When he was admitting to all these lies, was what he was telling her now to be believed? She’d be a fool to let him dupe her again, but then she was a fool for standing there listening to him at all.

“Are you done confessing?”

It was probably her stiffness that made him realize he was getting nowhere with her, that nothing would breach the shell of her bitterness. His expression turned so sad it nearly made her cry. But she wasn’t going to relent, she wasn’t . . .

“No, actually, you might as well know that I was in your room that night, the night you thought I was, awake, and driving myself crazy with wanting you. That silly story about sleepwalking was a lie. The locks were put on your doors because I couldn’t trust myself not to enter your room again without permission.”

“And what you told me of your past, to gain my sympathy?” she recalled. “All lies as well.”

“Your sympathy is a wonderful thing, Rissa, and yes, I used it. But it wasn’t necessary to invent a pitiful past to stir your compassion. Everything I told you of my childhood was true. I had merely never told anyone else about it before, because I despise pity.” He smiled wryly. “Your pity I wanted, though. Your pity is such an amazing thing.”

“Your lies were pointless.”

“Excuse me?”

“I could have left at any time if I had really wanted to. Your lies wouldn’t have stopped me.”

“You had your brother to think of, not just yourself. You wouldn’t have left without funds.”

“No, certainly, but there were a few more valuables stored at my father’s office that I never mentioned to you, a titled painting and several antique maps my father had intended to sell, but didn’t get around to doing before he left. The maps would have fetched a nice price.”

“And the painting is La Nymph.”

She blinked. “How did you know that?”

His laugh was quite hollow. “A logical guess, since I happen to have been searching for that painting for a client for several months now, and it was known to be in the possession of a ship owner, just not which one.”

“Why that painting in particular?”

“Have you seen it?”

She frowned. “Actually, I recall my father rushing me out of the storeroom the last time I visited the office when he was there, because he didn’t want me to see it. He mentioned something about it being inappropriate for innocent eyes, so I assumed it was a nude.”

“Indeed, but a rather risqué one by all accounts,” he replied. “And my client will likely pay you a half million pounds for it.”

She blinked again. “Is he out of his mind?”

“No, just very eccentric, with more money than he will ever be able to spend.”