She picked them up and went through them. When she came to the ones he had done after Somerset House, she looked up at him with a puzzled expression.
‘Some sketches I made earlier,’ he replied, deliberately vague.
‘These are different from the others.’ She stared at them. ‘I look…’ She paused. ‘Alluring.’
He did not respond.
She broke into a smile. ‘You drew these after the exhibition, did you not?
He would not lie. ‘I did.’
‘I like them,’ she said simply and he felt himself flush with pleasure. ‘You make me look enticing.’
‘It is not enough.’ He was glad she did not question him about why he’d drawn her that day; he was uncertain he could answer her.
She looked at him as if she could see into his thoughts to all he’d felt about her that day, feelings forbidden him now, but he would not think of that. Today he merely wished to paint her.
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