Tristan knew why in an instant. “Your family have no idea about these, do they?”
Lady Amelia bit her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. Nervousness shone in her eyes.
“They’re good,” he said. These paintings were better than good, but no need to get carried away. “Have you shown them to anyone?”
“I paint these for me.”
“You’ve done something in a few brush strokes that painters dream and strive for their entire lives and few achieve.”
“What is that?” she asked, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“You’ve captured the essence of the person or animal. I know them, just by looking at these paintings.” He felt embarrassingly earnest.
Except he wasn’t embarrassed, at all. No one should feel ashamed of their passion for art. It was the oxygen of a meaningful life, and did anyone feel embarrassed to have to draw breath?
Lady Amelia, for her part, stood three feet from him, blushing to the roots of her hair.
He would make her blush more before he was finished, for the longer he studied her paintings, the more he had to say about them. “It’s a gift.Youhave a gift. You’re a true artist.”
Now her pulse was pounding so hard, he could see the rapid beats against the pale column of her neck. A few more words of praise and she just might reach climax, and how he would like to see that.
No.
Where had the thought come from?
Not from as remote a place in his mind as he would prefer.
He cleared his throat. “Have you considered oils?”
Her bearing shifted into the defensive. “Pardon?”
“With oils, you could considerably deepen all this.”
She exhaled a dry, incredulous laugh. “They’ve made you feel something, haven’t they?”
“They have.” Now it was him on the defense.
“Then why shouldn’t I continue to perfect the medium of my choice?”
Tristan didn’t have a ready answer. She might be in the right. “You have connections in the arts. You could do a show.”
“Ladiesdon’t participate in art shows.”
And like that, Tristan remembered who this woman was. A proper Englishwoman, bound by the rules of the aristocracy.
Yet these paintings hinted at a different woman.
He wasn’t sure which woman he was trying to push with his next words, but he would speak them anyway because she needed to hear them. “There is really only one thing holding you back from becoming as great as you could be.”
“And you know what this one thing is, I suppose.” Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her jaw had a decidedly pugnacious set to it.
“I do.”
“Enlighten me.”
“You need to study the nude form.”
Her mouth opened and closed and opened again.
