Love By The Book (8 page)

I laughed. “We ask that you don’t touch the displays,” I mimicked the stern voice of the employee but then dropped my tone, remembering the woman might still be around. “Come on, let’s see what’s over here.”

I moved to a long counter lining the wall. No fear of touching the goods here, they were all under glass—common household items displayed like priceless gems. Thimbles, bottles, and a rusted pair of scissors were arranged among countless other objects.

Duke asked, “Why are all these things kept in a museum? They’re just ordinary items.”

“Maybe where you come from,” I said carefully. “But to us they’re oddities— treasures from the distant past.” Was it my imagination, or did he look vaguely uncomfortable? I supposed it must seem surreal examining objects from your life that were now set out under glass like foreign relics. He must feel as if he were in a different world. Then again, maybe I was just looking too hard for signs.

“Take a look at this pen.” I pointed to an ancient looking writing implement set in silver with fancy scrollwork dancing down the sides. It was like no pen I’d ever held. “Can you imagine writing with that clunky thing? Give me a modern ballpoint any day. Or even a pencil.”

“They’re not that bad,” he said defensively, peering over my shoulder. “They spatter a little, but the point provides a nice smooth script. I learned to set out my letters with an implement much like that one.”

My heartbeat picked up pace. Was he saying what I thought he was? “Really?” I asked. “How did you get hold of something like that outside a museum? These are collector’s pieces today.”

He looked up from the display. “You know, it’s only midmorning and already I’m quite famished,” he said, ignoring the question. “Are we about done here? I confess I wouldn’t mind another visit to that dirty little place where they serve bread and cheese on a pan.”

I hid my frustration. “Sure, we can go.” As we left the 1800s room behind, I thought regretfully that my strongest plan had failed. How was I to test him next?

Chapter 14

A short while later, we were on our way to the restaurant, when Duke’s attention was caught by one of the shops we passed. “Let’s step inside,” he suggested.

I peered through the window into the musty looking little bookshop. “Why? It’s just used junk. A lot of dusty old books nobody wants to buy.”

“Maybe I’ll buy something. I’m fond of the classics, and I might find something to add to my collection.”

I wasn’t a bookish sort and couldn’t think of a less inviting way to spend a sunny afternoon than digging through shelves of crumbling old tomes. “We’re just a block down from the restaurant,” I said. “You can see it from here. How about you stop in and have a quick look around the bookstore while I run on down and get us a table. If you don’t take long you can catch up to me by the time lunch is ready.”

“Sounds like an agreeable arrangement on all sides.”

“Okay,” I said. “Just hold on and I’ll leave you some money in case you find anything you like.”

He tried to protest but I wasn’t in the mood to go over this again. “Look, we’ll call it a loan, shall we?” I said, digging a few twenties from my billfold and pressing them into his hand.

I tried not to think about what Carlita would say if she could see me now, jobless and handing out wads of cash. But I’d make it up by selling an extra lot of Avon products this month, I promised myself.

“You can pay me back later,” I told him.

“Then so I shall. But I will spend the money only on something for you.”

“You’re not buying me any gifts,” I said firmly.

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’” I said, ushering him into the shop. “Just go and enjoy yourself.” I didn’t see how he could possibly do that here, I thought as the shop door closed behind him, but that was his problem.

I tried to recall if the duke in
Noble Hearts
had collected books as well, but after a while gave up trying to remember. It was a warm, pleasant day with the only evidence of yesterday’s storms in the shallow puddles on the sidewalk—too nice a day to waste worrying myself over trivialities.

At the restaurant, the arrangements worked out just as I had predicted with Duke sliding into the booth beside me right as a steaming pizza was being delivered to our table. My companion appeared pleased with himself as he bit into his slice of pepperoni, but I noted he had arrived with empty hands.

“You didn’t buy anything?”

“On the contrary. I did,” he said between hungry mouthfuls. “Just not in the bookshop.”

I signaled the waitress who came over to take Duke’s drink order. Remembering how the list of sodas had confused him the last time we’d eaten here, I cut things short this time and ordered him a glass of water. “I hope that’s okay,” I said. “Now what was it you were saying you’d bought?”

“An evening of enchantment,” he answered cheerfully, digging into his jeans’ pocket.

I looked up from my pizza. “A what?”

“That’s what the tickets say.” He shoved two bits of paper beneath my nose. “Look here. Two seats to tonight’s production of the fine musical
Clotilda
. At least, I was assured it was a fine play, though I’ve never seen it. I have always been a fan of good theatre however, and I couldn’t resist.”

