Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride. Kate Hardy
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that he did? ‘An angel?’ He knew he was parroting what she said, but he didn’t care if he sounded dim. He needed to find out where this was going.
‘Or a medieval prince.’
That was rather closer to home. Though he thought her ignorance about his identity was totally genuine. ‘And what would sitting for you involve?’ he asked.
‘Literally just sitting still while I sketch you. Though modelling is a bit hard on the muscles—having to sit perfectly still and keep the same expression for a minimum of ten minutes is a lot more difficult than most people think. So I’d be happy to compromise with taking photographs and working from them, if that makes it easier for you.’
Which was where this had all started. ‘Is that why you took my photograph?’
She nodded. ‘You were scowling like a dark angel. You were going to be perfect for Lucifer.’
‘Why, thank you, Ms Moran,’ he said dryly.
She grinned. ‘It’s meant as a compliment. Or you could be Gabriel, if you’d rather.’
‘Didn’t Gabriel have blond hair?’
‘In the carol,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘his wings were drifts of snow, his eyes of flame.’
On impulse, he sang a snatch of the carol.
Her eyes widened. ‘I wasn’t expecting that. You have a lovely voice, Mr Torelli.’
‘Thank you.’ He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment.
‘So will you sit for me?’
He was tempted. Seriously tempted. But it was all too complicated. ‘Ask me another time,’ he said softly. When he’d worked out how to say no while letting her down gently. ‘Tell me about your work here. The mermaid’s face is damaged, so are you going to replace that bit of the glass with a copy?’
‘I could do, but that would be a last resort. I want to keep as much of the original glass as possible.’ She grimaced. ‘I’d better shut up. I can bore for England on this subject.’
‘No, I’m interested. Really.’
‘Trust me, you don’t want to hear me drone on about the merits of epoxy, silicon and copper foil,’ she said dryly.
He smiled. ‘OK. Tell me something else. What’s the story behind the mermaid?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Gus hasn’t told you?’
‘It’s not exactly the kind of thing that comes up when you’re a schoolboy,’ he said, ‘and since we left school I guess we’ve had other things to talk about.’
‘Rebuke acknowledged,’ she said.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘That wasn’t a rebuke.’
* * *
Maybe not. It hadn’t been quite like the way he’d spoken to her in the garden, when he’d been all stuffy and pompous.
‘Tell me about the mermaid,’ he invited.
He really meant it, she realised in wonder. He actually wanted to hear what she had to say. ‘So the story goes, many years ago the Earl was a keen card-player. He won against almost everyone—except one night, when he played against a tall, dark stranger. It turned out that the stranger was the devil, and his price for letting the earl keep the house and the money he’d wagered and lost was marriage to the earl’s daughter. The earl agreed, but his daughter wasn’t too happy about it and threw herself into the lake. She was transformed into a mermaid and lived happily ever after.’
‘I thought mermaids were supposed to live in the sea,’ Lorenzo said.
She grinned. ‘Tut, Mr Torelli. Hasn’t anyone told you that mermaids don’t actually exist? Lottie says there’s a version of the story that has the mermaid rescued by a handsome prince, but that might be a bit of a mix-up with the Hans Christian Andersen story.’
‘I hope not, because if I remember rightly that doesn’t have a very happy ending.’
Lorenzo’s eyes were very dark. Beautiful. She itched to paint him, to capture that expression. If only he hadn’t said no. Or maybe she could paint him from memory.
He reached over and wound one of her curls round the end of his finger. ‘I can see you as a mermaid, with this amazing hair floating out behind you,’ he said softly.
Oh, help. That sensual awareness of him over dinner had just gone up several notches. It would be so easy to tip her head back and invite him to kiss her...but that would be such a stupid thing to do.
Indigo was about to take a step backwards. Just to be safe. But then Lorenzo leaned closer and brushed his mouth against hers.
His kiss was sweet and almost shy at first, a gentle brush of his mouth against hers that made every single one of her nerve-ends tingle. And then he did it again. And again, teasing her and coaxing her into sliding her hands into his hair and letting him deepen the kiss.
Indigo had had her fair share of kisses in the past, but nothing like this. Even Nigel, the man she’d once believed was the love of her life, hadn’t been able to make her feel like this—drowsy and sensual, and as if her knees were going to give way at any second.
When Lorenzo stopped kissing her, she held on to him, not trusting her knees to hold her up. The last thing she wanted to do was fall at his feet and make an idiot of herself.
Though she had a nasty feeling that she’d already done that.
‘We really ought to get back to the others,’ she said.
‘Are you worried that they’ll think you lured me here for other reasons than to talk about glass?’
‘No.’ She could feel the colour seeping into her face. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. They all know how I am about my work. They probably think I’m boring the pants off you right now.’
He gave her a slow and very insolent smile. ‘Interesting choice of phrase, Ms Moran.’
Her face heated even more. Because now she could see herself taking his clothes off. Very, very slowly. And not because she wanted to paint him naked: because she wanted to touch him. Skin to skin. Very, very slowly. Until he was begging her for more.
Oh, for pity’s sake. She’d only just been introduced to him. Insta-lust wasn’t the way she did things. Why was she reacting to him like this? ‘Let’s go back,’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt.
‘Has Indi been showing you what she’s doing with the mermaid?’ Gus asked Lorenzo when they rejoined the others in the drawing room.
‘Yes.’
‘She’s brilliant. Maybe you ought to commission her to do you a portrait for the coronation. Glass instead of oils,’ Gus suggested.
Indigo frowned. ‘Coronation? Whose coronation?’
Gus looked embarrassed. ‘Whoops. I think I might have just put my foot in it.’
‘It’s fine,’ Lorenzo said.
Oh, no, it wasn’t, Indigo thought. There was a lot more to this than met the eye. Especially as Lorenzo looked shifty, all of a sudden.
They chatted for a few moments more; when they were alone again, Indigo narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What’s this about a coronation?’
‘The King of Melvante is abdicating next month and handing over to his grandson,’ Lorenzo said.
She still didn’t get it. Why had Gus suggested that Indigo should do Lorenzo’s portrait in glass? ‘And?’ she prompted.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘That would be, um, me.’
‘You’re going to be the King of Melvante?’
He