Portrait of a Love Read Free

and decided to set up her easel in the library, where the early light was excellent. Isabel preferred to work in the morning. Mrs. Sinclair was completely agreeable; Isabel was to consider the house at her disposal.
    Neither Paige nor Ben had been at breakfast when Isabel ate. Paige was at a tennis lesson, Mrs. Sinclair said as she poured coffee, and Ben had gone to work.
    “He’s taken over at the development office,” his mother informed Isabel with noticeable pride. “Ben has his father’s head for business. He’s only been there two years, since he left college, but he’s taken hold wonderfully.”
    “Your husband was one of the first people to see the resort potential of the Sea Islands, wasn’t he?” asked Isabel.
    “Yes. He built Island Views you know. It was the pioneer resort and retirement community in the area. He did very well with it,” Mrs. Sinclair said with truly monumental understatement. Isabel knew from her reading up on the family that Charles Sinclair had parleyed his inherited forty-five hundred acres of seafront property into a resort that had made him millions.
    “Ben is interested in real estate and development, then,” Isabel said politely.
    “Yes. He’s going to develop one of the islands off Island Views next.” Mrs. Sinclair sipped her coffee. “As I said, Ben is very like my husband.”
    “And Leo?” asked Isabel in a carefully neutral voice.
    Mrs. Sinclair’s face broke into its lovely warm smile. “Leo,” she said, and her voice was very soft, “Leo is Leo and like no one else in the world. You’ll see. He’ll be here after lunch.”
    * * * *
    Later in the morning Isabel went out for a walk. The city enchanted her, for she felt as if she had been whisked back to another, more gracious time. She walked slowly, enjoying the sunshine, the flowers, and the old houses with their great verandas.
    It was early spring and there were many other tourists around. Isabel’s tall slim figure attracted a great deal of attention, though she was unaware of this interesting phenomenon. She was an unusually striking girl, with her long ebony hair and dark intent face in vivid contrast to the bright scarlet of her sweater. She moved among the crowd of tourists, absorbed, aloof, and alone, not noticing the interested and admiring glances that followed her along the narrow streets of old Charleston.
    She was gone for longer than she had planned, and when she arrived back at the Sinclair house, it was to find that the senator had arrived. Simon practically beamed as he informed her of this fact, and she climbed the stairs to the second-floor drawing room valiantly trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach.
    He was sitting and talking to his mother, but he stood as soon as Isabel entered the room.
    “Leo, this is Isabel MacCarthy,” Mrs. Sinclair said. “Isabel, allow me to introduce my son.”
    “Miss MacCarthy,” Leo Sinclair said as he came forward to take the hand she offered.
    Isabel had been prepared for the Viking good looks. She had, after all, seen numerous photos of the senator. But she had not been prepared for the quality of his presence.
    “How do you do, Senator,” she said, she hoped, calmly, and looked up into his face. His coloring was amazing, she thought. Thick blond hair was like a golden helmet; his eyes shone like twin sapphires. Unconsciously, her own eyes narrowed. He wasn’t at all pretty. Indeed, the impact he made on one was thoroughly male.
    “Were you out seeing the sights of the city, Miss MacCarthy?” he asked. His voice was distinctly Southern: gentle, slow, and drawling. It also sounded faintly amused.
    Isabel realized she had been staring and felt her cheeks grow a little warm. “Yes,” she said, and looked determinedly at his mother. “I’m afraid I rather lost track of the time.”
    “That’s quite all right, dear,” Mrs. Sinclair said. “Leo and I have been so busy talking that the time quite flew. Have you had lunch? Shall I order