Brice tensed warily. ‘Which is?’
She drew in a ragged breath. ‘No more questions about my personal correspondence,’ she stated evenly.
Brice had thought it might be something like that, and it wasn’t a condition he particularly wanted to agree to, especially after her reaction to his questions earlier. But if it meant Sabina stayed and had dinner with him without any more argument…
‘Okay,’ he agreed, once again filing that piece of information away for a future conversation. Because he had every intention, at some time in the not too distant future, of finding out exactly what had been in that letter.
Sabina made a point of not taking the arm he held out to her as they walked through to the dining-room. But that didn’t bother Brice too much, either; now that she had agreed to have dinner with him he had her company for at least another couple of hours, so why push his luck? In any direction!
Brice might think he had won this round, Sabina realised as he saw her seated at the dining table before sitting down opposite her, but she could have told him differently. It merely took less effort to agree to have dinner with him than the alternative of having to call a taxi, sit and wait for it to arrive, and then finding something to eat when she got home.
At least…that was what she told herself.
She was actually very aware now that she had forgotten to eat at all today, feeling slightly shaky and light-headed. As if to prove the point, her stomach gave a hungry growl as Mrs Potter placed a bowl of thick vegetable soup in front of her seconds later.
Sabina looked up and smiled gratefully at the housekeeper. ‘I hope I’m not inconveniencing you too much?’
‘Not in the least,’ the other woman assured her. ‘It will be nice to see Mr Brice eat his dinner; he’s been completely off his food this last few days,’ she reproved her employer lightly before going back to the kitchen.
Sabina made a great show of eating her soup, unable to look at Brice for the moment, having trouble keeping her face straight; she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been eating properly just recently.
‘Okay, okay,’ Brice muttered after several silent minutes had passed, ‘so I haven’t done justice to Mrs Potter’s cooking the last three days, either.’ He grimaced self-derisively.
Sabina sobered slightly, not sure that she liked the implication of that statement. It had been three days since she’d last had dinner with Brice. Since he had kissed her…
She had tried not to dwell on thoughts of that kiss the last three days, knowing she shouldn’t think of it at all, but finding the memory of it popping back into her head when she least expected—or wanted—it to do so. Which was all the time!
‘What a pity—this soup is delicious,’ Sabina remarked blandly, unwilling to get into any more discussion about what had happened between them three days ago.
She was engaged to Richard, owed him so much, and the kiss between Brice and herself should never had happened. And the sooner it was forgotten, by both of them, the better she would like it!
‘I’ve been thinking—’
‘I really would like you—’
They both broke off, having started talking at the same time.
‘You first,’ Sabina invited.
‘No, you go first,’ Brice insisted. ‘Despite what you may think to the contrary, I haven’t forgotten my manners completely,’ he added ruefully.
She shrugged. ‘I was merely going to ask if you would reconsider not doing the portrait.’ She paused in eating her soup to look at him expectantly.
‘No,’ he answered uncompromisingly.
Well, that was pretty blunt and to the point! But Brice was being altogether silly about this, must know that it wasn’t a good idea for them to spend time alone together.
As they were doing now!
They made a very strange couple too, she realised ruefully; she was dressed to go out for the evening and meet the general public, and Brice, besides being unshaven, looked as if he might have slept in the clothes he was wearing.
‘Sorry about this.’ He seemed to become aware of at least some of her thoughts, running a rueful hand over the stubble on his chin. ‘I can go up and shave once we’ve finished our soup, if you would prefer it?’ He raised dark brows questioningly.
She actually would have preferred it. But not for the reason he seemed to think. The truth was, Brice looked more piratical than ever with the dark growth of beard on the squareness of his jaw. Altogether too rakishly attractive.
What disconcerted her the most, though, was that Brice once again seemed to have picked up on at least some of her thoughts. Although not all of them, thank goodness!
‘Please don’t bother on my account, Brice. It’s of absolutely no interest to me whether or not you’ve shaved today,’ she told him coolly, aware by the tightening of his mouth that he didn’t particularly care for her condescending tone.
