People from various classes and backgrounds were strolling around the British Museum as Katrina and Sarah made their way from one marble statue to the next.
‘I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I understand they are quite old, but most of them are broken,’ Sarah mused.
Suddenly both women stopped at a marble sculpture of a nude man reclining.
‘On the other hand,’ Sarah continued, ‘I’m beginning to see what merit there is to these works.’
They both tilted their heads slightly, taking in the statue’s details.
‘Do you think it is accurate?’ Katrina whispered. ‘Even the size?’
Sarah gave a gentle tug on her arm. ‘If we have seen one naked man today, I am sure we will see others.’
Heat began to creep up Katrina’s face and she lowered her head. Still, the prospect of actually seeing what was inside a man’s breeches was too great a temptation. She turned her head one last time before Sarah pulled her forward.
‘I noticed the beautiful bouquet in your drawing room earlier,’ Sarah said with a smile. ‘I presume the roses were from Monsieur DuBois? He is very handsome, and he was attentive to you last night at the musicale.’
Katrina lifted her shoulder. ‘He is passable.’
‘Come, now, with his dark eyes and comely features, you must admit he is fine on the eyes.’
Katrina shrugged again.
Sarah looked surprised. ‘He is not to your liking?’
‘He is...in some respects. DuBois is pleasant company, and we have things in common...’
‘But?’
Katrina wished she could explain it—especially to herself. Monsieur DuBois was a lovely man. She enjoyed his company. When they had first met in Paris, months ago, she’d fancied herself smitten with him. However, things had changed since she had arrived in London. Lyonsdale had tried to kiss her.
‘He doesn’t make my heart race.’
‘I wasn’t aware you thought requiring a physician was desirable,’ Sarah said, laughing.
‘I believe a man should make you feel something. When he kisses you it should feel like...’
‘When he kisses you it should make you feel as if you can’t quite catch your breath.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So kissing him does not make you feel like that?’
Katrina shook her head. ‘We shared one small kiss in Paris. My breathing never altered.’
There was no reason that Sarah needed to know the kiss hadn’t exactly been a small one. At the time she had thought it a great passionate adventure to be held in his arms and kissed deeply. Now she was trying to recall why she had thought it was so wonderful. Perhaps because it had been her first kiss. Lyonsdale had merely bushed his lips against hers and she had felt as if she would melt into the floor. There was no telling what would have happened if she had allowed him to actually kiss her.
‘I think the next time you find yourself alone with DuBois you should kiss him again.’
‘Sarah!’ she chided, looking around.
‘No one can hear. My mother is in the next gallery,’ her friend replied dismissively. ‘Perhaps he was trying not to offend your delicate feminine sensibilities.’
‘Sarah, he is French.’ Katrina rolled her eyes. ‘And I am not going to kiss him again. Let’s concentrate on the exhibition.’
‘I think our discussion is infinitely more interesting,’ Sarah countered, trudging behind her to the next group of statues.
* * *
Julian wasn’t surprised that Hart had already moved on to the next gallery. When he finally caught up with him he found his friend lounging against the large doorway with his arms crossed, staring into the second room displaying the Elgin Marbles.
‘You know, you might not grumble every time I mention coming here if you actually took the time to look at the pieces,’ Julian commented, approaching his side.
‘I believe the attendees are much more stimulating subjects.’ Hart motioned with his head to the other side of the room. ‘I have been watching them for the last ten minutes. They really are quite entertaining.’
Julian looked across the room and froze. This could not be happening. He had thought he might be making progress. He hadn’t thought of her once since early morning. Fate truly was playing tricks on him.
Miss Vandenberg looked fetching in a small navy bonnet and a navy pelisse over a pale green dress, and she appeared to be enjoying the time she was spending with Miss Forrester.
‘I understand you waltzed together.’
Julian was uneasy with the mischief in his friend’s eyes. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I read the papers, like everyone else—albeit later in the day. What do you say you introduce me?’
‘No.’
‘I promise to behave.’
‘No.’
‘Windsucker.’
‘Dolt.’
Hart tossed the lock of hair out of his eyes. ‘Well, I think you’re going to have to do something. It seems the lady knows you are here.’
The moment their eyes met every part of Julian’s body reacted to the sight of her. When she gave him a small smile he managed to nod in return.
‘Capital! You’ve been acknowledged. Now, go and speak with her.’
What could he possibly say to her when all he could think about was taking her to some remote area of the museum? Trying to kiss her had been highly improper. What if she was angry with him for his boldness?
He was at war with himself. Part of him wanted to go over to her and remain with her for the rest of the day. The other part of him knew that spending any more time with her would make him miserable with unfulfilled longing.
‘Are you going to stare at her all afternoon?’ teased Hart.
‘The thought did occur to me.’
* * *
Katrina could actually hear the pounding of her own heart. She had spied Lyonsdale standing near the doorway and simply wanted to observe him. But he had caught her staring, and Katrina had been so embarrassed she had lowered her head so he wouldn’t witness her blush. Now, because they had made eye contact, he would feel obligated to say hello.
With a confident stride he crossed the gallery with his companion and stopped a few feet in front of her. ‘I hope you ladies are both well,’ he said, inclining his head politely.
She struggled with the urge to finish the kiss he had started. ‘Yes, thank you, and you?’ she said, twisting her finger around the braided handle of her reticule.
‘Quite well, thank you,’ he replied, and then introduced Katrina and Sarah to his friend, Lord Hartwick.
‘Have you both been enjoying the exhibition?’ Sarah asked.
‘He has,’ replied Lord Hartwick. ‘I must confess broken statues do not hold my interest—especially when most of them are of men.’
Lyonsdale eyed his friend sharply, and a silent communication passed between them before Lyonsdale turned back to Katrina. ‘Has any particular piece caught your eye?’ he asked.
Why was it that the only sculpture