"They might approve, then, the both of them."
"They might. But they might not. Or they might, like some of the others, like my landscapes but not my portrait."
"You can submit landscapes, then, can't you? Or landscapes along with your portrait? How many paintings are you allowed to turn in?"
"Three. NonAcademicians are allowed to submit three…"
She trailed off with yet another sigh.
She looked tortured, which made his heart seem to squeeze in his chest. He wanted to gather her into his arms, but he couldn't do that in Lincolnshire's bedroom. He fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her. "What is it, cuisle mo chroí?"
For a moment, she looked puzzled instead of distressed. "Cooshla-macree? Whatever does that mean?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "It just slipped out. The language of my childhood…sometimes it just slides off my tongue."
He shouldn't be calling her that. Not as a slip of the tongue or anything else.
The tortured look was in her eyes again. "What is it?" he repeated, without the Gaelic this time. "What has you so troubled?"
"I don't know how to explain it," she said slowly, her gaze focused on the canopy above the earl's bed. "I don't quite understand it myself. As the reception wore on, it became more and more obvious that one of my landscapes would surely be accepted. Which has been my goal all these years, hasn't it? Yet it seemed the more they said they liked my landscapes, the more I wanted to submit a portrait. Only a portrait." She lowered her gaze, finally meeting his eyes. "I want to be known as a portrait painter, Sean. I think I'm going to try to fix Lord Lincolnshire's portrait."
"Can you do that?"
"I hope so. I think so. I have four days before the submission is due. I painted him into the scene in a week, so I should be able to fix him in a shorter time."
"That sounds hopeful." It made sense. But she still didn't look very sure of herself. "Well then, is there another problem?"
"There is." The two wee words sounded so despondent. "Even should I fix it, two of the committee members will refuse to vote for it just on the grounds that I'm female. And I cannot count on all six of the other members, either. If it's better—if it's brilliant—I imagine some of them may come around. But others may not. I'm counting on Mr. Hamilton to be the deciding vote, but that will work only if three others besides Mr. Shee vote for me, too. So I was wondering…"
"Wondering what?"
"When he gets here, before the vote, do you think you could ask him to talk to the committee?" she whispered in a rush. "I don't want my painting selected if it doesn't merit the honor, but if he could just ask them to seriously reconsider it even though they've seen it before, to give the revised version a fair look even though I haven't made a name for myself yet. Do you expect he might be willing to talk to them, as a favor? After all, you and I have done him a big favor by appeasing his uncle."
Sean couldn't believe she'd said that in the earl's bedroom, even in a whisper. He slanted a nervous glance toward Lord Lincolnshire, but the man was snoring peacefully. Or at least as peacefully as a dying man could.
Their secret was still safe.
That knowledge did not, however, allow him to rest easy.
He wasn't at all sure Hamilton would vote for Corinna's portrait, let alone encourage others to do so. I seriously doubt I will vote for that female's painting, he remembered Hamilton saying. I'm certain her paintings won't be good, because she's never studied anatomy. Sketching statues is not going to help her learn anything.
"I'm not sure," he said apologetically. "Hamilton isn't known for being cooperative."
"But we saved his inheritance."
Darting another glance toward Lord Lincolnshire, he rose. "Let's have our chat somewhere else, shall we?"
"We cannot leave him alone."
"I told Mrs. Skeffington to rest her bones a spell, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind returning."
Indeed, Mrs. Skeffington was coming down the corridor when Sean peeked out. He thanked his lucky stars she hadn't returned a minute earlier and overheard Corinna. After seeing the nurse settled by Lincolnshire's side, he guided Corinna downstairs and into the salon.
He closed the door behind them both. Took a seat on a blue-and-gold sofa. Smoothed his palms against his thighs.
Cleared his throat.
Corinna settled beside him, closer than he would have liked. Well, he liked it, but he needed to keep a clear head for this conversation.
"I'm sorry I said that out loud," she apologized. "I wasn't thinking."
"No harm done." He drew and released a breath. "I have an idea."
"For what?"
"For helping you fix the portrait of Lincolnshire."
"Helping me? How can you possibly help with that? I only want you to have a talk with Mr. Hamilton."
"You've a need to learn anatomy, haven't you? Since you're wanting to make him look more natural?"
She looked perplexed. "That's why I sketched all those Elgin Marbles."
"But that wasn't good enough, was it?"
He couldn't believe what he was about to say. He'd spent the last two days thinking about how they were getting too close, and this would make it even harder to keep any sort of distance. But he saw no other way to make certain Hamilton would admire her portrait. No other way to repay her for all the assistance she'd so generously given him.
There was nothing for it. He drew one more deep breath and took the plunge. "I'm thinking I can pose for you."
"What?"
"I can pose for you. If you practice painting me, that might help you fix the portrait in time."
THIRTY-ONE
HOLY HANNAH. Corinna had to forcibly
