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clothes.
    And Sophia wanted more than that. She had wanted more than
that the minute she had seen Joseph in the billiard room with his shirt undone,
smelling of cigars and brandy, tempting and tantalizing her with gallantry and
masculinity.
    Now she practically swooned whenever she saw him. And she
really liked how she felt around him, the warmth in her belly, the tingle up
her spine, the swollen dampness between her legs.
    She even liked the nerve-racking thrill she got as she
walked—skipped, really—across the rolling lawn to the wrought iron folly. She
had to slow down as the studio came into view. Its occupant would be able to
see her approaching and would wonder what she was doing skipping on the lawn in
the middle of the estate. She paused. She hadn’t yet thought of an excuse. Of
course it could simply be that she was out for a walk and saw the studio and
thought she’d pop in for a chat with her brother. She wouldn’t tell Joseph she
knew Arthur had gone to Little Bytham to check on a tenant’s ill mother.
    The front windows framed Joseph standing by the stove,
pouring water from the kettle into a teapot. He placed the teapot on a table
nestled between two stuffed armchairs, a wonderfully domestic act in such a
cozy setting, which for some reason inspired all sorts of naughty thoughts. She
was futilely trying to dismiss those thoughts when Joseph caught sight of her.
He stood by the drapes at the front window and waved a welcome. She inhaled a
fortifying breath and went inside.
    The studio was pleasantly warm from a fire crackling in the
corner hearth opposite the stove. Some of the discarded furniture had been
grouped into a seating arrangement, giving the space a homier feel. Books had
been stacked neatly on the floor and on a chair. Joseph pulled the front
curtains closed then motioned for her to sit.
    “All this glass,” he explained. “The drapes will keep the
heat in. I’ve tea enough for two if you’d like to join me.”
    “I’d love to.” She placed her bonnet on a table and sat.
    “Are you out for a walk on this dreary day?” His tone
suggested it was a slightly ridiculous notion.
    “Well, it’s not raining.”
    “Yet.”
    He smiled at her and she could swear his eyes twinkled. He
often got such a look where his eyes revealed he knew a lot more about a
situation than was being said, but he always held his tongue. Sophia liked that
about him, although he seemed to be implying now that she had chosen a time of
day when it might start pouring rain and she and he would be trapped together
for hours upon hours.
    A wonderful thought …
    He poured out two cups of tea then added milk from a little
jug into one cup. He held out the jug and raised a brow at her.
    “Yes please.”
    “There’s sugar in the cooling cupboard, if you like.”
    “No thank you.”
    Not only was this the first time they had been alone
together, they were engaged in one of the most mundane acts of the day. And she
loved every minute of it. His every move fascinated her—so careful, deliberate,
measured. Like his drawings of railway carriages.
    “Are you drawing today?” she asked, sipping her tea.
    “Yes. I’ve just finished some preliminary designs. I always
like to take a break afterward then go back and look things over. Taking a break
can stir up new ideas.” He moved a stack of books from a chair onto the floor
then relaxed into the seat with his teacup.
    She glanced at the books. On the top was a well-read copy of The Odyssey . Impulsively she picked it up and flipped through the pages.
    He chuckled. “A rather appropriate story for a traveler like
me. Have you read it?”
    “Not thoroughly, I admit. Is it good?”
    “Lately I’ve been reading literature whether I enjoy it or
not. I’m trying to gain an understanding of the literary references in upper-class
society. I don’t want to appear uneducated in such company. My accent is
unsophisticated enough.”
    That he felt comfortable enough to reveal