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papers and heaved a sigh of relief. "Your appearance is a gift from the ancient gods."
    Out of the comer of her eye, Alessandra saw Jack pinch his lips in silent disagreement
    "Without your help, I should never be able to finish my article by the publisher's deadline," went on Sir Reginald.
    "I am always happy to help a fellow scholar." Smoothing at the folds of her cloak, she turned, unable to keep from directing an oblique barb back at Jack. "Please don't let me keep you from your meeting. I am sure that such a group of learned gentlemen must be discussing a number of erudite subjects."
    "Indeed we are!" answered Sir Reginald, blithely unaware of her subtle sarcasm. 'Why, Lord James and I—"
    "And I ought to be on my way," interrupted Alessandra, studiously avoiding looking at Jack. "It would be unconscionably rude of me to arrive late at Lady Bevan's soiree."
    Unconscionably rude. The words, though spoken with silky softness, hit like a slap in the face. Jack gave an inward wince as he watched her walk away. In truth, he probably deserved a boot to the ballocks. 'Unspeakably crude' was a more apt description of his behavior.
    Bloody hell He wasn't usually so oafishly obnoxious with the opposite sex. Some perverse pagan spell seemed to take hold of him whenever Alessandra della Giamatti was near. Glancing back at the painting of Minerva, he thought wryly, It's all your fault.
    As Alessandra had pointed out, there was no rational explanation for the friction between them. Or for his ill-mannered attempt to ignite her ire.
    "A remarkable lady," murmured Sir Reginald admiringly. He puffed out his cheeks and ran a hand through his wispy silver hair. "If I were a fine young fellow like you, I might be tempted to pursue more than a scholarly friendship."
    "Lady Giamatti does not encourage any intimacies," said Jack gruffly.
    "Yes, she does seem to pride herself on being professional," mused Sir Reginald. "Yet given your mutual interest in ancient art..." He gave a small cough. "It appeared that the two of you were sharing your impressions of our newly acquired paintings."
    "In a manner of speaking." Jack quaffed the rest of his wine in one swallow. "That's the beauty of art—it's such a subjective topic that it's open to all manner of interpretation."
    Though Sir Reginald looked slightly puzzled, he nodded sagely. "Er, very true, Lord James. Very true." Shifting his hold on the portfolio, he sighed. "Well. I, too, had better be taking my leave. Despite Lady Giamatti's divine intervention, I shall need an act of Almighty Jupiter if I am to finish my article for the Royal Archaeological Review on time."
    "May the gods smile on your efforts," murmured Jack.
    "And on yours, Lord James," replied Sir Reginald as he started for the cloakroom.
    Jack cast another baleful glance at Minerva. Was it his imagination, or did the minx have the nerve to wink at him?
    "Women," he growled under his breath. Highborn ladies were proving to be nothing but trouble. Perhaps it was time to pay a visit to the nymphs of Cupid's Cave.
    Things were simple within the silken grottos. Need. Want. Desire. All was easily arranged to everyone's satisfaction.
    If only life outside the red velvet walls would go so smoothly.

Chapter five
    Alessandra let out a sigh as she looked up from her shopping list Pigments, pastels, papers... It had appeared simple enough at home when the newly hired Swiss drawing master had written down the basic supplies that Isabella needed to proceed with her art lessons. But here in S & J Fuller's emporium in Rathbone Place, the shelves held a daunting array of choices.
    Choices, choices.
    She hesitated for a moment her thoughts straying from her list to her encounter with Marco the previous week. Was she wrong to run off to Bath? Her cousin had intimated that she was simply trying to avoid making certain difficult decisions. She swallowed hard. Maybe he was right It was easy to hide from her troubles by immersing herself in work.
    But