“Italy?” She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but given what little she knew of Rutledge and the astounding aptitude she had already seen in his Madonna and his defiant St. Michael, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had declared his intent to become a portraitist sought by royalty. “To do what?”

“To study. To learn.” He paused, his voice hoarse. “To see the Baptistery. The church of St. Augustine. The Uffizi gallery.” He met her eyes. “And more than anything, the Sistine Chapel.”

Charlotte looked down at the dregs of her tea, recalling their earlier conversation about just that. And remembering how bleak he had looked when she’d admitted she’d been there. She set her empty mug aside.

“What are you doing?”

“I have something that you should see.” Before Charlotte could second-guess the wisdom of what she was doing, she ducked into her room and retrieved the long canvas tube she had set in the corner. She passed it to Rutledge.

He took it gingerly. “What is this?”

“A piece of the Sistine Chapel,” Charlotte said.

He remained motionless.

“It’s only fair that you delve through some of my work,” Charlotte said lightly. “Since I’ve already done the same to you.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Just open it,” Charlotte interrupted, not wishing to revisit anything to do with the topic of Flynn Rutledge’s mistress. And what they may or may not have done together.

Rutledge set his own mug aside before untying the leather strings and sliding the top off the tube. He set it on the long table and carefully slid the canvases out, letting them unroll flat on the surface. Charlotte could see her copy of the Van Dyck on top and moved to push it away, but Rutledge held out a hand and stopped her.

“Is this yours?” he asked.

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “It is but a copy of an original work.”

“A copy.”

“Yes. Of a Van Dyck. But it is not that that I wish to show you. Look at the small one beneath it.”

Rutledge continued to gaze down at the portrait of the young girl, and Charlotte wondered if he’d even heard her. Eventually, with what looked like reluctance, he moved it aside, and she heard him catch his breath as the smaller painting was revealed.

“The Creation of Adam,” Charlotte said quietly. “My favorite of all the chapel scenes because it is, for all its divinity, inherently human. I made more sketches than I care to admit, and when I returned to England, I painted it. I have a…er, knack for reproductions, but you’ll have to forgive my memory for any color inaccuracies you discover when you visit it yourself.”