He smiled at my expression. “I told you I would have a surprise for you, and I see I haven’t failed.”

“I’m surprised all right.” I tried to hide my dismay. I’d been to few musical productions in my life and had never felt the lack of it. I examined the tickets. “These are good seats,” I admitted reluctantly. “And at a nice theatre. How could you afford them with the little money I gave you?”

“I met a gentleman on my way here who was selling tickets on the sidewalk. He had a disreputable look, so at first I was slow to trust him. But when he assured me of what an excellent deal I would be getting…” His words trailed off as he noted my incredulous expression.

“You’re not pleased,” he said.

“Duke, you can’t buy things like this off strangers on the street. These could be fakes, or expired, or anything, and then some stranger would have just made off with your money and left you with worthless bits of paper.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted apologetically. “But these aren’t bad, are they?”

Under his hopeful eyes I studied the tickets. “They look good,” I had to admit. “And the date is for tonight. I suppose you didn’t do so awfully this time. Just…be careful from now on, all right?”

“Of course, of course.”

But despite his winning smile I had the terrible sense my words had made little impression on him. From now on, I resolved not to let him out of my sight.

***

That decision was quickly cast aside when, after lunch, I realized neither of us had anything to wear to the occasion. That didn’t seem to bother Duke any. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to him that people didn’t attend events like this in their everyday clothes.

“There’s nothing else for it,” I told him. “We’ll have to shop for something suitable.” Dragging most men through fancy clothing shops wouldn’t have been my idea of a fun way to spend an afternoon. But Duke behaved so well and attracted so many admiring glances from other women in the stores that I found I didn’t mind at all having him trail me to and from the dressing rooms.

He didn’t see the evening gown I eventually selected of course. I drew the line there. Everybody knew it was bad luck to let your date see your clothes for your first big outing together. Or maybe that was just a rule I’d made up on my own. Whatever the case, he followed suit, leaving me waiting on a sidewalk bench as he conducted his own shopping.

From across the street, I watched him pass by several nice stores before finally disappearing through the doors of a dingy looking tailor’s shop. All the clothing hanging up in the window looked used and out of date. What kind of outfit would he come up with in there? I just hoped he would tell the shopkeeper what sort of occasion he was attending and get plenty of help in choosing something to wear. I had a nervous feeling about letting him handle this on his own. There was no telling what outfit he was going to wind up with.

Nevertheless, I had cooperated with his secrecy, even loaning him more cash to pay for his clothes.

I wondered if that made me a trusting idiot. But if he really was up to no good he could’ve just made off with our purses while we slept last night, couldn’t he? All the same, it was a relief when he returned with the left over change.

“Didn’t you find anything to buy?” I asked, noting that although he’d spent money he carried no shopping bags.

“I’ve purchased everything I need,” he answered mysteriously. “Some of the clothing was simply not fitted to my liking. I’m having the items cut down and will return this evening to collect them from the tailor.”

“Um, okay,” I said. He certainly had his own way of doing things. “You want to go back home until then?”

“Why not?” he replied.

***

I glanced at the clock as we stepped through the door to the apartment. “We still have a few hours before the production. And before you need to leave to collect your mysterious purchases. How do you want to spend the rest of your afternoon?”

He raised his brows. “
My
afternoon?”

“You’re the guest. What would you like to do until show time?”

He smiled. “What I would like to do is whatever
you
normally do.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Show me how you spend your day. How you—how do you say it—pass the time?”

“Okay. But I’ve got to warn you, it’s not very exciting.” I picked up the remote on the coffee table and flipped on the TV. “Sit down. I’ll make some popcorn and teach you how to kill an afternoon.”

***

“So, when the young nurse says she loves the one doctor what she means is that she’s really in love with the
other
man?” Duke was asking a short while later as we scraped the bottom of the bag of popcorn.

With his other hand he was stroking Frigga, who slept curled up in his lap. Even the evil she-beast had been won over by him.

“Something like that,” I said. “Love’s a complicated thing on these shows.”

“But not in real life?”

“Maybe sometimes,” I said uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”

He had a knack for bringing up difficult subjects. Ones I never knew how to reply to. At a beeping noise coming from the kitchen I looked up with relief. “There goes the timer on that other bag of popcorn. I’ll be right back.”

In the kitchen, I turned my back on the television while I prepared our snack. When I looked around again, Duke was gone. At first I assumed he’d gone to the bathroom and I settled down in front of the TV to wait. But when he didn’t return, I started to grow concerned. Maybe he’d walked out the front door and gotten lost. He could be wandering the building, trying to find his way back.

