The Art of Love (6 page)

Tuesday could not come quickly enough. Rodney collected her in his Phaeton and for a moment Tara was afraid that she had misjudged the transferring of his affections. ‘You look beautiful,’ Rodney said as he handed her into the carriage.

‘Thank you,’ she said automatically even as her heart sank.

‘Your portrait will be a lovely ornament,’ Rodney continued. ‘I may give it to my father; he has always been a great admirer of yours.’

‘Oh…’ said Tara, feeling just the tiniest bit miffed that he did not want to keep the painting for himself. Then she quashed the feeling as firmly as she could, she did not want Rodney’s affections for herself, she should be pleased with his volte-face, but she couldn’t help feeling just a little bit offended.

‘I’ll be off then,’ Rodney said, pre-empting Leo after he had escorted Tara up to the studio.

Leo nodded to him. ‘Half past four,’ he said. ‘The third and final sitting will be next week.

‘Good day,’ Rodney said cheerfully, closing the door behind him and leaving Tara alone with Leo.

She was immediately conscious of the impropriety of the situation in a way in which she hadn’t been the week before. Maybe it was because she and Leo had danced together at Lord Carlshot’s ball, or perhaps it was because it was abundantly clear to them both that Rodney now held no claim over her. Or maybe it was the way Leo was dressed. It was a warm day and his flowing white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. She could see a scattering of dark hairs on his chest and the smooth line of his collarbone as he reached for his palette.

‘Please be seated,’ Leo murmured, indicating a white damask chair which hadn’t been present in the studio last time she had visited. ‘I am primarily working on your colouring today and it will not be necessary for you to resume your exact pose, as long as the light strikes you from the same angle.

Self-consciously Tara sat on the chair. It looked new. ‘Turn your head so you are looking just to the left of the easel,’ Leo said. ‘Your left.’ Tara corrected her position and found herself sitting in silence as Leo’s gaze rested on her face. He looked at her for a long time. At first Tara kept feeling she should speak to break the tension, and then all of a sudden she realised that she liked him looking at her like this, as if he were drinking her in. His eyes seemed to caress her and she felt the tension between them shift subtly, as if she were being held ready for something special, like a violin string about to be plucked. Then slowly, barely taking his eyes off her, Leo picked up his paintbrush, selected a shade and began to lightly stroke the paint onto the canvas. With every rasp of the brush Tara felt as if she were being stroked herself. She could tell that he was painting her face, then he lowered his eyes to her cleavage where she knew the roundedness of her breasts just peeped out of the wide, scooped neckline of her dress. Leo made another brush stroke lower on the canvas and Tara gasped.

It was too much; she rose abruptly and went to the window. ‘It’s very hot in here.’

‘I’ll open the window if you like,’ Leo said.

She could have opened it herself, but she merely nodded, her back to him, and gazed out at the view. She could see several rows of houses, twins to the one they were in at the moment, and in the distance, glinting greyly between them, she could make out part of the Thames. Then Leo reached past her to the latch on the sash window, the fabric of his sleeve brushing her bare arm and heat radiating from him. She was very aware of his unmistakable scent of masculinity and she wanted to turn and run her fingers over his chest and have him kiss her, on and on, but of course that would never do. Desperately she tried to think of something distracting, something which had nothing to do with the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm her.

‘Have you lived here long, Mr Fosse?’ she asked. He paused in the act of opening the window and she remembered she knew nothing about him or his family.

‘I took these rooms at the beginning of the season,’ he said. ‘In the summer I will return to Wiltshire.’ Tara felt her heart start to beat faster.

‘My family lives in Wiltshire!’ she exclaimed before she could stop herself. ‘I wonder if we have met before?’

‘It seems very unlikely, Lady Tara,’ Leo drawled and Tara felt herself flush as she wondered if she were only imagining the emphasis he had put on her title. Of course they had not met, what had she been thinking? Despite Leo’s appearance at Lord Carlshot’s the Fosse family, she assumed, were hardly likely to turn up at a hunt ball, except perhaps in a serving capacity. Besides, if she had met Leo Fosse before she was sure she would have remembered him. ‘Now if you would be so kind,’ Leo said, ‘I would like to resume painting while the light is still good.’

