by Lacey, Lilac
Tara looked at him laughingly. ‘I have been on my feet for hours at a time at society balls for several years now. I think I can manage.’
‘Very well,’ Fosse said.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Rodney said, obviously somewhat behind in the conversation. ‘There you have what?’
Fosse turned back to Rodney and fixed him firmly with his eye. ‘Lady Tara is not a biddable little thing. She is a lady of consequence and her portrait must reflect that, otherwise it will not be a portrait at all, merely a work of fiction which includes her face.’
‘Oh,’ Rodney said. ‘I see.’ Tara suspected he did not see at all, but that the force of Fosse’s personality had dissuaded him from offering any more of his own ideas. This was probably for the best. She had a feeling that Fosse would paint her just as he saw her, no matter what. Again she felt a shiver run through her, but it was not anxiety, it was anticipation at the thought of Fosse running his eyes over her again and again for hours. He had a look like a touch. ‘Are you going to begin?’ Rodney asked and Tara realised that she had locked eyes with Fosse and once more forgotten Rodney’s existence.
‘Yes,’ Fosse said distantly, ‘you may return to collect the lady at half past four.’
‘Now wait one moment,’ Rodney drew himself up to his full height. ‘I can hardly leave her here unchaperoned. What do you take me for?’
Fosse took a deliberate step towards Rodney and Tara saw that he was easily half a head taller and Rodney was not a short man. ‘What do you take me for?’ he demanded. ‘I am an artist of impeccable reputation and I assure you that Lady Tara is quite safe from the gossips in my studio. Now it is time for you to leave. This work is going to be a masterpiece and it will not be created with you looking over my shoulder.’
‘But…’ Rodney began, throwing glance of appeal at Tara.
‘My dear Rodney,’ she said at once, suddenly sure that he was more concerned about losing face than about her reputation. ‘I am touched by your solicitude, but I assure you I have no qualms about being left here with Mr Fosse and if his work is to be a masterpiece perhaps we should take care to let him proceed unhindered. I myself can never embroider if someone is looking over my shoulder,’ she added. She suspected that Fosse would not take kindly to having his painting compared with ladies’ embroidery, but she was equally sure that if she put it on that footing Rodney would be willing to let the subject drop. His sense of superiority should no longer be threatened.
‘Very well,’ Rodney said. ‘Half of four it is.’ Ostentatiously he took Tara’s hand and kissed it. Normally such a gesture would have captured her attention, but this time Tara found that all she felt was impatience. She wanted Rodney to leave so they could begin the serious business of painting, and as the door closed behind him she felt a sense of rising anticipation about the afternoon to come.
Fosse went to a cupboard and tugged out what appeared to Tara to be a hollow, wooden post, similar to how she imagined a stage prop would be constructed. He positioned it carefully on the rug in the centre of the room and beckoned her over. ‘I want you to stand, resting your elbow on this. I won’t paint it to look like this of course; I will probably do it as a short pillar or perhaps a gatepost.’ Obediently Tara stood where he had told her and placed her elbow on the plinth. Fosse looked at her critically. ‘It’s too short for you,’ he said. ‘Here…’ he fetched a pile of books from one of the shelves and raised the plinth three inches. ‘That should be better.’ Tara replaced her elbow and found that it was. In fact Fosse seemed to have guessed her height perfectly, standing there felt exactly right. ‘Now I shall draw you,’ he said.
He went over to his easel and quickly replaced the small canvas there with a much larger one, a vertical oblong about the same size as Tara herself. She found herself thinking it might make quite a comfortable bed if laid flat, and then felt her face heat with a blush, but she could not dispel the rather intriguing idea of Fosse enticing her to lie down on the canvas.
His chalk marks made a quick, rasping sound, like short, sharp intakes of breath and Tara stayed as still as she could while his eyes repeatedly ran over her. ‘Lift your head a little and look directly at me,’ Fosse murmured. Tara did as she was told and found that she could not look away. There was something about Fosse’s face that she found almost unbearably attractive. He had strong, chiselled features and looked at her so intently she could almost feel him through the thin silk of her dress and her cotton underclothes below. She quelled a sudden impulse to step forward and give herself to him. Then he spoke.
