when he lowered his head and began walking again. She dropped back onto the window seat and began to draw, her pencil racing to record the man while he was vivid in her mind. A few quick lines caught his physical features, but the expression eluded her. She tried again, then again, but couldn't capture that air of lethal unpredictability.
She raised her head and looked out the window. Might the man be persuaded to pose for her? But of course he had long since gone. She sighed. Once, she would have chased him down the street to get a better view of that face. Perhaps someday that creative passion would return. She certainly hoped so.
Kenneth paused across the street from Seaton House. Being a society portrait painter obviously paid well. The wide Mayfair residence, so convenient for fashionable clients, must have cost Sir Anthony a fortune.
He wondered what he would find inside. Though Lord Bowden had called him a spy, the chief skills of a reconnaissance officer were riding and the ability to make maps and sketches of French positions. He had never had to infiltrate the enemy as he was doing here.
Mouth tight, he crossed the street to the house. He didn't like the prospect of what he must do, but for the sake of Beth and Sutterton, he could lie and betray. He just hoped to God that Seaton's guilt or innocence could be established quickly.
It took so long for Kenneth's knock to be answered that he began to wonder if Seaton had left London and forgotten to take the knocker down. He knocked again, harder. After another two minutes, the door was opened by a young maid.
"Yes, sir?" she said, panting as if she had run from the farthest corner of the house.
"I'm Captain Wilding," Kenneth said in his best commanding voice. "I wish to see Sir Anthony."
Responding to his authority, the girl bobbed a curtsy. "This way, sir." She led him upstairs to a salon at the back of the house and announced, "Captain Wilding to see you, Sir Anthony." Then she scampered away.
Kenneth walked through the doorway and was assaulted by the pungent, mingled scents of linseed oil and turpentine. Though comfortable chairs and sofas furnished the nearer half of the room, the true function was not salon but studio. Tall windows on two walls admitted great swaths of light. The other walls were covered with a jumble of paintings in all sizes and shapes, casually hung as if to keep them out of the way.
He would like to have studied the paintings in more detail, but business came first. At the opposite end of the room, a scantily draped lady reclined on a velvet sofa. Her bored expression brightened when Kenneth entered.
His gaze passed over the model to focus on his quarry. Impeccably dressed in a gentleman's morning attire, Sir Anthony Seaton stood at an easel in the center of the studio with a palette in one hand and a long brush in the other. His wiry build and coloring were like those of his older brother, but he was a far more vivid, compelling figure.
Ignoring the newcomer, Seaton continued to make delicate brush strokes on his canvas. Kenneth quietly cleared his throat. Without looking up, Sir Anthony said irritably, "Who the devil are you, and what are you doing in my studio?"
"My name is Kenneth Wilding. A friend of yours sent me because he said you're in dire need of a new secretary."
The artist glanced up with amusement in his eyes. "Who had the infernal cheek to do that? Frazier? Turner? Hampton?"
"The gentleman preferred to remain anonymous."
"Probably Frazier." Sir Anthony cast an assessing glance over his visitor. "What are your qualifications, Mr. Wilding?"
"I think he looks
very
well qualified," the model purred, her gaze fastening on Kenneth's groin.
"He's not applying for that sort of position, Lavinia," the artist said dryly. "The requirements for a secretary are organization and the ability to write a good, clear hand."
Having decided not to use his title but be otherwise as honest as possible, Kenneth replied, "Until a
She raised her head and looked out the window. Might the man be persuaded to pose for her? But of course he had long since gone. She sighed. Once, she would have chased him down the street to get a better view of that face. Perhaps someday that creative passion would return. She certainly hoped so.
Kenneth paused across the street from Seaton House. Being a society portrait painter obviously paid well. The wide Mayfair residence, so convenient for fashionable clients, must have cost Sir Anthony a fortune.
He wondered what he would find inside. Though Lord Bowden had called him a spy, the chief skills of a reconnaissance officer were riding and the ability to make maps and sketches of French positions. He had never had to infiltrate the enemy as he was doing here.
Mouth tight, he crossed the street to the house. He didn't like the prospect of what he must do, but for the sake of Beth and Sutterton, he could lie and betray. He just hoped to God that Seaton's guilt or innocence could be established quickly.
It took so long for Kenneth's knock to be answered that he began to wonder if Seaton had left London and forgotten to take the knocker down. He knocked again, harder. After another two minutes, the door was opened by a young maid.
"Yes, sir?" she said, panting as if she had run from the farthest corner of the house.
"I'm Captain Wilding," Kenneth said in his best commanding voice. "I wish to see Sir Anthony."
Responding to his authority, the girl bobbed a curtsy. "This way, sir." She led him upstairs to a salon at the back of the house and announced, "Captain Wilding to see you, Sir Anthony." Then she scampered away.
Kenneth walked through the doorway and was assaulted by the pungent, mingled scents of linseed oil and turpentine. Though comfortable chairs and sofas furnished the nearer half of the room, the true function was not salon but studio. Tall windows on two walls admitted great swaths of light. The other walls were covered with a jumble of paintings in all sizes and shapes, casually hung as if to keep them out of the way.
He would like to have studied the paintings in more detail, but business came first. At the opposite end of the room, a scantily draped lady reclined on a velvet sofa. Her bored expression brightened when Kenneth entered.
His gaze passed over the model to focus on his quarry. Impeccably dressed in a gentleman's morning attire, Sir Anthony Seaton stood at an easel in the center of the studio with a palette in one hand and a long brush in the other. His wiry build and coloring were like those of his older brother, but he was a far more vivid, compelling figure.
Ignoring the newcomer, Seaton continued to make delicate brush strokes on his canvas. Kenneth quietly cleared his throat. Without looking up, Sir Anthony said irritably, "Who the devil are you, and what are you doing in my studio?"
"My name is Kenneth Wilding. A friend of yours sent me because he said you're in dire need of a new secretary."
The artist glanced up with amusement in his eyes. "Who had the infernal cheek to do that? Frazier? Turner? Hampton?"
"The gentleman preferred to remain anonymous."
"Probably Frazier." Sir Anthony cast an assessing glance over his visitor. "What are your qualifications, Mr. Wilding?"
"I think he looks
very
well qualified," the model purred, her gaze fastening on Kenneth's groin.
"He's not applying for that sort of position, Lavinia," the artist said dryly. "The requirements for a secretary are organization and the ability to write a good, clear hand."
Having decided not to use his title but be otherwise as honest as possible, Kenneth replied, "Until a
Similar Books
Full Disclosure
Sean Michael
Undertow (The UnderCity Chronicles)
S. M. Stelmack
A Highlander Never Surrenders
Paula Quinn
Hockey Dreams
David Adams Richards
Call Me Amy
Marcia Strykowski
The Spacetime Pool
Catherine Asaro
All That Was Happy
M.M. Wilshire
Aztec Century
Christopher Evans
Only 04 - Only Love
authors_sort