Was it possible that the innocent girl with clear eyes and the artless giggle was also the one creating such ghastly drawings? No. He refused to believe it. It would be akin to admitting he had been duped once again by a devious woman.
Thalia, his muse... a despicable cartoonist? God, this hurt even worse than when he’d discovered his wife being unfaithful. He had thought himself older, wiser, incapable of falling for duplicitous women. It appeared he was the same fool he had always been.
He had been concerned about her seeing the caricatures of him, when she could be the one drawing them! Could her deceit extend that far? He flipped through the whole sketchbook, bracing himself for the pain if he found a caricature of himself. Thankfully, he didn’t find any. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t produced them.
Pushed beyond reason by hurt, he started opening the drawers of her desk, looking for more sketches. Needing to find proof of her perfidy. Afraid of it.
“Liam? What are you doing here?” Her voice had him whipping around. Her tone suggested confusion and...did he detect a bit of joy as well? Or was that wishful thinking on his part?
There she stood in the doorway. Looking beautiful and innocent in the pretty rose dress. She had always been beautiful to him, but since she had started wearing the gowns he’d ordered for her, her beauty was on display. Easy for all to see. Even by the morons who never looked beyond the surface.
He gulped. Steadying his voice to reply.
“Thalia. I came to find you when you didn’t show up for our appointment today.”
“I told you yesterday I had another engagement today. And I sent you a note. Didn’t you get it?”
“I did. But it told me nothing. What engagement took precedence over our meeting?” He shook his head. “Forget that. It doesn’t signify anymore. We have more pressing matters at the moment. What the hell is this?”
He saw the blood drain from her face. Her eyes widened in horror, and he had his answer even before she spoke.
“That’s my sketchbook.”
A dagger to the heart would’ve hurt less.
“Indeed? Are these the landscapes, flowers, and animals you said you liked to sketch?“he asked bitingly as he opened the sketchbook to an obnoxious sketch and shoved it directly before her eyes.
“I... That’s for a different project. Why are you flipping through my sketchbook?”
“I was waiting for you! The sketchbook was open on your desk. The first few images were innocent enough. I was looking through it, admiring your work, when I found this.” His mouth curled in disgust.
“I can explain. Please don’t be angry. I understand the subject matter is...controversial, but it surprises me to see you react with so much rage.”
“Oh, you think my reaction is exaggerated? Did I not tell you how the scandal rags attacked me after my wife’s death? How they mocked me and condemned me and turned society’s opinion against me?”
“I remember now that you mentioned it. But this is different. This has nothing to do with you. These individuals depicted in my sketches have committed heinous acts, and they deserve to be exposed. In some cases, even brought to justice.”
“Oh? And what are you? Constable, jury, and executioner? I was accused of a heinous act. Murder is widely regarded asa pretty serious crime. The fact that I was innocent didn’t stop people like you from dragging my name through the mud.”
He realized he was yelling when he saw her jump and take a step back. God, he was acting like an ogre. He took a deep breath. Forced himself to draw air in and out of his lungs. Even in his rage, he couldn’t bear the thought of frightening her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You did not deserve that. But I promise you I’ve never drawn a caricature of you. Or any innocent person. I wouldn’t. These other people you see in my drawings, their crimes have been proven.”
He didn’t want to hear it. “I want you to promise me you’ll stop making these caricatures.”
She looked stricken. “Stop making them? At all? No exceptions?”
“Absolutely not. Whatever it is you are doing, whatever cause you are involved with, must stop. I don’t want you to mock people in this way.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You refuse to comply with this simple request?”
“It is not a simple request!” she exploded, her own temper igniting, feeding his own rage. “This work is important to me, and you haven’t even given me the chance to explain myself!”
“I have. And I don’t care about your explanations. Either you cease this completely, or we part ways.”
Her gaze snapped to his. Their eyes met, held, and her eyes became moist with unshed tears. It seemed as if both of them held their breath, suspended in this moment of pain and loss. But her answer, when it came, sounded clear and sure.
