“Which part?” he asked, smiling. “Painting it or giving it away?”
“Both. How did you think to go to Bal ?”
“It wasn’t difficult. Col ectors place an enormous amount of importance on what others think of their paintings. I suspected he’d be open to a timely trade. And he was.
He’s a decent cove. A damned fine eye as wel . The only problem was your car. I’m afraid the window is, wel , shal we say, a trifle out of sorts—which wil , perhaps, be more of a problem than I’d original y anticipated, given the incipient snow.”
Cam glanced out the window and saw the steady downfal of white. “Oh, fuck—Oops.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”
“But on that topic, here is a question. Could it possibly be considered within the bounds of acceptable behavior here to describe oneself as a fornicator?”
She frowned for a moment, and then it hit her. Bal . She threw her head back and laughed. “Wel , only if your parents were as wel , I suppose.”
“Bal did mention something to that effect. I could barely summon a reply. When it comes down to it, I suppose al of our parents were, but to state it so unashamedly … ’Tis quite shocking, and yet he seemed to be so proud.”
“It is a mark of distinction—especial y where he comes from.”
“I am amazed.”
“Oh, Peter, the painting you did is beautiful. I could see that, even while I was tel ing Mertons to shove it up his, er, storage facility. Is that real y how you see me?”
He tucked a rogue curl behind her ear. “Aye.”
“Do you think you’l have time to paint one of you? I should like to have something to remember you by.”
The pained look in his eyes sent an ache through her heart.
“I have never been much of a self-portraitist,” he said,
“but for you, milady, aye.”
“Thank you.”
He brought her close and kissed her forehead. She loved the clean smel of his skin.
“It stands, I hope,” he said. “The painting, I mean.” She stiffened automatical y and he stepped back and looked in her eyes. “What?”
“I don’t know yet. They haven’t decided. It’s sitting in my office.”
“Haven’t decided?” His face darkened. “Do they doubt my word? I am portraitist to the king, you know.”
“Credentials that sadly must remain unspoken—much as the carnal status of Bal and his parents should be.”
“What is the objection?” he demanded. “ ’Tis an exquisite piece.”
“It is. But the odds of finding an undiscovered Lely after more than three hundred years are practical y nil, and there’s not enough yet to tip the balance in the favor of authenticity. Besides, Bal ’s so mad he hasn’t let anyone look at it.”
He harrumphed. “Philistines.”
“But the good news is, Anastasia is doing everything she can to help. Between you and me, she told me she knows the painting’s not real.” Then, in answer to the look of insult in his eye, she added, “It’s not old and real. But she said because you did it for me, she won’t say anything. Oh, Peter, this is going to sound sil y, but in some ways, that’s the best part of al .”
Peter squeezed her waist. “I’m glad.”
Forlorn, Cam gazed down at the bal et flat peeking out from her skirt. Her friend, Seph, told her pink shoes always lighten one’s spirit, but Cam did not feel uplifted. “Peter, what do you know of the O’Janpa Convention?”
His arm fel away. “Where did you hear that?”
“Mertons.”
“Hel .”
“Can they real y take you away?”
“Aye—wel , no. It would be a battle.” The lines around his eyes deepened. “I’d prefer to go on my own.”
“And you have to go?”
“What I do here impacts you.”
“Of course it impacts me.”
“No, Cam. I-I—” He cast his eyes downward. “I have already hurt you. You may have lost your job because of me, and … and there may be even more I’ve cost you that you don’t see.”
“No, Peter, no. Listen to me. When two people love one another, every choice they make affects what comes next.
But that doesn’t mean the choices shouldn’t be made.
That’s life. If your being here,