‘Of course,’ Tara said faintly. With a huge effort she wrenched her thoughts away from Leo. ‘I think Rodney no longer holds a torch for me,’ she prattled. ‘He seems to be quite bewitched by a young debutante who in turn seems very taken with him.’

‘That will be Lady Susannah Maxwell,’ Leo said. ‘I painted her portrait recently, for her father.’

‘Perhaps Rodney can get a copy made,’ Tara said wickedly, and then wondered what Leo would think of her for saying such a thing, but he laughed and immediately she felt more relaxed.

‘Do you know my friend Philippe La Monte?’ she asked, ‘You seem to know a surprisingly large number of people.’

‘I am a portrait painter,’ Leo pointed out. ‘I look at people all the time and when I visit people in their homes I am invariably given a tour of their collection of paintings. I don’t believe I know La Monte though.’

‘Poor Philippe has no such collection,’ Tara said. ‘He fled from France with nothing. His only hope lies in marrying well which is why I thought you might know him; he is very much in society.’

‘While I am not,’ Leo said dryly. ‘I prefer society at its fringes, I see no point in balls which are composed entirely of people each trying to catch someone whose position in life is better than theirs while they themselves attempt to deceive the world as to their own worth.’

‘Balls are not entirely composed of people seeking to marry,’ Tara said indignantly although she could not deny to herself that that was Philippe’s only reason for attending them, after all she had just said as much to Leo.

Leo raised one eyebrow and stilled his brush to look at her. ‘Of course gambling in the back rooms is a far more elevated purpose for attending,’ he said sarcastically.

‘I myself have been attending balls regularly for four years,’ Tara said coldly. ‘I play cards for pennies and have no interest in catching a husband.’

‘Then why do you go?’ Leo asked.

Tara looked at him sharply, he sounded genuinely interested and she decided to take the question at face value.

‘Because it’s fun,’ she said expansively and then saw the perfect way to convince Leo she was not attracted to him, if he had even thought she was. She would tell him the truth. ‘There are so many handsome men in society and I dance and flirt with as many as I can.’

‘Oh,’ said Leo from behind his easel and Tara wondered if she were only imagining that he sounded a little put out. Then he moved slightly and she caught sight of a small smile playing over his lips and she could have kicked herself. She had danced with Leo at Lord Carlshot’s ball, twice in fact and the second dance had been a waltz where she had practically melted in his arms. Therefore she had as good as called Leo handsome to his face; if that wasn’t flirting she didn’t know what was. No wonder he was smiling.

She knew she should say something cold and distancing to stop Leo from getting the wrong idea. It was one thing to inadvertently lead on a man like Rodney who was rich and handsome enough to have his pick of new debutantes, it was quite another to risk engaging the hopes of a man struggling to support himself with his painting. Although looking around the cluttered room with its stacks of canvasses and finished portraits hung on the walls awaiting collection Tara had to admit that Leo did not appear to be struggling. Quite on the contrary, his work seemed to be much in demand. Then her attention was again snared by that smile hovering on Leo’s lips and Tara found she could think of nothing other than what it would be like to kiss him, to brush her mouth over his and then yield to him and let him take her where he would. She was sure that kissing Leo would be completely unlike kissing any other man she knew.

Leo stepped out from behind the easel and held out his hand. Automatically Tara took it, his palm felt warm and strong, neither too smooth like the hand of a man who did nothing with his time nor too callused like a cavalry man’s. Her heart beat faster and she wondered what he wanted. Leo pulled her to her feet and for one heady moment Tara thought he had read her mind and was about to take her in his arms and kiss her. She half closed her eyes and felt her lips part in anticipation and then he released her. ‘Would you be so kind as to resume your original pose, standing with your arm resting on the post? I need to see how the light falls on your hands. Tara felt her eyes fly open and prayed inwardly that Leo had not been looking at her as he pulled her to her feet.

‘Of… of course,’ she said with as much composition as she could muster. She stood as she had the week before, glad that Leo was not focusing on her face, and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal.

