CHAPTER 4

THALIA STOOD ON THE bustling platform of King's Cross Station. The vast space seemed capable of containing the whole of London within its walls, and judging by the cacophony and the crowd, it looked as if the entire population of London was indeed inside the cavernous space covered by the grand iron and glass roof arching high above.

The station was alive with the clamor of passengers, porters, and the hissing of steam engines. Well-dressed gentlemen and ladies hurried past, while vendors shouted their wares, adding to the racket. The scent of coal stung her nose, while the aroma of baked goods from a nearby stall enticed her.

A whistle blew, and the conductor called for boarding. The train to York awaited her, its polished carriages gleaming under the station's gas lamps. For a moment, her heart hammered with trepidation. She only had a few minutes to board her train, yet the tumult was making it difficult to find her carriage. Clutching her travel bag, she took a deep breath and stepped forward into the throng of travelers.

As she hurried along the platform, a hurried porter jostled her, and she stumbled. Her travel bag slipped from her grasp and spilled its contents onto the stone floor. Flustered, she knelt to gather her belongings, only to have her hat knocked askew by a passing gentleman's umbrella.

Just as she regained her composure and secured her hat, a young child darted past, brushing against her skirts and causing her to lose her balance. Thalia's heart skipped a beat as she teetered on the edge of the platform.

Strong arms circled her, holding her safe against a firm body. She instinctively knew who it belonged to even before she heard the deep voice rumble in her ear.

"Good God, woman. Be careful."

The Marquess.

She had regained her footing, but her heart kept racing for an entirely different reason now. She turned, looking up into his eyes.

"Thank you, my lord. What a coincidence, meeting you here." She instantly wanted to kick herself for the inane comment. His sardonic gaze told her he was thinking the same.

"Hardly a coincidence, Lady Renier. I daresay your destination and mine are the same, and this is the next train out of London today. Small wonder our paths crossed again."

"Of course, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me, we need to board or risk the train leaving us behind."

She turned, intending to board the second-class carriage just ahead, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

"I have my private coach hitched to the train. If you'd like to join me, I think you'll be much more comfortable there."

He was inviting her to his private train coach? They would be alone together for hours. Her heart stuttered, then took off galloping at the prospect. It was tempting. One glance at the interior of the second-class carriage told her the place was crowded and noisy, the seats hard. She did not relish the idea of hours of travel in such uncomfortable conditions, but... No. She couldn't accept his offer. It was unthinkable.

"I thank you for the generous offer, my lord. But I can't accept it. It would be inappropriate for us to be alone in a private carriage."

The twist of his sculpted lips wasn't quite a smirk, but it mocked her all the same.

"Were you not the hellion who dared to invade my house this very morning?"

Heat crept up her cheeks at his words and his frank perusal. "I would not call it an invasion, my lord. I merely paid a call..."

"You barged through the front door."

"I knocked!"

"Browbeat my butler—"

"I did no such thing!"

"Demanded to see my brother—"

"I asked! I asked to see your brother. But how is that relevant to the issue at hand?"

"You were fierce this morning. Don't turn into a timid little mouse now. Come."

Her mouth hung open as he extended his arm, as if he expected her to come with him without question. But perhaps the most surprising part was that she obeyed his command. Placing her hand on his arm, she hurried after him as he weaved through the people to bring her into his luxurious carriage. Nobody bumped into him or jostled them. The crowd seemed to part to grant them passage, no doubt dazzled by the sheer power he radiated.

No sooner had they boarded the coach and settled onto plush armchairs, than the train chugged forward, slowly at first, then gaining speed. King's Cross faded into the distance, giving way to the English countryside.

Looking at the handsome man lounging opposite her with all the menacing grace of a lion, she had the sense that she was embarking not on a brief trip, but on a grand adventure that would change the course of her entire life.

ASHFORD OBSERVED HIS unexpected guest from half raised lids and couldn't believe his luck. He would have hours of sitting in her presence, absorbing and capturing every little detail of her face. How fortunate that he never traveled without his modeling kit. He couldn't envision a better way to pass the time than shaping clay into pleasing forms. And the form of the woman sitting across from him was pleasing, indeed.

But first, he should put her at ease. She was sitting ramrod straight, her gaze staring out the window when not skittering around the luxurious interior. Despite the manifold comforts of his coach, which were not limited only to the visible luxuries, but also to a superb spring system that made the ride most smooth, she was decidedly uncomfortable.

"Would you like something to drink, Lady Renier?" He stood from his armchair and wandered over to a cabinet. Opening it, he perused the offerings, reacquainting himself with the contents of the bar. "We have brandy, whisky, port, claret—"

"No, thank you," she replied.

"Perhaps some tea, then?" he insisted.

"Are you able to provide tea inside a train?"

He pointed to the back of the coach. "Through that door, there is a small kitchen. I'm afraid it won't be able to produce a full meal, but tea and sandwiches are well within its scope."

"In that case, tea would be lovely, thank you."

He nodded in response, attempting to look congenial, and went to the door. After giving the order to his servant, he walked to the other end of the carriage and went through the other door into his sleeping berth. From there, he retrieved the sculpting implements he would need to make the clay model. The trip provided the perfect opportunity to start sculpting her, sitting as she would be facing him, a captive audience, or perhaps a captive muse, for several hours. But there was no time to waste.

Returning to the main compartment, he found her in the same position he had left her. Still staring through the window at the passing scenery. The position left her face in profile, and he studied it.

Her face was a thing of beauty. He only hoped he could do her justice. Resuming his seat in the chair across from her, he opened a compartment on the wall and produced a table. When he propped up his armature on top of the table, her eyes focused on it, then a small frown marred her brow.

"What is that?"

"An armature. It is used to give stability to sculptures made of clay or other soft materials."

"I see." Her frown intensified. "Actually, no. I don't see. What are you going to do with that thing?"

"I'm going to sculpt," he said.

"Here? Now?" And then after a brief pause. "You sculpt?"

He smiled, gratified at having surprised her. There was genuine interest in her tone. Few people outside his family knew of his less-than-aristocratic passion for sculpting. When he'd left the country after the death of his wife, rumors had circulated that he was escaping scandal and prosecution. The idiots. In truth, he had been planning his trip to the land of the Renaissance since before the debacle with his wife. Her inconvenient death and all that came before that had only delayed his already laid plans.

"I do, Lady Renier. It's one of my passions and the reason I moved to Tuscany. I wanted to improve my art. Tell me, do you have any passions yourself?" he asked with a wicked glint in his eyes while he laid out his instruments, inclined to tease her.

"You mean hobbies?" she replied primly, not raising to the bait. "I suppose I like to sketch."

"Hmm, and what do you like to sketch?" he asked as he unpacked his roll of clay from its oilcloth wrapping and tested the moistness. It was an idle question, an attempt at small talk, so he was intrigued by the blush that gently flushed her face. This one was more violent than the previous, and her answer was evasive.

"Oh, nothing important. People, animals, landscapes, and such. It's just a trifling hobby. You, however, seem to take sculpting with all due seriousness."

"I do. Do you mind if I remove my coat? I find it's not comfortable to wear while working, and it will only get smudged."

"Certainly, my lord," she stammered and then averted her eyes.

He had to bite down a smile while he removed his coat, then hung it on a peg. Her blushes were delicious. And so revealing. The curse of a fair redhead. How far down would those blushes go? Would they tinge the peaks of her bounteous breasts? Hmm, what a delightful prospect to explore.