The Art of Love Read online

  She had been fashionably late. Framed in the doorway of a card room there stood a tall man, looking in at the occupants. She could only see him from the back but from the set of his shoulders he had a glower on his face. Tara’s treacherous heart leapt at the sight, even after only one meeting she would know that silhouette anywhere - it was Leo.

  She couldn’t help it, her feet led her where they would and in a few seconds Tara found herself on the cusp of the card room into which Leo looked with obvious disdain. He’d been aware of her approach, she could tell by the slow way in which he turned to look at her and for a moment she wondered if he would simply nod and move to let her pass. But as she moved to step into the room he laid his hand on her bare forearm.

  Despite its complete propriety it was the most intimate of touches, gentle as a feather, yet as sure as if he possessed her. She knew that if she pulled away he would not try to restrain her, but she felt powerless to move. She was completely and willingly captured.

  ‘You don’t want to go in there,’ Leo said.

  It broke the spell; Tara was not in the habit of letting men do her thinking for her. ‘Don’t I?’ she said.

  Leo shook his head, a quizzical smile playing across his lips. ‘The stakes are very high, it’s no place for a lady.’

  Tara smiled back through narrowed eyes. ‘I am accustomed to wandering where I please at these gatherings,’ she said. ‘I would not be unwelcome in there.’

  Leo’s grip on her arm tightened almost imperceptibly. ‘Players are staking entire family fortunes in that room,’ he said. ‘Some of those people will be ruined tonight; they won’t be seen in society again. There are men in there headed for debtor’s prison - or worse.’

  Tara gasped. ‘What do you take me for?’ she demanded. ‘I said I wished to go in and that my presence would be unremarkable. I never said I intended to play. I am not such a fool.’ She had struck hard, she could tell by the sudden widening of his eyes and the faltering of his grip on her arm. Angrily she pulled away before she could surrender herself to him again. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, Fosse,’ she said haughtily, more hurt than she knew she had a right to be by his assumption that she was a reckless gambler, ‘I am looking for a friend.’ She pushed past him into the smoky room where groups of players sat intently around card tables, murmuring only to raise the stakes while other people prowled in silence around them.

  Freddie wasn’t there, she saw at a glance. She knew he wouldn’t be the moment Leo had made his little speech about debtors’ prison. Freddie played for far higher stakes than she did, but he was not a reckless idiot, he would never gamble beyond his disposable income. However she had had no intention of letting Leo think he could dictate her actions. She circled the room briefly, as if checking each face and then came back to the doorway, expecting to find Leo still standing there, but he was gone. For a moment she almost wondered if she had imagined his presence, after all he was not of her circle, but perhaps Lord Carlshot had found it amusing to invite a fashionable artist to his gathering.

  Absurdly she was disappointed that Leo had not waited for her, and then, worse, she saw Rodney over on the far side of the ballroom, making his way towards her. Quickly she scanned the room for Freddie, if she was at least ensconced in conversation with him when Rodney reached her it would help with her deception. The ballroom had filled up though, and Freddie was rather short and she couldn’t see him through the black jackets of the men and the ladies’ brilliant dresses. She could see Leo though, taller than most men there and unusually still as he observed the seething mass of society around him. As if he felt her eyes upon him he turned and looked at her from across the room.

  For a moment it was as if they were the only two people there. Tara felt as if she could reach out and Leo would take her hand. ‘Where is Freddie?’ she mouthed. Perhaps Leo could lip read, or perhaps he had seen Rodney approaching and knew that her quest to find Freddie had become more urgent for his mouth moved in a slight smile. He jerked his head towards a refreshment table to his right and Tara saw Freddie helping himself to a bread roll. ‘Thank you,’ she breathed and knew Leo understood when he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

  Quickly she threaded her way through the crowd, aware of Rodney changing tack to follow her. ‘Freddie,’ she said a little breathlessly, finding him just on the verge of leaving the refreshment table.

  ‘Tara,’ Freddie said, taking her hand and kissing it at once. Out of the corner of her eye Tara saw Rodney closing in on them. She hadn’t a moment to waste.

