With a sigh, I say, “Though Gustin was my father’s heir, and he carries the title and the inheritance, I contributed to the estate with money I made from the portraits I painted over the last few years. The money my brother gambled did not solely belong to him, and I did not agree to the wager.”
I give him a pointed look, asking him if he’s happy. It’s not like he doesn’t already know. Why must we go through all these ridiculous steps?
A satisfied smile tugs at Brahm’s lips. He looks down at the menu once more, furrowing his brow as he contemplates the options. “Do you have a record of payments you received? I’m assuming you deposited the funds into your family’s account at one of the local banks.”
Slowly, my stomach sinks. “I gave Gustin the money.”
Brahm looks up sharply. “All of it?”
I flounder. “He’s…he’s my brother. I didn’t believe we needed a paper trail.”
Brahm brings his fingers to his temples, groaning. “Alice.”
“I was paid, though. You can ask anyone who sat for me.”
“But you cannot prove you contributed to the estate.”
“You don’t believe me?” I ask, growing offended.
“Of course I believe you,” he snaps, and then he draws in a breath, silently apologizing with an extended hand. “It will be enough. And for now, let’s just enjoy the afternoon. What are you going to order?”
“Let’s get an assortment of the tea sandwiches. I’m rather hungry.” I pause. “And since it’s the holidays, let’s order peppermint tea.”
“Is there a season for peppermint tea?” he asks, smiling to himself.
“It tastes better now. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Callie returns, and Brahm gives her our order.
“I’ll be back shortly,” she promises, giving me a look that says she’s dying to ask me what I’m doing here with Lord Ambrose.
When she’s gone, I set my hands in my lap. “You said you have business here today. Where are we going after we eat?”
“The auction house.”
“Oh.” My stomach flips, and I look down. Lacing my fingers together, I say, “The auction is in a few days, isn’t it?”
“I’ve decided to cancel it.”
Slowly, I pull my eyes to his. “Why would you do that?”
He drums the tips of his fingers on the table. “It’s possible the next owner would prefer to have the home furnished.”
“Why are you doing this for me?” I whisper. “You had to settle with the bank when you learned about the lien on the property. You’re going to lose a small fortune.”
He leans forward. “It won’t come for free.”
I swallow, wishing I had tea for my suddenly dry mouth.
“I expect a very detailed portrait, miss artist.”
My heart warms, and a tiny knot unfurls in my stomach. And as easy as that, this attraction I’ve felt since I first met the bandit in the woods—this fascination—blooms into affection. I like Brahm, both sides of him.
And I like him here, with me in Kellington.
Very much.
* * *