Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
He didn’t care; he hadn’t been paying attention.
Henry, his assistant, had been spying on me, or his security. Someone had been watching me for weeks. Weeks! If he had known this was what he was going to do, why wait until I was at the altar?
Calling off the wedding in the days leading up to it would have been just as effective to embarrass Mr. Dubois. Then it dawned on me, and I had to swallow the lump forming in my throat. It would have been just as embarrassing for Mr. Dubois, but not me.
By waiting until the last minute, when I was standing in front of all of New York, he had ensured I was damaged goods. He had ensured my reputation would be in tatters, and I would have no choice but to marry him.
Maybe it was time to give him a taste of his own medicine. Show him what it was like to be engaged to someone who ran hot and cold, who had more than one face.
Footsteps were approaching down the hall toward me, and he’d be back within moments.
Carefully, I put everything back the way I’d found it then grabbed a ballpoint pen from a pocket in his briefcase.
I picked up the paper from the floor, leaving his fountain pen, and started drawing. Just a few quick fast lines that looked like they could have taken time. I didn’t want him to think anything was off.
A time would come, soon, when I confronted him about what I’d found, but I needed to think first.
He entered the gallery. His suit jacket had been re-buttoned, and he looked a little annoyed. I knew the feeling.
“I’m so sorry about that, Amelia.” He undid his jacket button again and sat next to me on the bench. “I promise no more interruptions.”
He leaned over my shoulder, his hand going to my waist as he peered at the paper I was working on and then the papers balled up on the wooden bench next to me. “Not able to find inspiration in Manet’s work?”
“I’ve found plenty of inspiration.” Not for drawing, but that was fine.
He brought his arm around me, and for the first time, his touch made my skin crawl. Not able to take it for a moment further, I stood.
“Thank you for lunch, Mr. Manwarring—”
“I asked you to call me Luc,” he interrupted.
“Be that as it may, Mr. Manwarring, lunch was wonderful, but I have other engagements I must see to. And I’m sure you have to get back to work as well.”
“I cleared the rest of my afternoon to spend time with you.”
“How nice, but that is not a luxury I have today. I do have other appointments to attend.”
I didn’t look at him, I couldn’t. If I met his gaze, he’d be able to see the warring emotions behind my eyes. My carefully honed mask hadn’t slid into place as effortlessly as it usually did, and I wasn’t about to let him see me cry.
“Let me escort you back then.” He stood.
“That’s okay, I have business not too far from here, and I’ll just take the subway back.”
“The subway.” I could feel him start to get angry. “Why would you ever take the subway?”
“Because I’m a New Yorker,” I said like it was obvious.
“What business do you have? I could give you a ride and go with—”
“Really, that won’t be necessary. I’m perfectly capable of handling my affairs on my own.”
“Amelia, you are testing my patience. Just once, can you behave?”
“Have a pleasant rest of your day, Mr. Manwarring.” I smiled and left the gallery.
He called after me, but the second I rounded the corner, I sprinted out of the museum and found a spot behind one of the columns, where I didn’t think I would be easily spotted, and waited.
Fewer than ten minutes passed before he stormed out of the building, his assistant trailing behind him. They got into his Town Car and left.
Now all I had to do was figure out what I would do to get even.
CHAPTER 21
AMELIA
Once I saw Mr. Manchild leave, I saw no reason not to go back into the museum to enjoy the best art collection in the country.
It would give me something to do while I tried to come up with a plan that would let me get back at him. At least I could try to level the playing field.
No, that wasn’t what this was about. We would never be even.
That wasn’t something a woman in this world could manage, but I could demand respect. I wanted to be seen as an individual, not as a decoration or a toy.
Who better to draw inspiration from than the greatest artists the world had ever known?
Honestly, I didn’t want to go back home until I had to.
So far, I had avoided my mother’s wedding plan conversations that were full of thinly veiled barbs. I was lost in thought, wandering around the Islamic art wing, marveling at the intricacies in the art, when a gold girdle clasp caught my eye. It was beautiful and inlaid with precious stones and intricate delicate carvings.