She had reclaimed the chair that Flynn had provided for her and was sitting back in it, her stocking foot crossed over her knee, her expression admirably vague. What wasn’t vague, however, was the large lump at her shoulder where her bandage sat under her now untucked shirt.

Lisbon’s eyes slid between them, eventually settling on Charlotte. “What happened to your shoulder, Mr. Beaumont?” he asked.

“You may dispense with calling me Mr. Beaumont,” she said, sounding almost resigned, as though this moment had always been inevitable. “I required…medical assistance, and Mr. Rutledge was kind enough to provide it. Subsequently, the truth was difficult to avoid.”

“What happened?” The architect’s words were like cut glass. “And why wasn’t I informed that one of my artists had been injured?”

“We encountered a bit of trouble on the streets two evenings past,” Flynn answered before she could. “And it was my decision not to worry you with something that you could do naught about.”

“It’s but a mere cut, and Mr. Rutledge has been quite thorough in his treatments and precautions,” Charlotte added hastily. “I’m very much on the mend, and I can assure you that it will not hinder my work.”

“Trouble?” Lisbon’s sharp eyes swiveled back to Flynn.

“Two gentlemen who sought to take something that was not theirs.”

He could see the architect’s features harden. “I see. I must assume that you also chose not to involve a magistrate? Or any other authorities?”

Flynn inclined his head. “The situation was resolved to my satisfaction. Save, of course, for Miss Beaumont’s unfortunate injury.”

“I see.” Lisbon crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “Will this be a problem, Mr. Rutledge?” he asked.

“Will what be a problem?”

“My decision to hire her. And my insistence that she will finish this commission.”

Lisbon’s decision to hire Charlotte Beaumont had already caused him all sorts of problems, the least of which being that he was suffering from an overwhelming desire for the woman who was sitting in that damn chair. He was tormented by a possessiveness that seemed to be getting worse with each passing minute. And he was plagued with the knowledge that he was both unable and unwilling to keep his hands off her.

None of which he would share with Henry Lisbon.

“Of course not,” he said, hoping he sounded suitably offended. “She is here on her own merit. Her gender and station in life are inconsequential.”

“I see.” He turned to Charlotte. “I must ask at this juncture if you would prefer other living arrangements?”

“Mr. Rutledge has already very gallantly offered. And like I told him, no, I do not wish other arrangements.” She still hadn’t looked at Flynn once. “This…unfortunate event will affect nothing.”