“Too bad,” Jonathan grumbled. “Because this one is coming whether you listen or not. I came to you to find La Nymph for me, not just because I desire to own that painting. There are countless others I could have hired to find the painting, and for much less cost to me. I came to you in particular because I like you, Vincent, I like your style, like the fact that you’ve never tried to ingratiate yourself with me to get something out of me, as is the case with most people I know. I have no friends, you know, no real friends, that is.”

“Nonsense, you don’t go anywhere that people don’t flock to your side—”

“Leeches, the lot of them,” Jonathan cut in, disgust in his tone. “They don’t care about me or what I’m feeling, they only care about how they can manage to get some of my money into their pockets. And that’s always been the case, even when I was a child. I was born rich, after all.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Vincent asked uncomfortably.

Jonathan’s cheeks bloomed with a bit of color, but he still admitted, “Because I had great hopes that you would become the close friend I’ve never had. And since nothing else has worked to accomplish that thus far, I’m falling back on the old premise that confidences are a sound basis for developing lasting friendships. And besides, you don’t seem to have any close friends yourself. Do you?”

Vincent saw no reason to deny it. “No.”

“Well then—”

“You haven’t gathered yet that I am rather reclusive?” Vincent pointed out.

“Course I have, which is one of the things I like about you. And just because I flit about here and there doesn’t mean I enjoy doing so, just that I’m so bloody lonely, I crave companionship of any sort, even from sycophants, if that’s all that’s available.”

Vincent was beginning to get embarrassed over these “confidences,” not so much because Jonathan felt a sudden need to pour out his guts, but because his confession was sounding much too familiar. He hadn’t realized they had quite so much in common, neither of them willing to trust anyone enough to get close to them, neither of them willing to risk being hurt if anyone did.

“Are you feeling sorry for me yet?” Jonathan asked hopefully.

“No.”

“Bloody hell . . .”

“But you’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

The viscount laughed.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22