Earl's Well That Ends Well (The Way to a Lord's Heart #5) - Jane Ashford Page 0,7

She didn’t have to observe every nuance of another’s moods and adjust her behavior in response. She’d been purposefully becoming more of a nobody for years, and she was comfortable with obscurity. Delighted with it. When Macklin appeared, she would slip away until he was gone. It was as simple as that.

Three days later, Arthur walked into the theater workshop and stopped near the door to admire the controlled rush of activity. He greatly respected the work of skilled craftsmen, and this was evident all around the huge room. And women, he noted, seeing Tom’s Spanish neighbor painting a landscape at the back.

He was here to visit Tom, of course, but he admitted now that he’d also hoped to see her again. The effect she’d had on him lingered in vivid detail. He couldn’t remember when he’d met a woman—or any person really—with such presence. Nor when he’d been so definitively rejected for no reason at all. A spark of resentment rekindled at the memory of their encounter.

He’d made some discreet inquiries in diplomatic circles, and discovered no information about a woman called Teresa Alvarez de Granada. But that meant nothing. The long war against Napoleon had dislocated countless people, and not all were known to the embassy. Indeed, one of his contacts had suggested that this sounded like an assumed name. Arthur felt certain that her nom de guerre disguised a noble lineage. The lady’s stance, her voice, her gaze had proclaimed it, even as she made no claims. That modesty had clinched the matter for him, actually.

He’d timed his visit for early afternoon. Tom had told him how the days went here, and he knew there was a pause for refreshment. He’d also brought a large box of Gunter’s lemon tarts to share out. It occurred to him now that they were a lure for a lady, like setting out bait to trap an elusive wild creature. The idea made him smile, and as he did, she turned and met his eyes. She went still, her brush suspended in one hand. The same shock as before ran through him. What was it about this woman that stirred him so? Her gaze was certainly not welcoming. In fact, she looked quite unhappy to see him.

Tom came over to greet Arthur and led him toward the back of the workshop. He gathered up Señora Alvarez as they moved past her, even though she made an evasive gesture, and Arthur wondered at this. At both of them, really. Tom’s twinkling sidelong glance was no help. They passed through a door at the back of the building into a small open space. “Ah,” Arthur said. “One would never know this was here.” Despite the shabbiness of the surrounding buildings, it was a pleasant area. Unmatched tables and chairs were scattered about. Tom took them to a table shaded by climbing vines and went off to fetch supplies.

Silence fell. There was no sign whatsoever that Señora Alvarez intended to break it. “Did you paint the walls?” Arthur asked her.

She looked at the country vistas that decorated the four blank walls. “Not these,” she said.

Did she mean that there were other walls, somewhere, that she had painted? This seemed unlikely. Arthur placed his pastry offering on the table and opened the box.

“Tarta de limón,” said the lady.

“Do you like them?” Arthur asked.

“One of my favorites,” she replied in an odd, almost accusing tone. She started to rise. “I must go…”

Tom returned before she could slip away. “What about our picnic?” he said. “It’s all planned.”

“Another time. You have a visitor.” She stood.

“But you must join us,” said Arthur. He meant it as a cordial invitation, but she looked offended.

“Must I?” The phrase was nearly a growl.

What the deuce was wrong with this woman?

“But there’s tarts,” said Tom. He took several from the box and set them out with the bread and cheese he’d fetched. The other pastries went to a table where people could help themselves. Tom also opened the small hamper he’d brought and extracted a packet of sandwiches, a stoppered jug, and six small cups that fit into each other as a stack.

Señora Alvarez stood rigid for a long moment. She was really angry, Arthur thought. That was obvious. But why? He could see no reason for it. No credible reason. He glanced at Tom to see if the lad understood and received a bland smile in return.

The lady whirled and strode back inside the workshop. Arthur wouldn’t have been surprised if