  ‘How glad I am to have found you,’ she said, ‘before my dance card was completely filled.’

  Freddie shifted a little uncomfortably, ‘My dear Tara,’ he said, ‘nothing would give me more pleasure than to dance with you, but unfortunately I am committed to a game of cards starting in only a few minutes. I am afraid I shall have to forgo the honour. That is…’ he added ‘unless the tune being struck up now has not been spoken for?’

  ‘It has not!’ Tara said joyfully, seizing Freddie’s arm before he could change his mind. In truth she had not filled in a single slot on her dance card, but neither Freddie nor Rodney need know that; Tara had been troubled by a lack of spontaneous dance partners in the past. She had just time to nod hello to Rodney and the dance began.

  With more enthusiasm than grace Freddie partnered her in a lively country dance. She suspected he had not participated in this particular dance for years and surreptitiously hauled him into position from time to time. Freddie was out of breath when they finished, but he took it in good grace, bowing and kissing her hand as they swiftly parted, he heading for his promised game and she for the nearest retiring room.

  In contrast with the melee of the dance floor the room was quiet, and empty this early in the evening. Thick damask curtains shut out the night and a chaise longue and a cluster of chairs upholstered in matching material were artfully set out. Tara drew up one of the chairs to a small table bearing carafes of wine and lemonade and a plate of biscuits. Then she fished in her reticule and brought out her dance card and a little pencil. She chewed the end of the pencil thoughtfully, then scrawled Freddie’s name next to the dance they had just shared and in two other slots as well. Of course the ideal thing would be if the card were too full to allow her to dance with Rodney at all, such a thing would surely show him she felt no special attachment towards him without her ever having to voice such cruel words. Thoughtfully she added Philippe’s name twice, she had seen him in the distance and knew that he of all people would not be hiding in the card rooms. But who else could she put down? If only she could remember the name of the man who had greeted her when she first arrived. Then it occurred to her that it didn’t matter, Rodney’s were the only eyes this dance card was intended for. Quickly she added names; Lord Carlshot, he was hosting this ball, it was highly likely she would dance one dance with him, Mr Yorke, Mr Prendergast, Lord Southerby. The rest of the names were fictitious, but Rodney would not know that. Smiling she scribbled a few more, resisting the temptation to add Mr Fosse, then she replaced her dance card and rose, ready to rejoin the fray.

  Rodney was not in sight when she returned, so Tara allowed herself to relax and observe the dance floor. Another country dance was in progress, slower than the last. She saw three of her gentleman friends, partnered with young debutantes, and she smiled to herself, expecting to be invited to at least one wedding before the year was out. Leo was not present though and she wondered if he danced, if indeed he knew the dances. She had been surprised to see him here tonight and she realised that she had no idea of his background. Before the sitting she had assumed that Rodney’s chosen artist came from a craftsman’s environment, but now that she thought about it Leo was better educated than she would have expected such a man to be. Perhaps he was a dilettante who had taken up painting? But surely if that was the case Rodney would have mentioned it. She knew she couldn’t possibly embarrass Leo by asking, but she wondered about him. Somehow the whole was greater than
the sum of the parts.

  ‘Bonsoir, Tara!’ a voice in her ear made her jump, and she turned, smiling, knowing who it was before she saw him. Philippe’s accented English was unmistakable.

  ‘Philippe, how lovely to see you.’ She presented her hand and he kissed it.

  ‘I was quite sure your dance card would be full,’ Philippe said, his eyes twinkling in a way that suggested he knew exactly what Tara was about. ‘In fact I was told it was so. Yet here you are, on the edge of the dance floor, all alone. How can it be?’

  ‘A small error in communication,’ she said, laughing up at him.

  ‘Then let it be an error in my favour,’ Philippe said. ‘Please dance the next dance with me.’

  Tara always enjoyed dancing with Philippe, he had a certain style, fast and lively, which might have been how they had danced in France or it might have been his personality, she couldn’t tell. Either way she was laughing and breathless by the time they finished the set. ‘Merci, mademoiselle,’ Philippe said, bowing and not looking in the least bit ruffled. ‘You have done me a great service; I see that my dancing has caught the eye of a young lady of fortune. Now I believe she hopes to dance with me and I too have hopes for her, so if you will excuse me?’