Jumping up from the couch, I went and knocked on the bathroom door. “Duke, are you in there?”

“No. I’m here,” came the answer. Peering through the door to my bedroom I found him standing before the window. “It’s a pleasant view you have out there.” He indicated the small window overlooking a row of neighboring apartments.

“What are you doing in here? For a minute I thought you’d left the apartment.” I tried to keep my tone light but there was a hint of accusation in it. Had he been going through my personal stuff? I’d certainly never invited him into my room.

He must have sensed my annoyance. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry. I started out just looking for something to bind this up.” He held up his hand. A thin line of blood stood out on his thumb.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing. I just cut my hand a little on the bag of popped corns.”

“Popcorn,” I corrected. “Stay put while I get you a band-aid. I don’t want you bleeding on the carpet.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad.”

But I was already on my way. When I returned, I found him standing over my drawing desk.

“Looks like we’re out of band-aids, but if you’ll just hold this tissue over it—” I left off speaking when I saw what he was looking down at—a shadowy sketch lying face up on the corner of my desk. It was one of the drawings I had done of his eyes the day we’d met.

Chapter 15

I swallowed. “That’s, uh, not very good,” I said awkwardly, watching Duke study the portrait of his own eyes. “Just a practice piece really.”

He didn’t respond. Carefully lifting the page, he studied the next sheet and the next. They were all alike—all pictures of him.

Great. Now I looked like some kind of obsessed psycho. Why did I do that anyway? Who draws a million pictures of the same face?

He was expressionless as he looked up from the sketches. “You drew these?” His voice was unreadable. “This is what you do?”

“Not this exactly. Mostly I’m a painter. Drawing is just something I do to kind of warm up. I’m a bit better with a brush.”

“Show me,” he said seriously. “Show me some of your work. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Why should I mind?” I tried to shrug off my self-consciousness. What did it matter what he was thinking about those pictures? So I drew him a lot. He was a good subject.

“These are a few of my more recent efforts.” I led him to the stack of canvases leaning against the wall. “This is the seashore my family used to vacation on when I was a kid,” I said, pulling out one of the paintings. “It’s a little lacking in detail, but then it’s hard to remember something you haven’t seen since you were ten.”

I dragged out another, smaller painting. “This is a view of my mom’s backyard as seen out the kitchen’s screen-door. I was going for kind of an out of focus look there—a weird style I took up for a while.”

“When did you do that one?” He pointed to a large canvas I had hidden away in the very back, behind all the others.

“That one?” I asked, embarrassed. “That’s garbage. I’m serious. Don’t even look at it. Please.”

But it was too late. He was already pulling it out from behind the others. Resting the painting on the desk, he studied it speculatively.

“It’s, um, supposed to be a picture of my dad.” I felt some explanation was required. “At least that’s the way he looked to me when I was little, so it’s how I see him now in my mind’s eye.”

He frowned at the unfinished piece and then surprised me by saying, “It’s terrible.”

“I know that,” I said defensively. “Why do you think I never finished it? It was the last piece I ever did. After that my inspiration just kind of died out, and I could never bring myself to pick up the brush again.”

“Your last piece? How long has it been since you’ve painted?”

I shrugged, looking down at my toes. “I dunno. A few months I guess.”
Three months and ten days
.

“A few months?” His tone was heavy with disapproval. Reaching into the stack of canvases, he pulled up a blank, unused one and handed it to me. “Here. Paint something for me.”

“Right now?” I asked doubtfully.

“Right now.”

I hesitated. I hadn’t felt the spark in so long. Still, he was looking at me expectantly, and the firmness of his expression brooked no argument.

“All right, I guess I could slap together something simple.”

“Not simple,” he corrected. “Think big. Show me what you can do. I want to see a masterpiece.”

“Well, then you’d better go back to the museum.” But as I said it I found I was already moving to collect my paints and brushes from inside the desk.

“No jokes. Make use of your talent or you don’t deserve to have it. If your last piece wasn’t up to standard it’s because you were feeling hurt and bitter when you did it. You can’t make beauty out of anger. But those sketches…They tell a different tale. I know the work of a master artist when I see it. I’ve long had an interest in art.”

“Is there anything you haven’t an interest in?” I muttered, moving aside the articles of clothing I had hung over my easel standing in the corner. Despite my terse words my hands suddenly itched to get hold of my brushes again. He was right about one thing. It had been too long.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked as I dragged my easel out into the center of the room so that what was left of the afternoon light filtered over it from the window.

