now I want to show you my favorite pieces."
They'd reached the first floor by that time, and she proceeded to take him to each of her favorite paintings, where she explained with great enthusiasm why she liked them.
"Show me yours now," he proposed when he'd had the tour of favorites. "I thought you weren't shy."
"There's a difference between shyness and modesty."
"I don't require either. Nor do you strike me as particularly modest"—his brows rose in sardonic appraisal—"if I recall."
"I expect only glowing accolades, then."
He grinned. "Would I offend a woman of your inestimable charms?" But neither benevolence nor courtesy were required, for her two paintings were magnificent. And he told her so.
"Do you really like them?"
He was reminded of a prideful mother with her children. "I do, and the jury did as well, for they've hung your work in prominent positions."
"That's what Charlie told me as well."
He was surprised at her hesitancy. She hadn't displayed that characteristic before. "You have to know you're extremely good. And I was about to say
for a woman
, but you know what I mean."
She nodded, as aware as he of the prejudices toward female accomplishments in anything construed as a male domain. "I haven't been painting very long and so many of these artists have spent a lifetime in their endeavors."
"This is one field where perseverance is no indication of genius. And if you won't take offense because he's your friend, Leighton is a case in point. He's capable but not brilliant. While you are. Also, keep in mind, your landscapes aren't quite as academic as the jury would like, and they accepted you anyway. That's quite a coup, darling."
"I'm finding you more and more a man of exceptional taste."
"I'm serious. You're very, very good."
"Thank you," she said quietly. "I get more than my share of advice from many of the established male painters."
"And it annoys you."
She nodded. "Sometimes."
"I hope you don't pay any attention to it."
"Not usually, but"—she shrugged—"it can be disconcerting."
"Ignore them." He smiled. "And that's an order."
"Yes, sir, and I shall deliver my orders to you in the privacy of my boudoir."
"A charming prospect, but on the way we'll stop at my house and you can look at my collection. I could use your expertise."
"My goodness, Ranelagh," she remarked playfully. "Can't you do better than that old line?"
"I'm serious. And I can have my way with you," he drawled silkily, "without showing you my paintings."
She offered him a coy look. "A gentleman would never—"
"I don't aspire to that status…"
"I see," she said with dramatic primness.
He laughed out loud, and sweeping her up into his arms, ran down the corridor and raced down the stairs with a reckless disregard for safety. And when they reached the ground floor, he set her on her feet and kissed her. "It wouldn't do for me to carry you out the door in sight of Charlie et al."
"Maybe I don't care."
"Then I'll be prudent for both of us." He was well aware of his reputation, and while he might squire Miss Ionides about without ruining her reputation, he didn't wish to compromise her to the world. "Now lay your hand on my arm like a woman of fashion, and we'll say good night to Charlie like well-behaved adults."
"But I'll have you later for myself." She smiled up at him as she placed her hand on his offered arm. "When you're not so well behaved."
"Try to keep me away," he challenged her.
"I might just a little," she teased.
"And I might spank your sweet little bottom just a little."
"Ummm… that sounds divine."
"Your house or mine?" His dark gaze was heated.
"What will your servants say?"
"You're not serious."
"Of course I'm serious. Or do you take all your lovers home?"
For a brief moment he thought she was joking, and when he realized she wasn't, it took him a moment more to come to terms with the enormity of his invitation.
"You're having second thoughts, aren't you?"
"No," he said politely, but his
They'd reached the first floor by that time, and she proceeded to take him to each of her favorite paintings, where she explained with great enthusiasm why she liked them.
"Show me yours now," he proposed when he'd had the tour of favorites. "I thought you weren't shy."
"There's a difference between shyness and modesty."
"I don't require either. Nor do you strike me as particularly modest"—his brows rose in sardonic appraisal—"if I recall."
"I expect only glowing accolades, then."
He grinned. "Would I offend a woman of your inestimable charms?" But neither benevolence nor courtesy were required, for her two paintings were magnificent. And he told her so.
"Do you really like them?"
He was reminded of a prideful mother with her children. "I do, and the jury did as well, for they've hung your work in prominent positions."
"That's what Charlie told me as well."
He was surprised at her hesitancy. She hadn't displayed that characteristic before. "You have to know you're extremely good. And I was about to say
for a woman
, but you know what I mean."
She nodded, as aware as he of the prejudices toward female accomplishments in anything construed as a male domain. "I haven't been painting very long and so many of these artists have spent a lifetime in their endeavors."
"This is one field where perseverance is no indication of genius. And if you won't take offense because he's your friend, Leighton is a case in point. He's capable but not brilliant. While you are. Also, keep in mind, your landscapes aren't quite as academic as the jury would like, and they accepted you anyway. That's quite a coup, darling."
"I'm finding you more and more a man of exceptional taste."
"I'm serious. You're very, very good."
"Thank you," she said quietly. "I get more than my share of advice from many of the established male painters."
"And it annoys you."
She nodded. "Sometimes."
"I hope you don't pay any attention to it."
"Not usually, but"—she shrugged—"it can be disconcerting."
"Ignore them." He smiled. "And that's an order."
"Yes, sir, and I shall deliver my orders to you in the privacy of my boudoir."
"A charming prospect, but on the way we'll stop at my house and you can look at my collection. I could use your expertise."
"My goodness, Ranelagh," she remarked playfully. "Can't you do better than that old line?"
"I'm serious. And I can have my way with you," he drawled silkily, "without showing you my paintings."
She offered him a coy look. "A gentleman would never—"
"I don't aspire to that status…"
"I see," she said with dramatic primness.
He laughed out loud, and sweeping her up into his arms, ran down the corridor and raced down the stairs with a reckless disregard for safety. And when they reached the ground floor, he set her on her feet and kissed her. "It wouldn't do for me to carry you out the door in sight of Charlie et al."
"Maybe I don't care."
"Then I'll be prudent for both of us." He was well aware of his reputation, and while he might squire Miss Ionides about without ruining her reputation, he didn't wish to compromise her to the world. "Now lay your hand on my arm like a woman of fashion, and we'll say good night to Charlie like well-behaved adults."
"But I'll have you later for myself." She smiled up at him as she placed her hand on his offered arm. "When you're not so well behaved."
"Try to keep me away," he challenged her.
"I might just a little," she teased.
"And I might spank your sweet little bottom just a little."
"Ummm… that sounds divine."
"Your house or mine?" His dark gaze was heated.
"What will your servants say?"
"You're not serious."
"Of course I'm serious. Or do you take all your lovers home?"
For a brief moment he thought she was joking, and when he realized she wasn't, it took him a moment more to come to terms with the enormity of his invitation.
"You're having second thoughts, aren't you?"
"No," he said politely, but his
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