The Notorious Countess by Liz Tyner

Author:Liz Tyner
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2015-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

He heard another little moan. Not really much of a sound. But she painted, then gave a short murmured commentary on her work. Not words, just mumbles. The whispers captured his imagination.

He leaned more into the pedestal so he could see around the canvas and have a better view of her face. Her eyebrow would quirk. Her lips would part and then compress, and she would look at him with absolutely no expression, then look at the canvas and her face would reflect her thoughts—but he didn’t think they could truly be her thoughts every time. She frowned, pursed her lips and then peered over at him. Dissecting parts of him.

He crossed his eyes and she didn’t seem to notice. He touched his nose.

She gasped and moved backwards. ‘You need to sit straight and still.’

‘Certainly.’ He moved back into position.

He crossed his eyes. She peered around the canvas and never noticed. He bit his bottom lip. Nothing. He scratched his nose.

‘Pul—eese.’

‘Pardon.’ He regained his stoic look. ‘Are you working on my nose?’ he asked.

Her head darted around again. ‘Yes. How did you know?’

‘Fortunate guess.’

Her eyes tensed, her mouth firmed and even the paintbrush in her hand tensed. ‘We will get nothing done today if you don’t co-operate.’

Then next time she stuck her head around, he crossed his eyes. She didn’t notice. Still working on the nose.

She moved back into her thoughts, and his thoughts moved the length of her body and he felt himself smile. He kept his nose perfectly still.

He shut his eyes, very carefully moved his fist under his chin to prop himself up and relaxed, listening to the occasional sound of her wordless commentaries. The act of posing for her captured him in a way he’d never expected. To be the centre of her concentration for hours on end brought to life a connection that flowed into him.

Without the scar on his chest, he would have been tempted to remove his clothing and see the outcome of her brush. He could simply have made certain she changed his features and waited some time before she displayed the piece.

No, he thought, inwardly shaking his head. He might be comfortable with her capturing him bare, but he could not ever be comfortable with anyone else but his or Beatrice’s eyes on the artwork. Not even if the face were someone else’s completely. He would know, and when the eyes gazed at the flesh it would be his image they saw. He could not live with such a thing.

‘We’re done for today.’ Her words shocked his eyes open and he raised his head from his fist, flexing his fingers. He felt he’d been compressed. Perhaps he’d dozed off. He wasn’t sure.

He stood, loosening his muscles, and looked across to see her stretching. He wrinkled his face, letting his nose know it could now relax.

Walking to the painting, he saw the sketched outline of his face and now he had a nose—although he wouldn’t have been able to tell if it was anyone else’s nose.

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