There was no clock visible in the room but the lessening of the light told Tara half past four was approaching. Leo laid down his paintbrush and she felt him simply look at her for a moment. ‘Come and see,’ he said, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of himself. Tara felt a sudden pang of uncertainty. Leo was a very good painter, she could see that from the work on his walls, how would he have painted her? Would she like herself seen through the objective eyes of a scrupulous artist? Or would the strong features of her face which she was able to make striking by dint of her personality simply appear too common when painted in oil on canvas?

Hesitantly she came forward, Leo seemed to sense her feelings and he held out his hand to her again. She took it and felt instantly reassured, in the painting she might appear plain, but he would do no worse than that. He drew her forward, briefly let her go and then placed his hands on her shoulders, his fingers just coming into contact with the bare skin at the edge of the wide neckline of her dress. Tara nearly gasped at his touch, it was at once intimate and challenging. Gently but firmly he turned her to face the easel.

This time she could not suppress her gasp. The picture was not finished, her dress and hair had only been suggested, but the face that stared uncompromisingly out at her was undeniably hers, the face she saw in the mirror every morning, only this face was beautiful. She saw strong dark eyes, clear planes on her cheeks, and full, beautifully defined lips. She looked as if she were about to speak and it did not look as if a mere pleasantry about the weather were about to pour forth from her lips; her expression suggested she was about to reveal a delicious secret, one which would delight both the listener and herself to share. She stared at the work in wonderment, then twisted her head to look up at Leo.

‘Is this really how you see me?’

‘Yes,’ he murmured, ensnaring her eyes with his own. She turned in his arms and he did not let her go, but drew her closer. Instinctively Tara rested one hand on his chest. She could feel his heart beating hard through the cool fabric of his shirt and as her fingers slid across it she felt the texture of the hair on his chest beneath her touch. It was intoxicating.

‘But you made me beautiful,’ she said.

‘You are beautiful,’ Leo said and bent his head towards hers.

He’s going to kiss me, her heart told her joyfully, and she wanted him to more than anything in the world. He moved towards her slowly and she could almost feel the heat from his lips, a hairsbreadth hers, when there was a sharp rap on the door and it swung open.

They leapt apart, and Rodney, encumbered with a large parcel, pushed his way into the room.

Chapter Four

Tara’s heart was in her mouth. Had Rodney seen the compromising position they had been in or not? Quite apart from wanting to spare his feelings was the fact that a lady who wanted to keep her reputation should never be seen in the arms of a man to whom she was not engaged. Furthermore Leo wasn’t a man from her own world, a man whom she might conceivably marry, he was an artist who earned his living through his craft and as such he was the very last person with whom she should have a flirtation. She searched Rodney’s face trying to see if he had jumped to any conclusions and if he had was he considering sharing them with anyone else? She had no desire to read in the gossip columns that a certain lady and a sought after artist were known to have formed a questionably close friendship. Although she did not wish to marry at present she accepted that she would probably want to one day and she did not wish her choices to be limited to fortune hunters and foreigners.

But Rodney seemed quite taken up with his parcel which he had placed on the damask chair, and looked unperturbed. Tara risked a look at Leo and found him frowning at the painting.

‘I will need one more sitting,’ he said to neither of them in particular. ‘For the hair and the dress.’

Rodney straightened up. ‘I thought you’d be finished with her by now,’ he said. Was there a trace of jealousy or suspicion in his voice? Tara couldn’t be sure.

‘Lady Tara has particularly luxuriant hair,’ Leo said neutrally. ‘I must paint it in the original.’ Luxuriant, Tara had always thought of her thick mane of dark hair, currently wound round the crown of her head and tumbling down her shoulders, as wild, but perhaps Leo was right, perhaps it was luxuriant.

‘Tara, will next Tuesday suit you?’ Rodney asked her, raising his eyebrows. Tara wondered if the pointed use of her given name was to remind Leo that he was not entitled to use it himself. Then she chided herself for her suspicion, Rodney had never struck her as complicated in the past. Yet something about his manner seemed different from the carefree attitude he had shown when he had left her alone with Leo just two hours earlier.