Chapter Seventeen
He and Tom rode over to the folly once Tish had gone. They climbed the stone steps to the grassy courtyard; Tom glanced in the direction of the dungeon. “Later,” Lucas said. “Let’s get the painting finished first, in case it rains.”
Tom looked at the sky and shrugged. He set the easel up.
Lucas stood in the familiar pose and tried not to worry, but the conversation with Tish gnawed at him. Tish couldn’t know . . . could she?
The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that Tish did know—and that she’d been warning him to be careful.
It became difficult to stand still. His heartbeat was spiky with agitation. “Tom,” he blurted finally.
“What?”
“I think Tish knows. About us.”
When Tom painted, he had an expression of narrow-eyed yet slightly unfocused ab