  So that was why he had chosen to bow rather than kiss her hand. ‘Bon chance,’ Tara murmured and retreated from the dance floor.

  ‘There you are!’ Rodney’s voice made her jump guiltily. ‘I’ve been looking for you all evening.’

  ‘I’ve been dancing the night away,’ Tara said glibly.

  ‘I can see that,’ Rodney said, sounding rather grumpy. ‘Have you any dances left for me?’

  Tara had been wondering if she would dare to go through with her deception, it seemed a callous way to treat a friend, but she reminded herself that discouraging Rodney with her indifference now was going to be much easier on both of them than letting him propose and then rejecting him. Reluctantly she pulled out her dance card, flicked it open just long enough for Rodney to see that all the spaces were filled and then shook her head. ‘It seems I am fully booked,’ she said lightly, hoping the musicians would not start the next set until she had escaped from Rodney’s side.

  ‘I didn’t think you usually bothered with those things,’ Rodney said, eyeing the dance card as she slipped it back into her reticule.

  ‘Needs must,’ Tara said briefly, hoping to end the conversation through saying as little as possible. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the viola player pick up his bow and the conductor place a new sheaf music on his stand.

  ‘It seems your next partner is nowhere to be seen,’ Rodney said. ‘May I step into the breach?’ There wasn’t a graceful way to refuse, Tara thought helplessly, and if Rodney danced with her he would realise that she had no one booked for the next dance either, nor the dance after that. Then he would either think her popularity had plummeted, or, worse, realise that she had been deliberately avoiding him. She didn’t know what to do.

  There was the discordant sound of string instruments retuning. Tara looked around desperately and saw, just a few feet away, Leo, standing alone on the edge of the dance floor. Their eyes locked and she sent him a mute plea. For an insane moment it seemed that he could not read her mind after all, then he smoothly made his way between the press of couples around him and came over to her.

  ‘Lady Tara, I have come to claim my dance.’ Tara felt her heart lift out of all proportion. Leo knew she wished to discourage Rodney. He had seen the position she was in, he was merely helping her out as any gentleman would, he had not sought her out to dance with for reasons of his own and his actions were no more than those of a friend. She told herself all of that firmly, even while her heart soared and she was aware of the smile which lit up her whole face. She held out her hand to Leo and when he took it she felt as if he had taken her in his arms.

  The first dance of the set was sedate, they barely touched, but each time their hands brushed Tara found that all her awareness was concentrated in her fingertips. Leo danced expertly; his touch so light it was hardly there and yet it made her shiver in delight each time he touched her. When the dance finished he bowed to her but did not walk away. They stood there, looking at each other and then the small orchestra struck up the next tune.

  It was a waltz. Leo held out his arms and Tara melted into them. Again his clasp was light, but she couldn’t have broken away for all the world and as he swirled her around the dance floor it felt as if they had been dancing together forever. They did not speak, there seemed to be no need.

  Then Tara caught sight of Rodney on the other side of the room with a pretty, young debutante in his arms. Although the girl looked barely old enough to be out of the school room, Rodney was smiling as he chatted with her, looking completely absorbed by her youthful prettiness. A tension Tara hadn’t been aware of having flowed out of her at the sight and she felt herself truly relax for perhaps the first time since Rodney had asked for her portrait. She liked Rodney and had been worried that he would see through her rather transparent refusal to dance with him and that his feelings would be hurt. But whether or not he realised she was deliberately avoiding him, he was clearly not pining now. He looked quite happy and Tara resolved to learn the name of his dance partner and invite her and Rodney to one of her own soirees in the future.

  ‘You look happier,’ Leo murmured.

  Tara indicated with her head. ‘Rodney,’ she said, ‘I think he’s forgotten all about me.’

