Alex’s face shifted, showing everything he thought of the practice in one distasteful grimace. “Indeed. Can you see now why I’m so keen to add the alyssum to my crest?”
“I can.”
And I did. If I was ever forced to choose sides in the matter, I knew I’d agree with Alex. The thought of so many beautifully mottled birds being slaughtered, just to preserve the look of the Laurents’ grounds, was abhorrent. I pushed the bloody vision from me.
“I think I’m ready to begin. I’m starting with your face, so once I’ve got you in the proper position, it would help if you could stay as still as you can.”
“No talking?”
“A little talking is okay, but I will need you to hold the pose as faithfully as you can.” I rummaged through a kit, searching for the right brush. “This isn’t meant to be torturous for you. If you feel as though you need to”—out of habit, I almost said “get up” but stopped myself short—“shift about, get a drink, do anything, we can take a break. I always try to be mindful that there’s a living, breathing person behind my canvas, but if I get caught up in the moment and need reminding…remind me.”
He smiled. “I promise to. How should we begin?”
Frederick had taken Alex out of the wheelchair and sat him on a tufted sofa of olive green velvet.
“What feels most natural to you?” I asked, approaching him with a studious eye.
He stretched about, trying different poses: resting the side of his face in the cup of his hand, sitting on the sofa’s edge with his posture formal and ramrod straight, leaning into the cushions as one arm reclined along the back. Nothing looked quite right.
“We can try that last pose,” I said uncertainly, not exactly pleased with it, but it was a start in any case. I’d undoubtedly end up painting this canvas over with a coat of gesso, covering up my practice anyhow.
“Can you tilt your head just a touch to the right? Your right,” I amended as he went the wrong way. “And back? Too far…” My hands danced restlessly. “May I try adjusting you?” I asked.
“Please do. I feel a bit ridiculous,” he admitted, his forehead tilting far from the center of his body.
“You look it too,” I teased.
Just before I placed my fingertips upon his face, I paused. I’d painted dozens of portraits before, filling the halls of Highmoor with my sisters and nieces, little Artie and William. I’d talked maids and butlers into sitting for me in their free moments, painted fishermen unaware as they sat on the docks, waiting for a bite on their lines.
But I’d never painted someone as singularly attractive as Alex. Someone close to my age. Someone I found myself ever drawn to. Touching him, carefully drawing my fingers across his skin to move him into just the right position…
It was such an intimate thing to do.
When I finally seized hold of my courage and cupped his cheeks, correcting the tilt of his head, he took in a sharp breath.
“Your hands are cold.”
“Sorry.”
I rubbed them together before continuing on. His skin was softer than I’d expected, freshly shaven, without a hint of stubble. I pressed my fingertips to his jaw, turning his head slightly to the right. I hated when portraits were done completely head-on. Angles were so much more interesting, engaging. They invited the audience to linger, wondering over what secrets the subject kept.
“Like this.”
I touched his chin, my thumb just shy of his lips, gently adjusting. As I cupped his face, he laid his hand over mine, leaning his cheek into the curve of my fingers and sending the most delicious shivers down my spine.
“You smell like what I imagine the sea does,” he murmured.
“My lotion,” I said, thinking of the little container I’d brought from Highmoor. We made it from long strands of kelp harvested on the beaches of Salten. I pulled away, self-conscious. “Is it too strong?”
Slowly, he took my hand in his and pressed his nose against my wrist, breathing in deep. “Not at all. It’s very subtle. Very soft. Very Verity.”
“Oh.”
It was the only word I could think of as my throat constricted and my insides squirmed, suddenly filled with an unknown want.
No.
It was more than that, I reasoned, shimmers of warmth radiating through me.
