Sophia snorted, the first indication she’d even been following the conversation. Vic fought the urge to look at her. She didn’t trust herself not to begin fidgeting nervously if she did.

“The camera and the lenses together cost about fifty thousand dollars,” the camera operator said. “That’s not to mention what we paid to get them here.”

“I’m not immune to budgetary issues,” she continued in her most reasonable tone. Sympathetic but firm, or at least that’s how she hoped she sounded. It was one she’d cultivated in years of land dealings. “And believe me, I understand that’s a considerable price tag, but I’m asking you to acknowledge that the painting you’ve backed into doesn’t have a price tag. Its worth can hardly be calculated in any meaningful way, because it cannot possibly be replaced.”

She stopped to stare up at the face of her ancestor, feeling the weight of their lineage press down on her. “There’s no CGI, there’s no alternate angle on this one. That portrait was commissioned to commemorate the end of the Wars of the Roses, which this dukedom ended up fighting on both sides of, costing—” She turned back to see both men’s expressions had glazed over. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m trying to explain all that. The point is, if you so much as nick the portrait, your insurance would go utterly bankrupt trying to make amends.”

Brian stared at her for a long couple of seconds before throwing up his hands and sighing so dramatically she wondered why he wasn’t in front of the camera instead of behind it. “Fine. Swap out the cameras. Everybody take ten. I need a smoke anyway.”

She nodded, equally grateful for the break, but as she turned to leave, a hand landed gently on her shoulder.

The touch was so wholly unexpected she didn’t have to wonder who it was. No one on her staff would touch her, and certainly none of the men would dare to after the way she’d just spoken to them. A touch like that came only from a woman, and she closed her eyes against the rush of emotions it caused.

“I’m sorry about your lost shot,” she finally managed without trusting herself to turn around.

“I’m not,” Sophia said, her voice low and close. “You were right. Brian was being lazy and self-indulgent.”

“I didn’t mean to imply his motives were—”

“You didn’t,” Sophia said. “You were looking out for what’s yours. I ascribed motives because you apologised worthlessly again. You really should stop that.”

She finally turned, struggling to keep her expression neutral in such close proximity. “Force of habit.”

Sophia arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t think someone of your status would be forced into any habits she didn’t choose.”