‘Come here.’ For one wondrous moment she thought that he had read her mind and that they were in perfect synchronicity with each other, but as she came towards him he took a step back and with a gesture directed her attention to the canvas.
The work was remarkable, in just a few short minutes he had captured her essence. It was like looking in a mirror, or would be if mirrors reflected back in white chalk. He seemed to know her every curve and it was obvious that he had looked at her more closely than any man ever had before. Tara was suddenly aware of her heart beating faster. ‘What do you think?’ Fosse asked softly.
‘It’s…it’s very good,’ Tara answered, hoping he would not notice her breathlessness.
‘I’m glad you think so,’ Fosse answered. Swiftly he got a tall stool and placed it on the rug. ‘I am going to sketch your face now, so perhaps you would like to be seated.’
He held out his hand and Tara took it instinctively, his touch was warm and she felt the unmistakable strength of his fingers. He helped her onto the stool and reluctantly she let go. It would have been no hardship to have held his hand for much longer.
‘Sir Rodney seems very keen to have your portrait,’ Fosse said abruptly, retreating behind the easel. ‘Are you engaged, Lady Tara?’ Tara found herself brought sharply back to reality. Fosse was merely an artist being paid to paint her picture, Rodney was the reason she was here. She had no cause to worry that tongues would wag over her afternoon spent alone with him; she had given the gossips far more to speculate about by agreeing to give Rodney her picture. Why if even an artist, far removed from the social circles she inhabited assumed that she and Rodney had an understanding then society could hardly fail to think the same.
‘No, I am not engaged to him,’ she said crossly, much as she would have spoken to her little brother Richard if he had suggested such a thing, ‘and I have no intention of ever marrying him.’ She glared at Fosse and suddenly found her self-consciousness had subsided. Perhaps that was the answer then, perhaps she could quell her response to this man by trying to think of him as a sort of brother or cousin. Yes, she decided, she would do that, otherwise she was perilously in danger of flirting with him and as he was an artist that would never do.
Leo could feel himself on dangerous ground. He always treated his female subjects as if they were beautiful, but never as if they were desirable. But amazingly the one woman whom he had been unable to get out of his mind had walked through his door that afternoon, and now here she was, his to gaze at and capture on canvas and she was even more desirable than he had remembered. She had an hourglass figure, very feminine, a mass of brown curls and wicked, laughing eyes and although at the moment she was glaring at him he sensed that hostility was the last thing she felt towards him. He couldn’t resist teasing her.
‘As I told you,’ he said, ‘I am now sketching your face. You might like to think about what sort of expression you wish to present.’ He saw her thinking for a moment then she looked at him haughtily, but couldn’t suppress the smile playing around her eyes. He could imagine her joyfully leading an army into battle with just that same look. ‘Magnificent,’ he murmured, only aware he had spoken when he saw momentary surprise flash in her eyes, and then she composed herself. Then a small smile crept onto her face changing her look entirely and suddenly she appeared as a woman on the verge of enticing a lover into bed. He felt a sudden response to her and took pains to obscure himself behind th
e canvas where he made some hasty scratches representing the scenery with his chalk. Her expression was perfect, triumphant yet intimate at the same time, and he was quite sure he didn’t want Hulme to have a painting capturing this look – it was a look he wanted to reserve it all for himself. ‘Perhaps,’ he suggested delicately, ‘as you say Sir Rodney is not and will never be, your fiancé, you should simply smile as you would perhaps at your mother.’
‘At my mother?’ Tara echoed and he could hear a hint of laughter in her voice, as if she knew as well as he did how far her expression was from filial.
‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘Or the smile you would give a friend. Sir Rodney must presumably be your friend.’
Tara grimaced and Leo found he had to laugh. ‘He is my friend, and I hope to keep him that way, he is lively and charming, but I fear he is soon going to propose. I shall then refuse him and after that we shall only ever be distant acquaintances.’
‘If he is so lively and charming,’ Leo said neutrally, although he himself would have described Hulme as impetuous and loud, ‘then why don’t you wish to marry him?’
