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The implication being that she had a chocolate-box beauty! Not exactly the most charming man she had ever met, Sabina acknowledged ruefully, although he was at least honest.
But maybe that was what he meant about not doing ‘chocolate-box’ likenesses of people, Sabina realised with a faint stirring of unease; he liked to capture what was inside the person as well as a physical likeness. Maybe her instinct had been right after all and he really could see into her soul…?
‘A “warts and all” man,’ Richard realised dryly. ‘Well, as you can clearly see, Sabina doesn’t have a single blemish.’ He looked at her proudly.
Sabina looked at Brice McAllister, only to look quickly away again as she saw the open derision in his expression at Richard’s obviously possessive praise. But the intensity of the artist’s attention on her didn’t seem to allow him to see Richard’s possession for exactly what it was: simply pride in ownership of an object of beauty.
‘I think you could be slightly biased, Richard,’ she told him huskily. ‘And I’m sure we must have taken up enough of Mr McAllister’s time for one evening…’ she added pointedly, wanting to get away from the intensity of that probing green gaze.
She didn’t like Brice McAllister, she decided. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel uncomfortable. And the sooner she and Richard distanced themselves from him, the better she would like it.
‘If I could just have your address and telephone number…’ Brice McAllister drawled questioningly. ‘Perhaps I can ring you, and we can sort out a time convenient to both of us for those sketches?’
Sabina swallowed hard, very reluctant for Brice McAllister to know any more about her than he already did.
‘That’s easy, they’re the same as mine,’ Richard informed Brice mockingly even as he took one of his personal cards from his wallet and handed it to the other man. ‘If neither Sabina nor I are at home when you call, my housekeeper can always take a message,’ he added lightly.
Sabina could feel the increased intensity of that dark green gaze now as Brice McAllister digested the knowledge of her living at Richard’s Mayfair home with him. His mouth had thinned disapprovingly, those green eyes cool as his gaze raked over her assessingly.
Sabina challengingly withstood the derision now obvious in Brice McAllister’s expression as he looked at her, although she had no control over the heated colour that had entered her cheeks.
Damn him, who did he think he was to stand there and make judgements about her behaviour? She was twenty-five years old, for goodness’ sake, quite old enough to make her own choices and decisions. Without being answerable to anyone but herself. And she was quite happy with her living arrangements, thank you!
If a little defensive…?
Maybe. But Brice McAllister didn’t know of the understanding she and Richard had come to when they’d become engaged several months ago, could have no idea that engagement was only a front, that their engagement was based on liking, not love. A protective shield for her from the fear she had lived with the last six months, in exchange for that object of beauty—herself!—that Richard wanted so badly in his life. And, strangely enough, she had realised over the last few months, that was all he wanted from her…
No doubt to a third person their arrangement would seem odd in the extreme, but it suited them. And it was certainly none of this man’s business!
‘I’ll call you,’ Brice McAllister drawled derisively, putting Richard’s card in the breast pocket of his jacket before giving a dismissive nod of his head. Leaving them, he strolled over to join a couple sitting in the corner of the room cooing over a very young baby.
‘Brice’s cousin, Logan McKenzie, and his lovely wife Darcy,’ Richard murmured softly at her side.
Sabina didn’t care who the other couple were, or what relationship they had to the arrogant Brice McAllister; she was just glad to have him gone. She could breathe easily again now!
In truth, she hadn’t even realised she had been holding her breath until he’d left them, and then she had been forced to take in a huge gulp of air—or expire!
One thing she did know—she had no intention of being at home if Brice McAllister should choose to telephone her.
And, in the meantime, she intended doing everything she could to persuade Richard into changing his mind about wanting Brice McAllister to paint her…
CHAPTER TWO
‘BUT I’m afraid Miss Sabina isn’t at home,’ Richard Latham’s housekeeper informed him for what had to be the half-dozenth time in a week.
Actually, Brice knew exactly how many times he had telephoned and been informed ‘Miss Sabina isn’t at home’. It was the fifth time, and his temper was verging on breaking-point. Mainly, he knew, because he was sure he was being given the run-around by the beautiful Sabina.
He had known by the expression on her face at Paul Hamilton’s house the previous week, when told that Richard wanted Brice to paint her portrait, that Sabina didn’t share that desire.
Which, if he were honest, only made Brice all the more determined to do it.
‘Thanks for your help,’ Brice answered the housekeeper distractedly, wondering where he went from here. Telephoning to make an appointment to sketch Sabina obviously wasn’t working!
‘I’ll tell Miss Sabina you rang,’ the woman informed him before ringing off.
A lot of good that would do him, Brice acknowledged impatiently as he replaced his own receiver. She had probably been informed of those other four calls he had made too—and, despite the fact that he had left his own telephone number, Sabina hadn’t returned any of them.
‘I would stay away from my Uncle Richard, if I were you,’ David Latham had informed him ruefully at the party last week once the other man and Sabina had left. ‘He’s a collector of priceless items—and he considers Sabina part of that collection. He also brings a whole new meaning to the phrase “black-sheep of the family”,’ David had added with a grimace.