  Leo chuckled. ‘I don’t think anyone could ever forget about you,’ he said and Tara looked at him sharply wondering if his reply was a compliment or a comment of a more acerbic nature. The music drew to a close and in the silence between dances and Tara was suddenly aware that with Rodney’s attentions engaged elsewhere she had no need to continue dancing with Leo but she realised that she couldn’t bear to let him end this moment, to politely take his leave and dismiss her.

  ‘Thank you for helping me with an awkward moment,’ she heard herself say, too high and too fast, but hoping to prolong their contact. He said nothing and she quickly added ‘Maybe I will be able to do the same for you one day.’ As soon as she had said it Tara was aware of how imbecilic the comment sounded.

  Leo’s face seemed to close. He gave her the merest of bows and said ‘Maybe.’ Then he swiftly turned away, and embarrassed, Tara hastily took herself over to the refreshment table. There was a carafe of lemonade and several containing wine. Under most circumstances she would have chosen the lemonade, preferring to keep her head clear at all times, but she seized a glass, poured herself a generous measure of white wine and gulped it down. What must Leo have thought of her? She had practically thrown herself into his arms like a lover, pressing close to him during the waltz, letting the music speak for her as if they had known each other for years instead of just a few days. Where was the sparkling conversation with which she should have politely entertained him? Somehow in Leo’s arms the communication had felt beyond words and she hadn’t felt the need to speak. From his curt farewell Leo had remembered what their relationship really was; one akin to craftsman and client. She must keep that firmly in mind when she saw him next Tuesday. She must keep to her resolve and treat him like a cousin.

  Tuesday could not come quickly enough. Rodney collected her in his Phaeton and for a moment Tara was afraid that she had misjudged the transferring of his affections. ‘You look beautiful,’ Rodney said as he handed her into the carriage.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said automatically even as her heart sank.

  ‘Your portrait will be a lovely ornament,’ Rodney continued. ‘I may give it to my father; he has always been a great admirer of yours.’

  ‘Oh…’ said Tara, feeling just the tiniest bit miffed that he did not want to keep the painting for himself. Then she quashed the feeling as firmly as she could, she did not want Rodney’s affections for herself, she should be pleased with his volte-face, but she couldn’t help feeling just a little bit offended.

  ‘I�
��ll be off then,’ Rodney said, pre-empting Leo after he had escorted Tara up to the studio.

  Leo nodded to him. ‘Half past four,’ he said. ‘The third and final sitting will be next week.

  ‘Good day,’ Rodney said cheerfully, closing the door behind him and leaving Tara alone with Leo.

  She was immediately conscious of the impropriety of the situation in a way in which she hadn’t been the week before. Maybe it was because she and Leo had danced together at Lord Carlshot’s ball, or perhaps it was because it was abundantly clear to them both that Rodney now held no claim over her. Or maybe it was the way Leo was dressed. It was a warm day and his flowing white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. She could see a scattering of dark hairs on his chest and the smooth line of his collarbone as he reached for his palette.

  ‘Please be seated,’ Leo murmured, indicating a white damask chair which hadn’t been present in the studio last time she had visited. ‘I am primarily working on your colouring today and it will not be necessary for you to resume your exact pose, as long as the light strikes you from the same angle.

  Self-consciously Tara sat on the chair. It looked new. ‘Turn your head so you are looking just to the left of the easel,’ Leo said. ‘Your left.’ Tara corrected her position and found herself sitting in silence as Leo’s gaze rested on her face. He looked at her for a long time. At first Tara kept feeling she should speak to break the tension, and then all of a sudden she realised that she liked him looking at her like this, as if he were drinking her in. His eyes seemed to caress her and she felt the tension between them shift subtly, as if she were being held ready for something special, like a violin string about to be plucked. Then slowly, barely taking his eyes off her, Leo picked up his paintbrush, selected a shade and began to lightly stroke the paint onto the canvas. With every rasp of the brush Tara felt as if she were being stroked herself. She could tell that he was painting her face, then he lowered his eyes to her cleavage where she knew the roundedness of her breasts just peeped out of the wide, scooped neckline of her dress. Leo made another brush stroke lower on the canvas and Tara gasped.