A Groom of Her Own (Scandalous Affairs #1) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,1

shut the door.

Claire wedged her sketch pad between the door and the jamb to stop him. “I beg your pardon?” He’d just close the panel in her face? Though, should you really expect anything different? Actually, yes, she did. “How dare you, Mr. Gray?”

“How dare I? Tsk, tsk.” He managed to drawl that mocking clucking of his tongue. “Is this how you treat your craft?” He looked pointedly at the book, and it did not escape her notice that he’d not closed the door on her work.

Just like that, he provided Claire her perfect segue. “Yes, well, interestingly, that is what I came here to speak with you about.”

“You came to speak with me about how you don’t respect art?” he asked, his expression deadpan.

Indignation brought her spine straight. “I beg your pardon. I do not—” She squinted. No. It was there. A glint… or a glimmer. This time, of amusement. Claire stomped her foot. “Oh, will you just let me in?”

He hesitated a moment, and then sticking his head out, he glanced up and down the street. Then, collecting her by the wrist, he tugged her quickly inside. “What?” he demanded without preamble.

This was how their exchange would occur? In the middle of his foyer?

His very dusty foyer.

She sneezed, catching that achoo in her gloved fingers. “Perhaps we might speak somewhere more—”

“No,” he cut her off.

“I’d rather not speak about such sensitive matters”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“with servants about… with anyone about.”

“You’ve no worries there. The help I have go on their way at the end of the day. They won’t return for four hours. I trust this meeting isn’t going to take the whole four?”

Too intrigued to be annoyed by his teasing query, she did another glance about. “No… servants,” she murmured, shoving her hood back. “How…” Her words and thoughts trailed off as his entire form was brought fully into focus. English gentlemen as a rule were wiry and pale and achingly… everything this man before her was not. Broad and powerful of form, as if Poseidon himself had tired of the sea and set himself up among mere mortals, Caleb Gray… captivated. “Fascinating?” she managed to finish, her voice breathless to her own ears.

He moved his gaze over her face. His thick, dark brown lashes swept low as he homed his focus on… her mouth. Not for the first time since they’d met, she thought he might kiss her. Warmth filled her belly, and her chest hitched as he inched his lips closer to hers. Claire angled her head up to—

Something that looked very much like horror lit his eyes. Caleb took a quick step back.

Shame brought her toes curling tight.

“What are you doing here, Claire?” he asked quietly, but not with the condescension that had recently crept into his tones whenever they spoke. “Is everything all—?”

“I want you to take me to Paris,” she blurted and then flinched as soon as the words left her lips. She’d thought to come in here with a good deal more… tact. Alas, he was an American. Perhaps he’d appreciate her directness.

Caleb scratched at his high brow, stirring the several loose curls hanging there. Her fingers ached to test that texture, to see if those strands were as luxuriant as they appeared from the shimmer alone. Just so that she might accurately capture the feel for artistic purposes.

Liar…

He shook his head. “You…?”

When he let the query go unfinished, she clarified, “As Poppy will no longer be joining you, I thought you might allow me to accompany you and introduce me to the instructor whom you intended to pair her with at the university.” Her sister-in-law, who was gifted in ways where Claire had to work harder, had been presented with the greatest gift, one available to so few women—to learn and hone her artistic capabilities at an institution. Now that she was newly expecting and her husband, Claire’s brother, was set to work in London at the Home Office, Poppy had made the decision to set aside that opportunity. For now.

At the protracted silence, she cleared her throat, filling the void. “I brought my work.” She held the sketch pad out for his inspection. When he made no move to take it, she added, “To show you that it has improved since—”

“What?” he barked, his voice soaring to the thirty-foot ceilings. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Claire’s heart slipped. He’d not known. He should have. Given his close relationship with her sister-in-law, Claire had simply assumed