“Yes,” I answered, spreading my paints out where I could reach them before perching on the edge of my bed, before the easel. “Sit on the stool in front of the dresser and keep still.”

“What?”

I grinned. “You wanted to help me get my muse back? You can be an important part of it then. Pose for me and you can take all the credit for my inspiration.”

He shrugged. “Very well. Do you want me smiling or sober?”

***

At first, I tried to remain aware of the clock as I worked, but after a time I became so lost in my art I forgot there was another world outside my portrait. I didn’t start with the actual paint, much as I wanted to. That would come later. First, I did a hasty preliminary sketch to help me center the image onto the canvas.

Duke had good, distinctive features for a portrait, I noted as I worked. I would play up the strong line of his jaw and the sharpness of his nose. For some reason—I couldn’t say what made me do it—I even costumed the figure on canvas in a full length, old-fashioned coat. I scratched out a quick line that was meant to suggest a riding crop and told myself I would add a horse into the background later. Maybe even the chimneys of a country estate rearing in the distance.

I was really becoming caught up in my work. The first time I put brush to canvas and swept an arc of color across the white backdrop I felt a swelling of contentment within me. This was good. This was
right
. I smiled happily at Duke over the top of the easel. He had known it somehow, even when I hadn’t.

I was going to dip my brush again when I was startled by the abrupt noise of a door slamming. I almost dropped my brush, so unexpected was the intrusion. Could that be Carlita home already? How long had I been working?

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, I groaned.

“It’s nearly six,” I told Duke. “Why did you let me lose track of the time like that? We’re going to have to rush now or we’ll be late to the theatre. And you still have to go pick up your things at the tailor’s.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured me. “There’s plenty of time for that.”

“Hello,” Carlita called from the living room. “Anyone here?”

I lifted my voice. “We’re in my room.”

I scooted aside the easel. “You can come in,” I added teasingly as Carlita peeked through the doorway. “We’re just painting.”

“Painting? You haven’t done that in—” Carlita stopped short as she approached the unfinished work.

“I know I’ve barely begun,” I told her, “but you don’t have to look at it like that. I think it’s coming along pretty good.”

“It’s the best of your work I’ve seen,” she said quietly.

With a dry expression, she indicated Duke still posed on his stool. “Who’s your model?”

I glanced at Duke.
I haven’t figured that out just yet
.

“Not doing bad, is he? He posed like a professional. But now we’ve got to get moving or we’re going to be late for the production.”

“What production?”

And so, while I worked at clearing away my tools, I explained our plans for the evening. Carlita, following me back and forth from the bathroom sink where I was washing out my brushes, found a moment to whisper, “You’re sure this is how you want to spend your evening? You haven’t forgotten your forty-eight hours are nearly halfway up already?”

“I know that,” I whispered back and signaled my friend to silence as Duke entered the room. He had removed the sling from his injured shoulder before posing for his portrait and now I insisted he put it back on even though he claimed it was unnecessary.

For dinner that night we prepared quick, microwave meals, which we ate in the traditional American custom—in front of the television. Duke was going to think we lived in front of that box. We made supper a quick affair—partly because we were running late, and partly because I sensed Carlita’s need to talk to me alone. I made certain the two of us were the first finished and when we stepped into the kitchen to throw away our platters, she caught my arm and pulled me out of sight.

“Well? What did you find out today?” she asked sharply. “Is the experiment off? Did it only take an afternoon to disprove your wild theory?”

“On the contrary,” I said smugly. “I’m growing more certain of him every minute.”

“Crap! I was hoping you would come to see reason under the broad light of day. Crazy ideas are all very well after midnight but normal people learn how to separate dreams from reality—”

“Carita, stop. I don’t want you questioning him like this anymore.”

“That’s one thing I’ll never stop doing. I’m gonna take this guy apart one piece of the puzzle at a time, until you finally see the truth and can admit him for what he really is.”

I folded my arms. “And what’s that?”

Carlita had a ready answer. “A moocher, a scammer, a psycho…Take your pick. Either he’s aware of your delusions and is taking advantage of them, or he is so crazy even he has begun to believe he’s walked off the pages of a book.”

I remembered what Duke had once said of
Noble Hearts
, that he was familiar with the story. It meant nothing, I reassured myself. At the time I’d thought he meant he had read the book. Now I believed it meant much more than that.

