‘No! My love, no.’ Vincent pulled her closer despite her resistance and folded her into his arms. His voice rumbled against her cheek. ‘Prinny loved your fish. He wanted me to make more of them. If you have a fault, it is in being too clever.’

She pushed herself out of his arms. ‘Then why did you do it alone instead of calling me?’

Vincent frowned, brows rising in confusion. ‘Prinny asked me. You were with the ladies.’

‘I had no choice in that!’

‘Nor did I.’ Vincent rumpled his hair so that it looked as if he were a madman. ‘I could hardly call you back in. The room was filled with cigar smoke, and you witnessed the state of the Prince.’

‘Yes. I endured the state of the Prince for the next several hours. I am quite aware of it and would have been more than happy to have had some reason to leave the drawing room.’

‘But you must see that it was the simplest course. Prinny explained what he wanted to have added and it was not a task that required two glamourists.’

‘Since I created the fish, it should have fallen to me.’

‘I do not understand you.’

All the upset she had felt transformed as it became clear that Vincent did not recognise how he had slighted her by altering her design without consultation. ‘I am—yes, I am vexed that you did not even do me the courtesy of telling me what the Prince Regent wanted. I might have lost your trust, but you could at least have told me so directly instead of leaving me like a bauble in the drawing room.’

‘My trust? I—I had no intention of slighting you. I just thought to spare you the effort. Indeed, it would have been more complicated to repeat his instructions. I could weave the fish with ease.’

Her mind fixed on the word ‘ease.’ Of course, a task which took her hours of concentration was of no difficulty to him. Jane knew she was being unjust in guessing his intentions, and yet the upset she felt was no less real for it. The flush of anger heated her cheeks, and Jane railed against that fault of her complexion which so easily laid bare her emotions. She pinched her lips together and made some effort to slow her breathing.

‘Jane . . .’ Vincent’s voice trailed away, at a loss. Hands held outward, half in entreaty, half in surrender, he said, ‘Tell me what I have done.’