He thought she might be surprised, but he had not expected that the colour would seep over her face in a manner that made him think of the dawn sun rising on the horizon.
There was at the same time a stricken expression in her eyes, which made him feel he had been cruel to a child or to a small defenceless animal.
Her lips moved, but no sound came from them and, after a moment, in what his friends would have found a surprisingly gentle voice, he said,
“I learnt your address from a man called Isaacs, who took the painting you wish to sell to His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales.”
Cyrilla clasped her fingers together and, as she did so, the Marquis noted that her hands were exquisite, the sort of hands Van Dyck liked to portray.
“You should not be surprised to hear I immediately reco
