A Passion for Pleasure(20)

Bloody hell.

Sebastian crushed a yawn between his teeth. “What are your thoughts on the current political climate, Mr. Blake?” he interrupted.

The other man looked startled, as well he probably should considering the abruptness of the question.

“Oh, er, the war, you mean? Just read the report about the Battle of the Alma, which seems to have been quite a decisive allied victory. They even took two Russian generals prisoner. No offense intended.”

“None taken.” Sebastian held no strong loyalty to Russia, though he’d spent much time there as a child and on several concert tours. Now his desire to return to the country sprang from the fact that two of his brothers and his sister-in-law lived in St. Petersburg. “I’ve just read a report that Alma is considered a precursor to the rapid fall of Sebastopol.”

“I hadn’t heard that.”

Sebastian studied the other man. Clearly Granville’s unassuming demeanor concealed a sharp intelligence, but how far did he extend that intelligence? Granville hadn’t expressed much interest in…what had he called them?…arithmometers, which made Sebastian wonder if he even knew about the cipher machine plans.

Sebastian set his cup down with a force that rattled the saucer. He thanked Granville for his time and the sharing of his very comprehensive knowledge, then went in search of Clara again.

He returned to the studio and paused in the doorway. Clara knelt on the floor, her skirts pooled around her and her head bent as she rummaged through a wooden chest.

Sebastian admired her for a moment, casting his glance over the delicate curves of her profile and the arch of her pretty neck gilded with loose chestnut tendrils. He liked the way her pins and ribbons seemed unable to contain the length of her hair, making it necessary for her to brush the locks back with a sweep of her elegant hand.

And that refinement concealed a steel-like resolve evident in the determined line of her chin and unflinching gaze.

She turned to look at him. An unexpected smile widened her mouth, creating two shallow dimples in her cheeks. Warmth uncurled in Sebastian’s chest.

“Has Uncle Granville bored you to tears yet?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Sebastian lied. “We were discussing the machines that solve mathematical problems.”

“Is that so? Well, if anyone would know about such things, it would certainly be Uncle Granville.” She rose to her feet. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Not exactly. But I might have found something I wasn’t looking for.

“I hope I soon shall,” he replied, advancing with certain but careful steps. He still did not know how best to approach her, a circumstance he attributed to her incongruity rather than his tarnished charm.

He paused in front of her and reached up to flick a strand of hair away from her cheek, pale as cream. Instead of surrendering to a blush this time, Clara gazed at him with somewhat startling directness.

“You have…ah, you have extraordinary eyes,” Sebastian said, studying the pearly color of her irises.

“My grandfather used to call them the eyes of a witch, though he meant it in a fond way.” Clara arched a brow in amusement. “I think.”

“I’m sure of it,” Sebastian said. “They’re quite beguiling.”

“Thank you.” She slanted those eyes to his mouth, her glance like the brush of silk. Not the first time he had caught her looking at his mouth. He wondered what she found so interesting about it.

If anything. Perhaps she just didn’t know where else to look, though he suspected that thought wouldn’t have occurred to him with any other woman. If Clara Winter didn’t know where else to look, she’d stare at the wall behind him. She wasn’t coy.

He glanced at the interior of the chest in which numerous toys were packed with care.

“Your uncle’s creations?” he asked.

“Yes.” Clara placed her hand on the lid and closed it. “I keep them for my son.”

“You have a son?”

“His name is Andrew.” She pushed the chest away with a hard shove. Wood screeched against the floor. “He is seven years old. He lives with my father on his Surrey estate.”

Though Sebastian wanted to know more, the tone of Clara’s voice repelled further inquiry. He heard the emotions beneath her surface-thin remark, like a veneer of ocean ice, and he sensed the effort it took her to keep that façade from breaking. He knew because the very same struggle now ruled his own life.