The man nodded, acknowledging their accord on the matter.
"Well, Walker looks outstanding in our parlor but my wife, she just keeps acquiring things whilst our wall space remains constant. I think donating the portrait to the Foundation would meet with her approval. Especially if you end up being the buyer."
"If it comes up for sale, he will come home with me. Whatever the price." Jack's smile did not temper the fierce light in his eyes.
Blankenbaker turned to Grace. "Tomorrow, you shall come to Edge Water and view the painting. I must say, it needs to be cleaned. He's rather dark, but it's an excellent example of Copley's early work, before he went across the pond and made a name for himself in London."
As she thanked the man, Jack leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Does this mean you don't want that old pair of long underwear I've got in my closet? Word has it they were worn by Benedict Arnold."
Rolling her eyes, Grace elbowed him, then looked up.
Smith was staring at her from across the table, his eyes stern. She felt as though he were offended in some way and thought maybe it was her mother who had put him out of joint. God knew, Carolina Woodward Hall had done that to plenty of people.
As she took a drink from her water glass, Grace wondered whether her father and Smith would have gotten along and decided they probably would have. Cornelius had liked strong people and Smith was certainly the dominant type. She doubted, however, that her father would have approved of Grace's attraction to the man.
When she'd confessed the poor state of her marriage to him a couple of months before his death, his response had been emphatic. He'd told her she should immediately go home and make things right with her husband. He took great pains to stress the international significance of the von Sharone family and point out all the good that came out of her having a royal title. Of having royal children. When she'd pressed him, explaining how unhappy she was, he'd glossed over the fact that she didn't love the man she was sleeping next to at night. In his eyes, he felt that she'd made a commitment to a worthy man and had better live up to it.
Her father had disappointed her that day. But she'd gone back to Ranulf.
Grace looked over at the portrait of Cornelius that hung on the wall behind the head of the table. He stared out of the frame sternly, his dark red hair brushed off his autocratic forehead, his eyes hooded, judging.
No, he wouldn't have approved of the way she felt about Smith. Not at all.
* * *
After dinner was over, and the party had dispersed, Smith saw Grace to her bedroom and went across the hall. Pacing around the room he'd commandeered, he was not a happy man.
Watching Grace and Mr. Charm flirt during dinner had really gotten on his nerves. And that Pepsodent grin the man was sporting when he'd said goodnight to her had been the kicker. Smith couldn't help wondering if Walker was looking so damn cheerful because he planned on spending the night with Grace.
Smith wrenched a hand over his hair and caught his reflection in a mirror. He looked like a caged dog and wondered what the hell was wrong with him.
You're jealous, stupid.
"I am not," he muttered, turning away.
He told himself to get real. He had no claim to Grace. He had no reason to care what she did after dark. Who she did.
Smith had turned her down so she was moving on. And why shouldn't she have a fling with some two-bit, Hugh Grant look-alike? She was a beautiful, vibrant, young woman, free to do what she wished.
He cursed out loud, thinking that was a great rationale, real logical. Too bad it hit him like a pair of brass knuckles.
The idea of her with Jack Walker put him in a commando kind of mood. He wanted to go find Walker, drag him out behind the house, and rearrange those pearly whites of his. Which was utterly ridiculous.
Still, getting physical on something was damn appealing.
Smith looked across the room, sized up the highboy in the corner and rejected the temptation. The thing would have been a fine opponent, for an inanimate object, but he'd feel like an idiot trashing the place. He wasn't a rock star, for God's sake.
No, he was just a sexually frustrated man who was going to have to try and sleep across the hall from the woman he wanted .. . while she was making love to somebody else.
Oh, hell. She was not the problem. The trouble was this possessive streak he had going. After years of not giving a crap what anyone else on the planet was up to, let alone who they were sleeping with, he couldn't believe he was finally interested in someone else's love life.
But damn, he'd managed to pick a bad time for the transformation.
Smith groaned as a thought occurred to him. He needed to give Grace a panic button in case something happened in the middle of the night. They were out of the city, but being at Willings didn't guarantee her safety.