,
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