“I am Rowan Barnes.”
“Enchanted.” Kate took his hand with a bemused half curtsy. “I am—”
“Kate Anstruther.” He turned her hand as if studying her knuckles and tendons in slightly different light. “I know you.”
“Do you?”
“May I say you have remarkable proportions?”
Kate smiled uncomfortably. Barnes tilted his head, peering at Kate’s face like an object. He had yet to slide his gaze over her sensuous figure. That was admirable restraint, Simon thought with mild annoyance at the man’s boldness because even he found it impossible to keep himself from staring as she left a room.
Kate sighed. “May I present my companion, Mr. Simon Archer.”
Barnes didn’t even glance at him. “Archer? I’ve heard your name.”
“Have you now?” Simon gave Kate a smug, knowing look.
Kate extracted her hand from the artist’s grip. “Would you be so good, Mr. Barnes, as to cease staring at me?”
“I’m truly sorry. You’re hypnotic. Your face is … mathematically perfect.”
Simon briefly thought that was an excellent line.
“I must paint you,” Barnes exclaimed.
“Must you really?” Kate exhaled, growing annoyed.
“Yes.” Barnes was sincere, or at least a remarkable facsimile of it. There was no hint of the trolling lascivious artist tempting an eager model. He was only tempting a savage beating as he continued to stare into Kate’s face. “You are the protofemale. You are the emanation of the primeval woman.”
“I am impressed by your boldness, sir,” she replied, “if confused by your words. However, you seem to travel with an ample supply of women who would pose for you.”
“I see none of them with you here. I see my Jerusalem in you. Would that I could worship you with burnt offerings and pungent oils.” Barnes pressed his hands together in obvious passion. “You must pose for me. I would make yours the most famous visage in England … in the world. Armies of men would go forth with your face in their hearts.”
“No doubt you feel it is the dream of all women to be the object of men going forth,” Kate replied sarcastically. “But some of us serve in lesser ways.”
“There can be no lesser way for a woman such as you.” Barnes’s eyes were wide with fervor. “If you do not allow me to paint you, I will burn this place to the ground with everyone in it! For there will no longer be a purpose here. I swear by all the gods I will!”
Simon laughed. “I’ve heard the arts are not for those with a sense of compromise.”
Barnes continued to stare at Kate, but said, “I am not sure why you choose to accompany this man. Surely not for his wit.”
“You’d be surprised,” Simon said. “We cackle like hyenas from morning till night.”
The painter was done with the diffident playboy now. He gave no sign of hearing Simon and only gazed at Kate with ferocious desire. She met his eyes with admirable concentration. The two of them stood like that, the faces of desire and intellect, in confrontation for a minute. The crowd watched with breathless anticipation.
Simon finally cleared his throat softly and leaned to Kate’s ear. “Are you actually considering this offer?”
“No, I’m not considering it. I’m doing it,” Kate said firmly. She gave Simon a quick smile of confidence and nodded to the artist. “I have made a decision. I will pose for you, Mr. Barnes.”
The artist clenched his hands together and dropped to both knees in a religious swoon. He swept his arms around Kate’s knees and embraced her.
Simon and Kate glanced down at the top of the man’s head while he clutched her legs in supplication.
“Well,” Simon said, “this shouldn’t go wrong.”
Chapter 14
Kate tapped the enraptured Barnes on the shoulder. “When shall we begin? How long until you finish your current painting?”
“Finish?” Barnes rose suddenly. “That is a mere exercise. Eleanor, go! Clear this room!”
Everyone immediately began to file out. Kate watched the exodus in surprise. They seemed excited by being ejected, chattering to one another about Kate and the new painting that was about to begin. When Rowan Barnes was operating in the pure fire of creation, the entire salon vibrated with joy.
Simon stood to one side of the door, nodding politely to those who departed. He glanced up to see Barnes glaring at him.
“You!” the painter cried. “Out!”
“Me? Surely you can’t expect me to leave Miss Anstruther unchaperoned.”
Barnes was walking back toward his easel. “Take your bourgeois foolishness and be gone. There can be no audience.”
Kate took a step toward Simon and nodded confidently. He adopted the outraged face of the scorned man, but his whisper to her was calm. “I’ll be watching.” Then he stormed out with much display of anger.