She turned and faced the line of Everton’s ancestors on the wall opposite her. The portraits stretched down the length of the corridor. Opulent golden frames encased the dark, stormy men and women in each painting. But at the end of the wall, where the corridor opened into the entry hall, the large, framed portrait of Everton that she had seen on her first visit was missing. In its place was a familiar charcoal drawing in a simple wooden frame. The inaccurate nose jumped out at her. He had hung her drawing? Here, among his forefathers?

“Where is your portrait?”

“I had Nelson take it down.” Everton came up behind her, his voice giving away the fact that he was only inches from her ear.

“Why?”

“It is being sent somewhere.”

“To another estate?”

“No.” He sighed softly before his hand came to rest on her shoulder. “One fifteen Rochester Street.”

Her lips quivered, and she quickly covered them with a hand. He was sending her his portrait? When had he decided to do that?

“Why did you do that?”

He took a breath so ragged she couldn’t help but hear the torment behind it. “Because I wanted to.” The two of them were alone in a darkened corridor. Nelson, or any one of his servants, could come upon them at any moment. They probably would after Everton’s last outburst. “I think . . .” His voice was low and close to her ear. “I think I have been looking at everything wrong. And I want you to stay, and that suddenly means something to me. Something I should have realized all along. Nothing about you leaving would be winning for me.”

Diana focused on that crooked nose in front of her. She had hoped . . . She had hoped for so much . . . “What are you trying to say?”

“Before I answer that, answer me this: if your brother knew you were here, what would he think?”

“He wouldn’t think.” Diana reached her right hand up, slowly, and rested it on his, still on her shoulder. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel his warmth. “You would end up with a matching black eye and an even more swollen nose.”

He squeezed her shoulder, and in return, she clutched his fingers and turned to face him. His eyes scanned hers. “And what of Society?”

She raised her chin. She wasn’t sure what Everton was trying to say, but if he was pointing out how badly she had damaged her reputation, that was a concession she couldn’t deny. “London would have my head.”

“Your mother?”

Diana cocked her head to one side. What would her mother think? She would probably prefer that she didn’t come to a man’s house unchaperoned, but as long as she came away unscathed, she might enjoy sharing the story with her later. “Mama is a bit trickier, but even she would think I am acting rashly and tell me I was a fool to come dashing over here.”