Richard Latham wasn’t the one Brice was interested in. Although, as he was quickly learning, there seemed to be no other avenue to reach the beautiful Sabina…
For such an obviously public figure, she was actually quite reclusive, was never seen anywhere without the attentive Richard, or one of his employees, at her side.
Brice knew, because he had even attended a charity fashion show the previous weekend with his cousin Fergus, and his designer wife, Chloe, at which he’d known Sabina had been making an appearance. Only to have come up against the brick wall of what had appeared to be a bodyguard when he’d tried to go backstage after the show to talk to Sabina.
She hadn’t joined the champagne reception after the show either, and discreet enquiries had told Brice that Sabina had been whisked away in a private car immediately after her turn on the catwalk had been over.
Sabina brought a whole new meaning to the word elusive—and, quite frankly, Brice had had enough.
He was also pretty sure that Richard Latham would have no idea Sabina had been avoiding his calls; the other man had been so determined to have Brice paint Sabina.
It wasn’t too far to drive to Richard Latham’s Mayfair home, the single car in the driveway, a sporty Mercedes, telling him that someone was at home. At this particular moment it didn’t matter whether it was Richard Latham or Sabina—he intended getting that promised appointment from one of them!
He didn’t know why, but he had been slightly surprised the previous week when Richard Latham had informed him that he and Sabina shared a home—and presumably a bed? There was something untouchable about Sabina, an aloofness that held her apart from everyone around her. Obviously that didn’t include Richard Latham!
‘Yes?’
Brice had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t been aware of the door being opened to his ring on the bell, the elderly woman now looking up at him enquiringly obviously the housekeeper he had spoken to on the telephone over the last week.
‘I would like to see Sabina,’ Brice stated determinedly.
The woman raised dark brows. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
If he did, then he would have no reason to be here!
Brice bit back his anger with effort. After all, it wasn’t this woman he was angry with. ‘Could you just tell Sabina that Mr McAllister would like to see her?’ he rasped curtly.
‘McAllister?’ the woman repeated with a frown, giving a backward glance into the hallway behind her. ‘But aren’t you—?’
‘The man who has telephoned half a dozen times this last week to speak to Sabina? Yes, I am,’ Brice confirmed impatiently. ‘Now could you please tell Sabina that I’m here?’ He knew he wasn’t being very polite, that it wasn’t this woman’s fault Sabina was giving him the brush-off, but at the moment he was just in too foul a mood to be fobbed off any longer.
Because he was utterly convinced, after that slightly furtive glance back into the house by the housekeeper, that the sporty Mercedes in the driveway belonged to Sabina, that she had been at home earlier when he’d telephoned, as she was at home now. She was just choosing not to take his calls.
‘But—’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Clark,’ Sabina assured smoothly as the door opened wider and she suddenly appeared beside the housekeeper in the doorway. ‘Would you like to come through to the sitting-room, Mr McAllister?’ she invited coolly.
He nodded abruptly, afraid to speak for the moment—he might just say something he would later regret. Strange, he had never thought he had much of a temper, but this last week of having Sabina avoid him had certainly tried his patience.
She looked different again today, was wearing faded denims and a white cropped tee shirt, her long hair secured in a single braid down her spine, her face appearing bare of make-up. Brice had no idea how old she was, but at the moment she looked about eighteen!
‘You’ll have to excuse me, I’m afraid.’ She indicated her casual appearance with a grimace as she turned to face him once the two of them were alone in the sitting-room. ‘I’ve just got back from the gym.’
Brice raised dark, sceptical brows. ‘Just?’
She met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Can I offer you some tea?’
‘No, thanks,’ he refused dryly. ‘I’ve telephoned you several times this last week,’ he added hardly.
Her gaze shifted slightly, no longer quite meeting his. ‘Have you?’ she returned uninterestedly.
Damn it, this really shouldn’t be this difficult. Richard Latham was the one who had come to him with this commission—Brice hadn’t even wanted to do it.
Until he’d seen Sabina…
‘You know damn well I have,’ he snapped impatiently.
She shrugged. ‘I’ve been so busy this week. A trip to Paris. Several shows here. A photographic session with—’
‘I’m not interested in what you’ve been doing, Sabina—only in why you’ve been avoiding my calls,’ he rasped harshly.
‘I’ve just told you—’
‘Nothing,’ he bit out tersely. ‘Even if you haven’t been here—’ of which he was highly sceptical ‘—I’m sure the efficient Mrs Clark has informed you of each and every one of my telephone calls.’
‘Perhaps,’ Sabina conceded noncommittally. ‘Are you sure I can’t offer you any tea?’
‘I’m absolutely positive,’ he bit out between clenched teeth. A neat whisky would go down very well at the moment, but as it was only four o’clock in the afternoon he would give that a miss too for the moment. But the coolness of this woman was enough to drive any man to drink! ‘Now, about that appointment—’
‘Please, do sit down,’ she invited lightly.
‘Thanks—I would rather stand,’ he grated harshly, this woman’s aloofness doing nothing to alleviate his temper.
