Charlotte remained mute.

King stopped near his desk and leaned on his walking stick. “I was beginning to think that perhaps you didn’t receive my summons. Or perhaps you had had…second thoughts about our agreement. I was becoming concerned that you had chosen to travel elsewhere from Coventry.” There was a brittle quality to his words that Charlotte didn’t mistake as anything other than a threat.

She lifted her chin, strangely unafraid. Maybe because she had already lost everything that mattered. “My apologies if my temporary absence caused you undue worry. I can assure you I have no intention of reneging on our agreement.”

King eyed her coldly and silently.

“But you are partially correct. I did not travel to London directly from Coventry,” she continued. “I stopped at Jasper House to collect something that I think will interest you.” She gestured to the two covered canvases that were propped up against a massive bookcase behind her.

“I’m not interested in more forgeries.” His fingers were drumming on the silver top.

“And I’m not interested in showing you any.”

Curiosity flickered. “You have my attention once again, Lady Charlotte,” he replied.

“The Royal Academy.”

“What of it?”

“If one wished to have a painting exhibited, could you make that happen?”

King gazed at her. “I never took you as vain, my lady.”

“Answer the question.”

Pale eyes narrowed. “Have a care, Lady Charlotte.”

“Please answer the question,” she amended tonelessly.

A faint line appeared in his forehead. “Of course I can.”

Charlotte closed her eyes briefly before she turned and lifted the smaller of the two canvases. She pulled the wrapping from it and set it against his desk, feeling his eyes following her. She stepped back.

King’s eyes lingered on her before he turned his attention to the painting. “Very evocative,” he said slowly. “Masterful use of light and color. A contemporary piece, yet I see shadows of Raphael in this.”

Charlotte only nodded, her voice suddenly choked by the sadness and regret that rose hard and fast.

“But not your work, I think,” King continued, stepping closer to the painting.

She shook her head. “I have merely borrowed it for a time.”

“It surpasses everything currently on those pretentious Somerset walls,” he murmured.

“I know,” Charlotte managed. “That’s the idea.”

King turned to gaze at her in consideration as the Madonna continued to stare down in adoration at her son. “I can see it done.”

“Thank you.”

“Tsk, you get ahead of yourself with your gratitude.” He smiled an empty smile. “You have not yet provided me with something that makes my service worthwhile.”