He tied the sash around her waist, but let his hand linger on her hip for just a moment and warmth settled in her core.
Goodness, it was quite hot all of a sudden.
“So you want me just to sit where I did yesterday?”
Bella thought she might much rather have him kiss her again, but she couldn’t say that. So she nodded instead. “If you don’t mind.”
Greg nodded in agreement and then made his way back to the settee. “While I’m here today, sitting completely still, I think I’ll ask you some questions to pass the time.”
Bella started for her canvas in the corner but did frown at him. “You’re not supposed to talk, Greg. Remember?”
“Just a question here or there. I’ll keep my face still. I’ll mutter through my lips, I promise.”
She laughed as she shook her head and reached for her valise to retrieve the paints she’d need today. “What sort of questions?”
“A variety of them, I’m sure.” He leaned back on the settee, in the same spot he was in the day before, casually leaning against the back, his arms straight down on either side of him. “Where is the furthest you’ve traveled?”
“I went to York once, visiting a friend of Papa’s. It was quite charming,” she said as images of the city popped in her mind. Though there was one site, of course, that stood out amongst the others. “York Minster was gorgeous, however. The architecture, the lines, the colors in the stained glass…”
“Everything seen through an artist’s eye?” Greg said softly.
“I suppose so.” Bella placed her paints on the table and glanced over at him. “I never thought of it that way.”
“No further than York?” He regarded her as though she was the most fascinating girl in the world. “Is there anywhere you’d like to travel?”
“Florence,” she said quickly. “I’ve always wanted to see Florence. Milan. Rome. Paris.”
“Is that all?” His green eyes twinkled as he watched her.
Bella grinned at him and shook her head. “I’d like to see so many places. The colors, the different styles and shapes of architecture, the people.”
“But not the countryside?”
“The countryside?” she echoed.
“There are colors and…shapes in the countryside, aren’t there?” Greg shrugged. “There are certainly people.”
“Not seeing things through an artist’s eye?” she giggled.
“Definitely not,” he agreed. “Though I’ve always found Nottinghamshire to be charming in it’s own way.”
Nottinghamshire. His home. “You don’t care for London?”
“The dirt, the smell, the hoards of people?” He shook his head. “No. I’d much prefer to be home at Rufford Hall.”
“Why did you come to Town, then?” she asked, adding some orange and white to her palette.
“My sister,” he said softly. “She suffered a great heartache shortly before the season began and…well, Tristan stressed upon me the importance of all of us being together to offer our support.”
A heartache? Bella was curious to know what he meant by that, but she didn’t want to impose. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“That has not always been true,” he muttered, and Bella wasn’t certain if he’d meant for her to hear that bit or not.
She returned her attention to her paints and swirled the colors around until she reached the exact shade of his flesh that she was hoping for. “Are you ready to resume your expression from yesterday?”
And he quickly adopted the same thoughtful expression he wore the day before. “Could you be talked into enjoying the countryside?” he asked, or at least she thought that was what he asked as he seemed to struggle with keeping his lips from moving as he spoke.
“I don’t dislike the countryside,” she said, trying not to giggle at his attempt to maintain a conversation even now.