Sabina shrugged off his refusal before sitting down in one of the armchairs. ‘Strange, but I was under the impression you were an artist of some repute?’ she murmured dryly.
Brice eyed her guardedly. ‘I am.’
‘Really?’ she mused derisively. ‘And do you usually go chasing after commissions in this way?’
She was meaning to be insulting—and she was succeeding, Brice feeling the tide of anger that swept over him.
But at the same time he questioned why she was trying to antagonise him into refusing to paint her portrait before walking out of here. Because he knew that was exactly what she was trying to do.
He drew in a deeply controlling breath. ‘Perhaps I will have that cup of tea, after all,’ he drawled, before making himself comfortable in the armchair opposite hers.
But his gaze didn’t leave the cool beauty of her face, meaning he missed none of the dismay at his words that she wasn’t quick enough to mask. And Brice knew, despite having invited him to have tea in the first place, that Sabina actually wanted him out of here as quickly as possible.
Because Richard Latham might return at any moment and put paid to any effort on her part to elude having Brice paint her portrait…?
‘I’m not in any hurry.’ He made himself more comfortable in the armchair.
‘Fine,’ Sabina bit out in clipped tones, standing up gracefully. ‘I’ll just go and speak to Mrs Clark.’
And also take time to compose herself, Brice easily guessed. He knew he wasn’t mistaken now, was absolutely sure that Sabina had no intention of letting him paint her portrait.
Why? What was it about him that she didn’t like? Although Brice was sure it wasn’t actually dislike he had seen in her eyes in that brief unguarded moment. It had been something approaching the fear he had sensed when he’d first seen her a week ago…
Sabina didn’t go straight to the kitchen, running up the stairs to her bedroom first to splash cold water on her heated cheeks.
It had never occurred to her, when she’d refused to take any of Brice’s telephone calls this last week, that he would actually come here!
But now she realised that perhaps it should have done; there was a ruthless determination about Brice McAllister that clearly stated he did not like to be thwarted. And never being available for his calls would definitely fall into that category in his eyes. Sabina now realised her mistake, knew that she should have taken one of his calls, if only to put him off coming here in person.
Well, it was too late now. Richard should be back within the hour, which meant she would have to hurry Brice McAllister through his tea, put up all sorts of obstacles to any immediate appointment to go to his studio, and then continue to cancel them thereafter.
Because she was even more convinced by this second meeting with him that she did not want Brice McAllister to paint her. She knew that he was every bit as good an artist as he had been proclaimed, and she also knew the reason that he was so good; Brice McAllister was exactly what she had thought him to be last week. He was a soul-searcher.
Those green eyes saw beyond the layers of social façade, past the protective barriers, straight into the soul, and deep into the real emotions that made a person exactly what they were, and what had made them that way. What had changed her from being happily sociable into a woman who now put up a protective barrier she was determined no one would penetrate?
‘Tea will be through in a moment,’ she announced lightly a few minutes later when she rejoined him in the sitting-room. ‘Richard tells me that you have painted a rather magnificent portrait of your cousin’s wife, Darcy McKenzie?’ she prompted politely as she sat down.
He nodded abruptly. ‘So I’ve been told.’
Sabina gave a bright, meaningless smile. ‘I think he’s hoping you will do as magnificent a one of me.’
Brice McAllister looked across at her with narrowed eyes. ‘And what do you hope, Sabina?’ he drawled.
He didn’t really need to ask her that. Sabina was sure he already knew exactly what she hoped—that he wouldn’t paint her at all, that he would just go away, and leave her with her barrier intact…
‘The same thing, of course,’ she returned smoothly, meeting that continuous probing gaze with a completely blank one of her own.
‘Of course,’ Brice finally echoed dryly. ‘I—’
‘Ah, tea.’ Sabina turned to smile at Mrs Clark as she came into the room, the tray she carried, as Sabina had instructed the housekeeper a few minutes ago, containing just the tea; she did not intend offering Brice McAllister cake as well and delaying his departure by even a few minutes!
‘No sugar for me, thanks,’ Brice McAllister murmured as the housekeeper left the room and Sabina sat forward to pour milk and tea into the cups.
‘Sweet enough already’ didn’t quite apply to this man, Sabina acknowledged wryly. Tough, determined, slightly arrogant, very insightful, but Brice McAllister was definitely not ‘sweet’!
‘You seem quite at home here,’ he drawled mockingly.
Despite being caught slightly off guard by the abruptness of the statement, Sabina managed to continue to calmly pour her own tea into the cup. ‘Why shouldn’t I? It is my home,’ she returned coolly, once again sensing that disapproval of the fact that she lived here with Richard.
Which was slightly old-fashioned coming from a man who was probably only aged in his mid-thirties. Or perhaps it was the age difference between herself and Richard that Brice McAllister disapproved of…?
‘So when are you free to sit for some sketches for me?’ he prompted suddenly.
She shook her head regretfully as she sat back to drink her tea. ‘I have a very busy schedule for the next few months—’
