The Marquis, as he walked through the Prado and down the steps to where his horses were waiting, told himself that he was being absurd.
Of course, the little Governess from England did not really resemble the picture of the Virgin by de Morales that had captivated him ever since he was a small boy.
Because he was determined that he must have been mistaken in what he had seen and felt, the lines of cynicism from his nose to the edge of his firm lips deepened and there was a hard look in his eyes as he drove away through the tree-lined streets towards his own house.
Everything he had collected over the years had an originality as well as an artistic value about it.
He was aware, also, that certain things attracted him in a way more alluring than any woman had ever before.
Women had purs
