wanting suddenly to leave. She grasped her case more tightly and looked toward the door. "Mr. Childs—"
"Ah, I've shocked you, Miss Imogene, and I didn't mean to," he said, smiling. "Please say you'll forgive me." Then before she could answer, he looked past her. "Here comes your teacher now."
"Tormenting my students, Childs?" Jonas asked mildly, holding out a large key.
Childs took it and stuffed it in his pocket. "I was just telling Miss Carter that she could come to me when she's had her fill of you."
"Take her now if you like," Whitaker said. He glanced at Imogene and raised a sarcastic brow. "I'm sure she's more than ready to be rid of me, isn't that so, Miss Carter?"
Imogene looked at him in startled surprise. "No, of course not."
Frederic Childs laughed. He touched her arm again, bent so close his fine hair brushed her cheek. "Ah, ma chérie ," he said in a low voice. "I would be most happy to teach you how to paint—or anything else you desire."
His touch, his voice, the flirtation—it reminded her too much, too sharply, of Nicholas. Without thinking, Imogene jerked away—so quickly she bumped her easel with her hip. It scraped across the floor with a loud squeak that made her feel more disoriented and uncomfortable than ever.
"It's ... all right," she said. "I should go." She grabbed her sketch pad and glanced at Whitaker, and was surprised to see the thoughtfulness on his face. A deep, quiet thoughtfulness that was somehow disturbing.
"Please, not so soon," Childs murmured.
"Jonas, darlin'!" Clarisse called out from behind the changing screen. "I can't find my stockin's. Are they in the bedroom?"
It was Imogene's chance.
She fled for the door.
Chapter 5
C hilds stared at the door, slapping his gloves together in the palm of his hand. "Interesting," he murmured, and then he turned to look at Jonas. "Gosney's goddaughter, eh? How did that come about?"
Jonas's irritation grew. "He asked me to take her on."
"He asked you?" Childs smiled. "And you said yes —just like that?"
"That's right."
Childs shoved his gloves in his pocket, sauntered to the window. "Now why do I find that so hard to believe?"
"Because you're a cynical bastard, that's why." Jonas glanced at the door, wishing Childs would leave, wanting to be alone for a minute—or, at least as alone as he could be with Clarisse whining about. Something was at the edge of his mind, nagging him, something about the way Imogene Carter had reacted today, the way she'd gone running out—
"Is she any good?"
It took a moment for Jonas to remember what Childs was talking about. "She's adequate," he said, distracted, then cursed himself when Childs's brows rose in surprise.
"Adequate?" he asked. "You've never taken on an adequate student in your life."
"There's a first time for everyone."
"Perhaps for some. Not you." Childs regarded him steadily, his pale blue eyes burning with curiosity. "Why do I think there's more to this than you're letting on?"
"I have no idea." Jonas gestured to the door. "But you're taking up my time, and I have things to do—"
"Ah, yes." Childs glanced toward the changing screen, where the silhouette of Clarisse's lush body jiggled on the thin fabric. He smiled and raised his voice. "Clarisse, love, are you still there?"
"Bugger off, Rico," she cursed from behind the screen.
Childs laughed. "Still as gracious as ever, I see." He glanced at Jonas. "When did you take up with her?"
"A week ago," Jonas said tersely.
"Only a week?" Childs turned back to the screen. "Were you mourning me, chérie ? Is that why it took you so long to find a new protector?"
Clarisse didn't answer.
Jonas stepped forward. This had gone on too long. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Frederic Childs now, even if it had been months since he'd seen his friend. He couldn't stop mulling over this morning long enough to concentrate on meaningless chatter. The image of Imogene Carter's face wouldn't leave him. It
"Ah, I've shocked you, Miss Imogene, and I didn't mean to," he said, smiling. "Please say you'll forgive me." Then before she could answer, he looked past her. "Here comes your teacher now."
"Tormenting my students, Childs?" Jonas asked mildly, holding out a large key.
Childs took it and stuffed it in his pocket. "I was just telling Miss Carter that she could come to me when she's had her fill of you."
"Take her now if you like," Whitaker said. He glanced at Imogene and raised a sarcastic brow. "I'm sure she's more than ready to be rid of me, isn't that so, Miss Carter?"
Imogene looked at him in startled surprise. "No, of course not."
Frederic Childs laughed. He touched her arm again, bent so close his fine hair brushed her cheek. "Ah, ma chérie ," he said in a low voice. "I would be most happy to teach you how to paint—or anything else you desire."
His touch, his voice, the flirtation—it reminded her too much, too sharply, of Nicholas. Without thinking, Imogene jerked away—so quickly she bumped her easel with her hip. It scraped across the floor with a loud squeak that made her feel more disoriented and uncomfortable than ever.
"It's ... all right," she said. "I should go." She grabbed her sketch pad and glanced at Whitaker, and was surprised to see the thoughtfulness on his face. A deep, quiet thoughtfulness that was somehow disturbing.
"Please, not so soon," Childs murmured.
"Jonas, darlin'!" Clarisse called out from behind the changing screen. "I can't find my stockin's. Are they in the bedroom?"
It was Imogene's chance.
She fled for the door.
Chapter 5
C hilds stared at the door, slapping his gloves together in the palm of his hand. "Interesting," he murmured, and then he turned to look at Jonas. "Gosney's goddaughter, eh? How did that come about?"
Jonas's irritation grew. "He asked me to take her on."
"He asked you?" Childs smiled. "And you said yes —just like that?"
"That's right."
Childs shoved his gloves in his pocket, sauntered to the window. "Now why do I find that so hard to believe?"
"Because you're a cynical bastard, that's why." Jonas glanced at the door, wishing Childs would leave, wanting to be alone for a minute—or, at least as alone as he could be with Clarisse whining about. Something was at the edge of his mind, nagging him, something about the way Imogene Carter had reacted today, the way she'd gone running out—
"Is she any good?"
It took a moment for Jonas to remember what Childs was talking about. "She's adequate," he said, distracted, then cursed himself when Childs's brows rose in surprise.
"Adequate?" he asked. "You've never taken on an adequate student in your life."
"There's a first time for everyone."
"Perhaps for some. Not you." Childs regarded him steadily, his pale blue eyes burning with curiosity. "Why do I think there's more to this than you're letting on?"
"I have no idea." Jonas gestured to the door. "But you're taking up my time, and I have things to do—"
"Ah, yes." Childs glanced toward the changing screen, where the silhouette of Clarisse's lush body jiggled on the thin fabric. He smiled and raised his voice. "Clarisse, love, are you still there?"
"Bugger off, Rico," she cursed from behind the screen.
Childs laughed. "Still as gracious as ever, I see." He glanced at Jonas. "When did you take up with her?"
"A week ago," Jonas said tersely.
"Only a week?" Childs turned back to the screen. "Were you mourning me, chérie ? Is that why it took you so long to find a new protector?"
Clarisse didn't answer.
Jonas stepped forward. This had gone on too long. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Frederic Childs now, even if it had been months since he'd seen his friend. He couldn't stop mulling over this morning long enough to concentrate on meaningless chatter. The image of Imogene Carter's face wouldn't leave him. It
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