Tara stared at him aghast, and he marvelled at how expressive her face was. ‘Because that is all he is!’ she said. ‘I could never fall in love with a man who didn’t have more to him than that!’
Leo suddenly found he could draw again. ‘Smile,’ he said wickedly, ‘I am outlining your mouth.’ It took Tara two or three attempts to compose herself and when she had he said ‘So your goal with Sir Rodney is to prevent him from reaching his? In other words you want to dissuade him from proposing at all.’
‘That is right,’ Tara said indistinctly, obviously trying not to move her lips.
‘The simplest way to do that is to make him believe you have developed a tendré for someone else. Then his feelings may be hurt, but he will not be humiliated,’ Leo said and could have kicked himself immediately afterwards. Would Lady Tara think he was suggesting she should pretend an affection towards himself? A quizzical smile played across her lips, making them look eminently kissable, as if she were thinking the same thoughts he was, but her next words made his heart sink.
‘That should be easy enough; I have two friends who might be suitable for such a charade. Although as poor Philippe is a refugee it might be cruelty to use his name in such a way just in case it got back to him, but I have another who is a possibility.’ How many gentlemen did she number among her close friends? Leo wanted to demand, and then tell her that it was quite improper for her to do so. She smiled at him, brilliantly, and he felt his heart turn over, if she was his wife he knew he would never be able to forbid her to do anything. ‘Thank you, that is an excellent suggestion. I shall not, of course, tell Rodney an untruth, but if I chatter about Freddie, perhaps on several consecutive occasions, it may do the trick.’
‘Freddie?’ Leo said. ‘Freddie Palmer?’
‘Yes,’ Tara said, looking pleased. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Yes I do,’ it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her they had all been at the same card party only a few nights ago, but pride stopped him. She clearly didn’t remember him and he didn’t want her knowing she had made such a big impression on him.
Another smile curled Tara’s lips. ‘I could flirt with him a little, in front of Rodney. Let him hold my hand a little too long when he kisses it, put him three times on my dance card. I’m sure Freddie would go along with it. What do you think?’
‘I’m sure he would,’ Leo said dourly, inwardly dismayed, he hadn’t been encouraging Tara to dispense with one man only to have her take up with another. Tara didn’t seem to notice his mood.
‘Lord Carlshot’s ball is on Friday, Freddie and Rodney are bound to both be there,’ she smiled happily, looking, Leo thought, like the cat who had stolen the cream. ‘It will be the perfect opportunity to convince Rodney that I am not destined to be his.’ Then she frowned. ‘My only concern will be getting Freddie away from the card table for long enough. Tell me, how does one entice a man away from gambling?’
Don’t bother, leave him to his own ruination, was Leo’s first response, but he bit it back. Freddie liked to play for high stakes, but he had a prudent streak in him as well, he would not gamble away his house and fortune. It was easy to tar all gamblers with the same brush and he knew he should not.
‘Can you not join him at the table?’ he asked as he sketched Tara’s strong, highly arched eyebrows.
Tara chuckled, ‘Oh Freddie won’t play with me, I only play for pennies, sometimes even farthings.’ Leo felt himself relax, having not been aware of tensing, but the evidence was there before him, Tara’s eyebrows were far too heavily marked in. He got a pristine rag and began dusting away the chalk.
A thought struck him, ‘You needn’t actually dance with Freddie, you only need to make sure Hulme sees your dance card.’
Tara smiled in delight. ‘Of course, why didn’t I think of that? Will that be enough do you think, to dissuade Rodney? Would you be dissuaded if it were you?’
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt her eyes lock with Fosse’s. He said nothing but she could almost see what he was thinking, he didn’t need to speak. If he were one of her admirers he would never let so little a thing stand in his way – but he was not and never would be her suitor. How quickly her resolve to treat him as a brother or a cousin had fallen in tatters at her feet. ‘Don’t listen to me,’ she said hastily. ‘I’m always asking impertinent question and they should be treated as utterly inconsequential. May I see what you have done?’
‘Of course, Lady Tara,’ with his sudden retreat into formality she sensed that she had somehow insulted him, but he stood back so that she could look at his work.
