For a second, they both froze.
The moment held, fraught, the air between them charged, as if they stood on a precipice but couldn’t yet move.
His eyes on hers, he knew and sensed it, too. “Later.” He drew breath and lowered his hand. “After the project is completed and we’re free to think of only ourselves.”
With that, he inclined his head, then stepped back, turned, and walked away, leaving the room and heading toward the front hall.
Presumably back to the workshop.
Discovering she could, she drew in a long, deep breath and turned back to the peonies.
Very little thought was needed to conclude that he was correct. What with the engine, the exhibition, and would-be saboteurs, they had too much on their collective plate at the moment to think of other things.
Personal things.
Not that, all in all, they hadn’t just taken a step closer to what they both, quite clearly, desired in that sphere.
She humphed. “Men!” She picked up the vase, destined for the table in the front hall, and determinedly carried it forth.
* * *
“Thank you, Mr. Mayhew.” Felicia handed Mayhew a full cup and saucer for Flora, and he carried it to the older lady, comfortably ensconced on the sofa in the drawing room.
When Mayhew returned, Felicia handed him his cup, then sat back with her own and watched as Mayhew elegantly arranged his long limbs in the armchair opposite hers. She and Flora had been waiting in the drawing room when Mayhew arrived; the instant he had, she’d rung for the tea tray. That had also been the signal for one of the footmen to inform Rand, who had retreated to the workshop with William John after luncheon, that their visitor had arrived.
Felicia didn’t doubt that, by now, Rand was near, lurking out of sight—either in the front hall or more likely on the terrace given she’d left the doors propped wide. She sipped and waited for Flora to open the discussion.
Smiling in her customary, sweet fashion, Flora lowered her cup and said, “Dear Felicia tells me that you wish to draw more sketches of the Hall, Mr. Mayhew.”
“Yes, indeed.” His charm to the fore, Mayhew launched into an explanation of how the Hall in its rather unusual setting called to him.
Although Mayhew’s gaze flicked her way several times, Felicia kept silent and observed. Closely.
Eventually, Mayhew ran down, and Flora responded with a smiling “I can see you’re extremely devoted to your art, sir.”
Felicia seized the moment. “Is there any particular aspect you had in mind to sketch on this occasion?” She half expected him to own to a wish to sketch the house from the rose garden, or from some other angle that would give him a view of the workshop.
Mayhew smiled and waved toward the terrace. “The perspective from that side is by far the best. I would like to make several sketches from that direction.” He turned and glanced out of the open doors. “From farther down the lawn—toward the woods.”
“I see.” Flora smiled benignly. “I’m sure we can have no objection to that.” She cast a faintly questioning look at Felicia.
Caught in the act of raising her cup, Felicia inclined her head, sipped, then lowered her cup. “Indeed.”
“Actually, my dear Mr. Mayhew,” Flora said, “I was wondering if you’re acquainted with the Mayhews of Tonbridge. Gerrard and his wife, Kitty.”
Hiding an inner smile, Felicia listened as Flora embarked on just the sort of inquisition a widowed lady of her years might be expected to have an interest in; in truth, Flora rarely had the chance to air her interrogatory skills, but given they wished to know more of Mayhew, inquiring as to his family connections was potentially pertinent.
However, Flora uncovered no inherently suspicious connections, and, rather more telling, Mayhew suffered her questions with easy grace. His charm and ready-to-please air never faltered.
Felicia—straining her ears for any hint of an out-of-place intonation and, with her eyes sharply focused, searching for any sign of a mask—had reached the point of acquitting Mayhew of being anything other than the charming and easygoing artist he seemed, when a sudden pop! sounded.
The distinct and rather odd noise apparently came from outside, reaching them through the open doors. They all glanced that way, and Felicia realized William John must have the workshop doors open, or at least ajar. The noise had come from there, from around the side of the house.
She glanced back in time to see an expression she couldn’t read flash across Mayhew’s face. It was there and gone so quickly, she had no idea what it might have meant.
The instant Mayhew saw her looking his way, his smile returned, combined with an inquiring look.
She waved dismissively. “Just a pipe clanking. They sometimes do when the sun heats them.”