Carlita was going on. “I’m your friend. I can’t stand by and see you used and made a fool of. Besides this whole delusion is unhealthy.”

“Hush. Here he comes,” I whispered, cutting off her rant.

She shot me a frustrated look but changed the subject as Duke entered the room. “Anyway,” she said, “I can’t stand around to send you two off. I’ve got plans of my own tonight.”

“Plans?” I asked absently. My mind was on my own evening, not hers.

“Yeah, just some errands. In fact, I’d better get moving out the door now.”

“I too should be stepping out,” Duke put in. “I’ve a run ahead of me if I want to reach the tailor’s before he closes up his shop.”

I had a ridiculous image of him sprinting down the city streets like a madman. “Duke, please take a cab,” I pleaded. “You just step out to the edge of the street, flag down a yellow car, and that little man in the front seat will take you anywhere you want to go. It’s the same principle as a hansom cab.” I rushed to retrieve my purse. “Here. I’ll give you some money.”

Shushing his protests, I shoved the cash at him, all the while very aware of Carlita’s disapproving eyes following the scene.

“I’ve got to get outta’ here,” she announced, shaking her head. “You two have a grand old time. I’ll catch you later.” She snagged her purse off the hook, shot me a significant look and then was out the door.

I frowned, wondering what she was really up to.

“I’ll make it back with time to spare,” Duke assured me, following Carlita into the hall. He hesitated in the doorway, looking back.

I gave him a gentle shove. If he was considering a kiss or something he could forget it. I wasn’t quite
that
certain of him yet. “Get out of here,” I said playfully. “We’re going to be late as it is.”

Closing the door behind him and leaning against it for a moment, I contemplated my situation. I had to make a decision. Did I believe in him or didn’t I? No more of this nearly certain business. If I was going to let my feelings for a man rise to this level I had to know my own mind. Then I glanced at the clock and realized I and my mind would have to make each other’s acquaintance later. I was running out of time.

Going to my room and pulling my new dress out of the closet, I carefully slid it free of the plastic covering. Even now the dazzling, lavender, silk fabric made me catch my breath. It was a traditional long skirt with a floor-swishing hem but the fitted waist and hips gave it a more modern twist. The top was simple but elegant in a sophisticated off-the-shoulder cut with a sheer wrap of matching gauzy fabric to drape over my arms. I would feel like Cinderella at the ball in an evening gown like this.

But there was no time to stand around admiring the dress. I had to get into it and before that I had to put on my makeup and arrange my hair. I had counted on having Carlita here to help with this part. Now I’d have to do the best I could on my own. I plugged in the curling iron in the bathroom and let it heat while I applied my makeup, raiding my Avon samples for bolder colors than I would normally have worn.

When the curling iron was heated, I set to work on my hair. Forming my short, dark tresses into loose barrel curls, I pinned a few back and let the rest fall loosely around my face. A mist of hairspray held everything in place, and a few well-placed crystal-tipped pins around the crown of my head added a touch of sparkle when I turned my head from side to side.

A glance at the clock told me I had little time to spare. Stepping into my evening dress, I stood before the mirror as I fastened up the back. I heaved a sigh of relief when I was safely zipped inside. I’d been sucking in a little to get it closed but now that I was in the dress, it fit like a glove.

Carefully, I slipped into a pair of silver platform shoes with ankle straps and mile high heels. They were the one and only pair of Salvatore Ferragamos I owned and I rarely wore them. I had terrible visions of myself stumbling over my own feet and tearing a hole in the delicate fabric of my dress. But luckily my clumsy feet seemed to be on their best behavior tonight.

I wished I could say the same for my nervous stomach. It was doing a dance now that would have made the cast of
Clotilda
proud. I asked myself what I had to be scared of. It wasn’t like I was going out with a total stranger. Technically, I wasn’t even sure if this was a date. But it felt like one.

Drawing a long, calming breath I let my gaze linger for a moment on the unfinished portrait of Duke still resting on the easel.
Nothing to be afraid of. It’s just Duke. Just a nineteenth century nobleman who’s dropped in off the pages of a novel to take me out for an enchanted evening
.

For the first time since really getting to know him I felt a return of that self-conscious shyness that had gripped me on our early meetings. What was I doing with him? He was probably used to romancing noblewomen or something. He had come from a romance novel, after all. Those heroes were all the same. Then I remembered his slightly prudish behavior toward the museum mannequin’s underwear and decided maybe I had nothing to worry about on that score after all. One romantic hero at least was not the same.