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condescendingly.
    “It’s something nobody has ever seen,” she explained, “and you’re the only one who knows the true dimensions of the beast. If you want others to be convinced of its authenticity it will need to be exact, perfect.
    I’m sure you understand.”
    Nathan felt his body stiffen. He couldn’t be sure if she mocked him now as others had in the past, or spoke in honesty, but it irked him just the same.
    Audaciously, she waited for his response, watching him closely.
    Slowly he lowered his eyes to her breasts again, concealed behind a snug layer of silk, only hinting at their beauty. Teasing. Just like her face, her eyes, her voice. Hinting, teasing, never revealing what lay beneath, inside.
    He stepped toward her, moving closer, raising his eyes again. She was blushing now; she’d realized where his thoughts lay, felt the pull of attraction as he did, but she was bold enough to stand her ground and ignore it openly. Good for her.
    “I haven’t had time to sketch anything yet, Mimi,” he said softly, intently, working the lie splendidly. “And of course I’ll need to be there for the sculpting. When would you like to begin?”
    “When you are ready, Nathan,” she replied at once, sweetly. “I work in my studio during the week, from ten in the morning until teatime.
    You may join me whenever you wish, starting tomorrow if you like.”
    With only the slightest hesitation, she reached out with her hand. “Do you agree to my terms?”
    Her terms? He swallowed a laugh. How odd that this one female had such an extraordinary ability to turn everything to her apparent advantage. He couldn’t decide if that was an affliction of her character, or a gift.
    “I agree.” He clasped her hand firmly with his. Her skin felt hot, soft, and he rubbed his thumb once over the delicate bones of her knuckles, daring her to withdraw. The contact startled her, he could tell, and sent a jolt of unexpected arousal through his body, but he stood his ground, marvelously satisfied that a simple touch from him could unnerve her.
    She blinked and drew an uneven breath. Then she pulled back and he released her.
    Without further comment, looking away from him at last, she turned and walked with head held high, shoulders back, to the parlor entrance.
    “Until tomorrow, Mrs. Sinclair,” he bade her softly.
    She paused briefly in her stride but didn’t acknowledge him as she lifted the latch and stepped through the front doors into the gloomy late afternoon.

    Mimi waited till nearly midnight, then quietly climbed the stairs to the third floor rooms, most of them closed off tightly for the coming winter. In slippered feet, she made her way to the far end of the corridor, then reached into her nightdress pocket for the single key she owned to the attic door. She hadn’t been inside for months, as there was really no reason for her to enter the small, dusty enclosure. The contents within were of little use—some rare books in boxes, Italian
    glassware of her mother’s that she treasured and wanted left undisturbed, paintings she had no desire to hang at the moment. And Carter’s things, including a few pieces of jewelry and clothes not given to the poor, his personal notes and scientific journals that he’d kept at home.
    She turned the knob and stepped nimbly inside, closing the door behind her. A musty odor struck her immediately, though that was to be expected, and without hesitation she turned up the light on the lamp in her hand to have a look at her surroundings.
    Everything remained as it should; nothing had been disturbed since her last visit. Cobwebs drifted down from the wooden beams at the ceiling, but otherwise the tiny room was clean, save for a layer of dust coating everything. Mimi placed her finger beneath her nose, pausing for a moment to stifle a sneeze, then got immediately to her task.
    She moved quickly around piles of useless things to the west wall, where crates of her prized items sat undisturbed.