The Art of Love by Lilac Lacey

had been having in the studio.
    ‘That is the date of your house party, isn’t it?’ Tara cut in, unable to believe the opportunity to bring up the topic had arisen so easily.
    ‘Yes,’ Rodney said. ‘I’ll give it to father then, it’s his birthday the following day.’
    For a moment Leo caught Tara’s eye and she could almost feel him thinking that such a sensuous painting was a quite unsuitable gift for an old man, but Rodney had commissioned the portrait and he had a right to do with it as he chose. Would Leo be delivering the painting himself? It was on the tip of Tara’s tongue to ask when Rodney added ‘You can see, Tara, how nice it will be for father to have you there, he has always been very fond of you.’
    ‘Yes,’ she said and then wondered if she’d just agreed to go. Leo said nothing, giving Tara no clue as to his intentions. Suddenly she could bear it no longer, standing in this room full of people not asking what they really wanted to ask. Rodney would not ask her outright in public if she were going to come to his party, she could hardly say that she would if Leo was going to and as for Leo, he had asked her if she would stoop to a tryst with a penniless artist and she had not been able to answer. But he could not possibly repeat the question in front of Rodney and she certainly couldn’t demand to know what he had meant by it.
    She set down her wine again, still untouched. ‘Rodney, I am out at the theatre this evening and I need to return home to change.’
    ‘At your service,’ Rodney said, gulping his brandy hastily. Tara glanced at Leo one more time, but he stood with his back to the window, his face in shadow, and she could not see what he was thinking. Well, she had implied that she would be at Wallingford, she would have to wait and see if he decided to act. Pushing aside the thought that if he did not she might never see Leo again, Tara swept regally from the room, resisting the impulse to turn at the door, run back and fling herself into his arms.
     
    ‘Will Mr Fosse be delivering the painting to Wallingford himself?’ she asked Rodney almost as soon as the horses had taken their first step.
    ‘No, I shall collect it on my way down,’ Rodney said. It would be terribly, terribly rude of her to ask if Leo would be coming to the house party as a guest. Not only was it none of her business, but to make it clear that she would only wish to attend if Leo was there would be insulting in the extreme. Tara steeled herself to be that rude. ‘Have you made up your mind?’ Rodney asked wistfully. ‘Will you come?’
    Tara felt her resolve melt. Rodney was her friend, how could she have considered treating him so heartlessly? ‘Of course I will,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘The matters I need to attend to are not important. I would be delighted to accept your invitation, thank you for asking me.’
     
    As the door closed behind Tara and Rodney Leo felt an unaccustomed gloom settle over him. He had very nearly made a huge fool of himself over Tara, he had suggested… he didn’t know what he had suggested, what he had said had been mercifully vague. All he knew was that when she was in his arms he would have done anything to keep her there. And he had misled her, portraying himself as a penniless artist was hardly accurate. He had hidden his title from her, not wishing the parallels between himself and that despicable Frenchman, Philippe, to be any clearer; but instead of taunting Tara over a woman’s concerns of marrying for position, he should have used his title to make a favourable impression on her. Goodness knew, his father had not left him anything else of value. Now when Tara found out he was a lord, all she would see was that he had deceived her.
    He had been so sure she felt as he did, the burning attraction that was between them, but she had left literally without a backward glance as if she could not care less whether she ever saw him again. Leo paced around the