three steps and onto the garden walk until he realized that Lady Elizabeth was nearly running to keep up with his lengthy strides.
"Where are my manners?" he murmured sheepishly, halting while she steadied herself. "I didn't mean to rush you."
"No harm done." She confidently matched his keen gaze. "I find myself to be rather in a hurry, as well."
They tarried, face-to-face, probing for hidden insight or nuance. Damn, but if he didn't notice it, once again: an irrepressible perception that he comprehended more about her man he should. They had an unusual affinity that made them closer than the circumstances warranted, that allowed him to distinguish her aims and objectives.
She was as ardent for the pending encounter as he was, and the comprehension gave him pause.
Am I doing the right thing? he caught himself thinking.
As swiftly as the absurd caprice entered his mind, he tossed it away. Of course, instigating a clandestine relationship with her was the right thing! Seducement was how he earned his living, how he garnered economic security for his father. She wouldn't be hurt; in fact, she'd likely get much more out of their illicit liaison than he would.
Still, she stirred him, had him doubting his incentives for subterfuge. Veracity had never been high on his list of admirable personal characteristics, and previously, he'd never suffered any qualms about bending me truth or stretching a falsehood— so long as it served his purpose—-but the idea of scheming against her, of conspiring to win her affection, left a sour taste in his mouth.
With hardly any circumspection, she was geared to join him in his warren of sin and decadence so that she could voluntarily offer herself up to his indecent intrigues, and he sustained an unfamiliar, piercing twinge of guilt, which threw him totally off guard.
The woman inspired such foreign, outlandish sentiments! The effect she incited was confusing yet exciting, and only bolstered his resolve that he'd selected the appropriate course by setting his sights on her. Their affair would be out of the ordinary, would titillate and inflame beyond his wildest imaginings, so he would let his scheme play out, would enjoy the ride while it lasted, for once unsure of what his condition would be at the conclusion.
Chapter Four
Mr. Cristofore was determinedly staring at her, assessing her motives or, perhaps, guessing at her intent. There was no question but that she'd shocked him with her forward conduct. And Mary, too. The poor woman had to be aghast and bewildered by Elizabeth's demand for solitude.
Previously, Elizabeth would never have dared pass time with a gentleman in his private quarters, be it his work establishment or no. Mary was the only person before whom she'd have risked such scandalous comportment; Mary could be trusted with secrets.
Elizabeth had been raised on formality and proper etiquette, yet suddenly, she was tired of the strictures by which she'd constantly lived. She craved a taste of freedom from convention, a sampling of independence. In twenty-seven years, she'd never acted extravagantly, had never broken a rule or violated a tenet of the numerous silly and frivolous codes that regulated her world.
She couldn't abide that she'd been so virtuous, so obedient, so tractable. For once, she wanted to be a tad mischievous, to savor some of the zest and animation that other—less restrained—women presumably experienced on a daily basis.
The past forty-eight hours had been an ordeal, as she'd chafed and stewed over Mr. Cristofore. She could reflect upon no other topic. She hadn't been able to eat, had scarcely slept.
With an almost insane burst of gladness, she'd penned the note requesting an audience, and when his reply had come, recommending an immediate appointment, she'd been weak with relief. If he'd changed his mind about painting her, or had had to postpone because of prior engagements, she truly couldn't have survived a delay.
For a long while, her
"Where are my manners?" he murmured sheepishly, halting while she steadied herself. "I didn't mean to rush you."
"No harm done." She confidently matched his keen gaze. "I find myself to be rather in a hurry, as well."
They tarried, face-to-face, probing for hidden insight or nuance. Damn, but if he didn't notice it, once again: an irrepressible perception that he comprehended more about her man he should. They had an unusual affinity that made them closer than the circumstances warranted, that allowed him to distinguish her aims and objectives.
She was as ardent for the pending encounter as he was, and the comprehension gave him pause.
Am I doing the right thing? he caught himself thinking.
As swiftly as the absurd caprice entered his mind, he tossed it away. Of course, instigating a clandestine relationship with her was the right thing! Seducement was how he earned his living, how he garnered economic security for his father. She wouldn't be hurt; in fact, she'd likely get much more out of their illicit liaison than he would.
Still, she stirred him, had him doubting his incentives for subterfuge. Veracity had never been high on his list of admirable personal characteristics, and previously, he'd never suffered any qualms about bending me truth or stretching a falsehood— so long as it served his purpose—-but the idea of scheming against her, of conspiring to win her affection, left a sour taste in his mouth.
With hardly any circumspection, she was geared to join him in his warren of sin and decadence so that she could voluntarily offer herself up to his indecent intrigues, and he sustained an unfamiliar, piercing twinge of guilt, which threw him totally off guard.
The woman inspired such foreign, outlandish sentiments! The effect she incited was confusing yet exciting, and only bolstered his resolve that he'd selected the appropriate course by setting his sights on her. Their affair would be out of the ordinary, would titillate and inflame beyond his wildest imaginings, so he would let his scheme play out, would enjoy the ride while it lasted, for once unsure of what his condition would be at the conclusion.
Chapter Four
Mr. Cristofore was determinedly staring at her, assessing her motives or, perhaps, guessing at her intent. There was no question but that she'd shocked him with her forward conduct. And Mary, too. The poor woman had to be aghast and bewildered by Elizabeth's demand for solitude.
Previously, Elizabeth would never have dared pass time with a gentleman in his private quarters, be it his work establishment or no. Mary was the only person before whom she'd have risked such scandalous comportment; Mary could be trusted with secrets.
Elizabeth had been raised on formality and proper etiquette, yet suddenly, she was tired of the strictures by which she'd constantly lived. She craved a taste of freedom from convention, a sampling of independence. In twenty-seven years, she'd never acted extravagantly, had never broken a rule or violated a tenet of the numerous silly and frivolous codes that regulated her world.
She couldn't abide that she'd been so virtuous, so obedient, so tractable. For once, she wanted to be a tad mischievous, to savor some of the zest and animation that other—less restrained—women presumably experienced on a daily basis.
The past forty-eight hours had been an ordeal, as she'd chafed and stewed over Mr. Cristofore. She could reflect upon no other topic. She hadn't been able to eat, had scarcely slept.
With an almost insane burst of gladness, she'd penned the note requesting an audience, and when his reply had come, recommending an immediate appointment, she'd been weak with relief. If he'd changed his mind about painting her, or had had to postpone because of prior engagements, she truly couldn't have survived a delay.
For a long while, her
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