‘It seems I don’t have the monopoly on rudeness,’ he rasped harshly.
She sat back, her soup finished, a façade of unconcern firmly in place. ‘You haven’t told me yet what you were going to say earlier,’ she reminded lightly.
Brice’s irritated scowl looked as if he would have liked to continue the conversation they were having now, and then he shrugged it off impatiently. ‘I’m going up to Scotland for a couple of days next weekend,’ he rasped. ‘I want you to come with me.’
Sabina stared at him disbelievingly; he couldn’t really have just invited her to go to Scotland with him. Could he…?
His mouth twisted derisively as he took in her stunned expression. ‘I wasn’t suggesting an illicit couple of days away together,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘I’m going to my grandfather’s castle.’
This explanation didn’t make the invitation sound any more innocent to Sabina; after all, he hadn’t said his grandfather would actually be at the castle…!
‘Exactly what are you suggesting, Brice?’ she derided mockingly.
‘I—’ He broke off as Mrs Potter returned to take away their used soup bowls, waiting until the housekeeper had once again departed before continuing. ‘I know exactly how and where I want to paint you,’ he told her with satisfaction.
‘How and where…?’ she repeated warily, not liking the sound of this at all.
‘I am not a portrait painter, Sabina,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘I told your fiancé that from the beginning,’ he added frowningly.
‘But you just insisted you’re going to paint me,’ she reminded with a puzzled frown.
‘I am going to paint you,’ he confirmed enthusiastically. ‘The way that you look, it would be a tragedy not to. But I’m not intending to do some posed portrait of you; if Latham wants that he can stick a photograph of you up on the wall,’ he added disgustedly. ‘No, I want to paint you in one of the turret rooms of my grandfather’s castle, sitting at the open window, with that silken golden hair trailing in the wind—’
‘Wearing a diaphanous gown, and little else,’ Sabina concluded derisively. ‘The name Rapunzel somehow comes to mind!’ she added tauntingly.
Although that wasn’t how she was feeling inside, a nervous fluttering having begun in her stomach just at the thought of posing for Brice looking like that. What he was proposing was pure fantasy—and she already knew that, where Brice McAllister was concerned, she had to keep their relationship strictly on a feet-on-the-ground basis!
Because, if she didn’t, she was very much afraid she might get caught up in the fantasy!
CHAPTER EIGHT
BRICE could already see the refusal forming on Sabina’s lips. And that was something he couldn’t allow.
He didn’t know how, or when, the idea had first come to him, but he had suddenly known a few minutes ago exactly how he wanted to paint Sabina. That it was the only way he could paint her!
Sabina had been staring at him wordlessly, but now she shook her head. ‘I really don’t think that was quite what Richard had in mind when he suggested you paint me,’ she began mockingly.
‘As I recall, he didn’t suggest it at all,’ Brice rasped impatiently, remembering only too well the other man’s arrogant assumption that Brice couldn’t possibly turn him down. ‘And I really don’t give a damn what Latham “had in mind”,’ he dismissed scathingly. ‘If he doesn’t like the painting when it’s finished, I’ll keep the damned thing myself!’ he added firmly.
He would probably want to do that anyway, if the painting turned out to be as good as he hoped it would!
Sabina shook her head slowly. ‘I really can’t come to Scotland with you, Brice—’
‘Why the hell not?’ he demanded impatiently, fuelled with enthusiasm now that the inspiration had come to him, wanting to get started on the painting as quickly as possible. ‘My grandfather will be there, so your virtue will be completely safe,’ he assured her dryly.
She blinked. ‘Your grandfather will be there?’ she repeated doubtfully.
Brice grinned. ‘Once I tell him I’m bringing the beautiful model Sabina with me, I’m sure he will,’ he confirmed ruefully. ‘Grandfather may be in his early eighties, but he still has an eye for a beautiful woman!’