Free Accursed by Amber Benson Page B

glanced over at the repulsive man. She wondered how much of her exchange with John he had observed, and felt her cheeks flush crimson once more.
    “May I fetch you one of Marjorie’s shawls?” Reginald continued, smiling crookedly.
    “No, thank you, Mr. Winterton. I’m grateful for your concern, but I’m quite comfortable, I assure you.”
    As she spoke, she noticed that dinner seemed to have reached its end. Thankfully, she could retire with the other women to the sitting room now, without offending Reginald too terribly. She took her leave of the men, following on the heels of Marjorie and Sophia, who seemed to be discussing the new art exhibit that had opened at the Egyptian Hall.
    The hallway seemed darker to Tamara as she slowed her steps to look at the sketches that hung on the lime plaster walls. By the light of the oil lamps, she could make out few of the details in the artwork. They all seemed to be of the same subject, which was surprising to Tamara, as she had never noticed these particular sketches in her other visits to the house.
    She stopped and peered at one of the drawings. At first, she could see only charcoal lines, but as her eyes adjusted to the half-light she saw that the sketches were actually quite beautifully rendered nudes. All of the same, buxom-bodied woman.
    “Do you approve?”
    She turned quickly at his words. John Haversham stood only inches from her, so close that she could feel his breath on the nape of her neck. His nearness caused a ripple of pleasure to travel through her, and her brain seemed to slow so that words might take hours to come to her lips.
    “If I said yes, would you be appalled, then?” she asked.
    He smiled, reaching out to tease a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun. “What if I were to reveal to you, Miss Swift, the identity of the artist responsible for these pieces,” he began.
    Tamara shook her head. “No, thank you, sir. I don’t require that particular revelation.”
    This stopped him. He cocked his head, gazing at her curiously.
    “You do not wish to know who created them?” He seemed utterly confused by Tamara’s demurral. “I did not think you were as prudish as your brother. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
    With a bit of satisfaction she watched him floundering for something else to say, something that would ease them back onto level ground. Tamara knew he had expected her to flit about after him, hanging on his every word, to show that she was surely taken by him. But she was no hollow-headed waif. It was becoming clear that John Haversham was used to dominating his female conquests, and for Tamara to truly capture his attention, she had to place herself beyond his control, make herself seem less easily attainable.
    “You complimented me earlier, Mr. Haversham, by calling me clever. Don’t you think me clever enough, then, to examine the signature of the artist? You’ve an excellent eye for detail. Tell me the subject, though. Is she your lover?”
    The word lover trilled from Tamara’s lips. She felt wanton even voicing it.
    John raised an eyebrow. “Would it matter if she were?” he countered, his words a whisper in the long expanse of hallway.
    She didn’t know how to respond. She knew she should say no, that this would impress him more than anything else she could say, but instead she found herself whispering back in return.
    “Yes.”
    Tamara was shocked that she had confessed it, but it was the truth. The thought of this man wrapped in carnal embrace with another woman made her angry. No, not angry. Jealous.
    They stared at each other for a moment, the silence heavy between them, then he took her hand and brought it to his lips.
    “Come with me to the Egyptian Hall, tomorrow evening. If you are a connoisseur of art, even in the slightest, there is an exhibit there that I think you might find as fascinating as I find you.”
    Inside, she was shaking, but she managed to keep her voice steady.
    “That would be lovely. I accept.