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to tell me what arrangements have been made for me and my aunt.”
    He hovered near the easel, his hesitant feet moving to step forward before stopping. “Wait out in the hall and I will find the letter.”
    “I am waiting here.”
    He muttered a curse and thrust his hand through his hair. “Are you always so stubborn?”
    Evelyn smiled. “Only when the need arises.”
    As another curse left his lips, he stomped over to the desk, rifled through his papers and practically threw the note at her. “Here. You can read it outside.”
    Evelyn ignored him. She unfolded the paper and read the missive. Mr. Sutherby had expressed his concern for their welfare and asked to call for them at two. A hollow feeling gripped her as it was almost two o’clock. Soon, she would be far away from Stony Cross and the sour-faced Earl of Hale, never to cast sight on either of them again.
    As though reading her thoughts, the earl said, “I told him he could call at five.”
    “But I thought you were desperate to be rid of us,” she said wondering what had prompted the change of heart.
    “Five o’clock suits me better.”
    “Of course,” Evelyn replied with a snort.
    He jerked his head towards the door. “Now you’ve seen the note you can go.”
    It occurred to her that his rudeness was a mask for something else. What was he hiding? What was he scared of? That strange feeling swamped her again: the need to soothe his wounds, the need to hear kind words fall from his lips.
    Evelyn stood, and he looked relieved. But rather than head for the door, she walked over to the shutters.
    “Why is it so dark in here?” she asked, determined to unnerve him. “Why does it feel as though someone has died and the house in a state of constant mourning?”
    She touched the shutters, and he gasped, rushing over and patting them to check they were still in place. With his mind preoccupied with the shutters, she strode over to the easel to examine his sketch in the hope it would reveal something of the man he kept hidden.
    The sight caused all the air to leave her lungs and her heart skipped a beat as a rush of pure emotion exploded until her eyes brimmed with tears.
    The Earl of Hale had sketched the most beautiful portrait of her. She was sitting on the bank of a river filled with water lilies, the reflection of the moon shimmering on its mirrored surface. She wore a sleeveless dress, her hair cascading in ripples over bare shoulders. He’d captured her unusually wide eyes to perfection, although her lips appeared fuller, more sensual. There was something magical about the scene, something ethereal.
    Evelyn swung around to look at him but could find no words to express the strange feeling that consumed her.
    The earl stood and stared in a moment of frozen stasis, yet she sensed his embarrassment. For the first time since meeting him, she thought she saw something more than frustration and irritation flashing in his eyes.
    She had no notion how long they stood in stupefied silence, staring deep into each other’s eyes. But a loud rap on the door broke the spell.
    The door opened a fraction, and Mrs. Shaw popped her head around. “Forgive me, my lord, but Mr. Sutherby has arrived.”
    His anger surfaced immediately. “Well, he can bloody well wait. I told him to come at five. Is the man so stupid he cannot read?”
    “I’ve put them in the drawing room. What with it being so overcast today, it will be the most suitable place.”
    “Them?”
    “The gentleman’s brought his sister with him.”
    The earl dragged the palm of his hand down his face and cursed again. “We’ll be along in a moment.”
    Mrs. Shaw left them, and the earl nodded to the easel. “I often sketch when I’ve nothing else better to do,” he said, his tone frosty.
    Evelyn suppressed a smile. Nothing he could say could demean the effort it had taken to capture her likeness or the fact that he had chosen her as his subject. This tortured, complicated man was certainly an