She stepped forward, prepared to tell him that what he was drawn was very good but looking at it took all words away. It was good, it was a very good sketch, but what made her speechless was that although the woman in the picture was undeniably herself, he had made her beautiful. Tara thought of her face as strong, commanding even, and she knew she had no difficulty in attracting men, but she had never seen herself as beautiful.
‘I don’t really look like that,’ she said at last. Fosse was a very talented artist, he must depict all his subjects that way, she thought, clearly identifiable, but far more beautiful than they really were. No wonder his work was so much in demand.
‘Yes, you do,’ Fosse said, his voice sounding unexpectedly harsh, ‘I have drawn you exactly as I see you.’
There was a knock on the door and Tara jumped as it flew open and Fosse steadied her with his hand on her bare arm. Rodney came in.
‘This time next week,’ Fosse drawled. ‘Bring her back for another sitting.
‘Good, good,’ Rodney said. ‘May I see what you have done?’
Fosse stepped forward defensively. ‘I never let clients see a work in progress,’ he said bluntly.
‘But…’
‘Good day to you, Hulme, Lady Tara.’ Fosse escorted them firmly out of his studio and as he closed the door behind them Tara found herself wondering how she would occupy all the hours until Tuesday next week.
Leo however had no such qualms. It was time, he decided, high time he re-entered society properly. He went to his wardrobe and flung it open. A couple of his old military jackets hung there, their tarnished buttons glinting at him dully in the afternoon light. He once would have donned one without hesitation, knowing he would be accepted in all circles in such attire, but he had been out of the army for too long to dress in that way any more. The black coat he had worn to Freddie’s the other evening was timeless, but his small collection of cravats looked crumpled and old. Tomorrow morning he would visit Bond Street and update his appearance he decided. Meanwhile he would write a note to Freddie asking if he could join his party at Lord Carlshot’s ball. He was not personally acquainted with Lord Carlshot, but at such occasions a man of marriageable age and good background was always welcome. Despite the demise of his estate, Leo knew that his title was suffici
ent to open any door for him.
His desire to re-enter society was not motivated by any wish to get to know Lady Tara better, Leo assured himself firmly. It was simply that meeting her had reminded him of the pleasant aspects of getting out and about and seeing old friends. Also it would be amusing to see how her charade with Hulme and Freddie played out, but he had no wish to become involved in it himself, none at all.
Chapter Three
Tara knew that a lot of her friends would be at the ball that night. Lord Carlshot did not possess the house with the biggest ballroom in London, nor did he provide the most lavish of suppers, but there were a multitude of rooms easily accessible from the ballroom, all of which would be set up for cards or furnished for gossip; the principal pastimes of her set would be well catered for.
She arrived by herself at the ball as usual, instructed the driver to return at midnight and went inside.
‘My darling, you look simply splendid,’ a warm, slightly inebriated voice called as she stepped into the ballroom. Tara located the speaker and waved.
‘So do you, darling,’ she said to a tall man in military uniform with whom she had once shared an evening primarily consisting of a bottle of rather nice wine. She couldn’t remember the gentleman’s name just at that moment, but she vaguely recalled that he had been a jovial if uninspiring companion. She blew him a kiss and moved further into the room, keeping an eye out for both Rodney and Freddie. Her erstwhile companion’s compliment warmed her; she knew she looked good tonight, she was in a daringly low cut, jade satin dress which she had ornamented with a string of pearls. Pearls scattered through her dark hair continued the theme and seed pearls trimmed her dancing slippers. She had been pleased with her appearance as she stood in front of the cheval mirror before leaving her house, but it was nice to have her opinion confirmed. Although, she had to admit to herself, ever since her first sitting for her portrait she had been buoyed up by a new and unexpected sense of her own desirability. It was Leo’s talent as a painter of course, she told herself, it had nothing to do with her feelings for the man himself. He was appealing, intelligent and easy to talk to, but at present Tara was perfectly happy with her life the way it was and had no wish to change it by forming an attachment to any one man. Leo knew that, their main topic of conversation had been how she could prevent Rodney from proposing. Furthermore a man of such sensibility as Leo would know how unsuitable a match with a painter would be for her, he would never even consider such a thing. He had far too much pride and common sense.
