Hoping to distract herself, she went into the room that held her paints, lit the lamp, and put a new canvas on the easel, and began to sketch. She had meant to create a landscape but the image that unfolded on the canvas was Stefan’s face, his brow high and proud, his eyes dark and filled with secrets, his nose aristocratic, his jaw strong and unyielding, his hair framing his face like a dark cloud. His lips were full, sensual, curved in a mysterious smile.
When the sketch was completed, she turned it toward the wall. It would take a few days to complete. When it was finished, she would hide it under the bed where she had hidden the other painting. She remained reluctant to let Stefan see them. Afraid he would look at them and know she was beginning to care for him. And that was something he must never know. If he knew, if he suspected, she feared he would never let her go.
Stefan smiled faintly as he prowled the edges of the estate late that night. She was thinking of him. The knowledge pleased him greatly. Perhaps there was hope for him after all. He had seen the painting she kept hidden under the bed. It had touched him as nothing else ever had. It had been painted with affection, if not love.
And for now, that was enough. With time and patience, he might yet win her heart.
Chapter Eleven
Leyton Barrett tapped his foot impatiently as he listened to one of the men he had hired to find his daughter report on his progress.
“We happened on the young man by chance,” Audley was saying. “I stopped in this nameless village for a drink and overheard a couple of the women talking about a man by the name of Lord Stefan. Seems he attended some celebration with a young woman who none of the villagers had ever seen before. A woman who fits Bryony’s description. The young man, Elon by name, told us where she lives.”
Barrett leaned forward in his chair. “Well?” he asked impatiently. “Did you find her?”
“Not exactly. We found the house, but it was empty. There was no sign that anyone is living there now.”
Barrett slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. “Doesno oneknow where she’s gone?”
Audley shook his head. “Word is that this Stefan is a very strange man. Never seen in the daytime. Has no friends to speak of. We questioned everyone in the village. No one really knows anything about him.”
Barrett swore under his breath. He was no closer to finding Bryony now than he had been five minutes ago.
But at least he knew she was still alive.
Chapter Twelve
Bryony looked up from her easel as the grandfather clock downstairs chimed the hour. As usual, she had lost track of time while painting. Laying her brush aside, she took several steps back to critique her work. She had thought the first painting she had done of Stefan was her best work ever, but this portrait was even better. He looked so alive, it was almost as if he was staring back at her. She had captured his image perfectly, the beauty of his face, the aching loneliness in his beautiful dark eyes.
Too bad she had to hide it away.
To her chagrin, she found herself liking Lord Stefan way too much and it showed in the paintings. He still mystified her. His strange hours. The fact that he never dined with her although he often sat with her at the table. The way he sometimes put her away from him and left the house abruptly, with no explanation. She thought of him constantly, yearned to be in his arms, to hear his voice whisper her name. No one had ever looked at her the way he did. His kisses were beyond description, one day sweet and gentle, the next bold and compelling, sometimes rough, as if he was angry with her. Or maybe with himself.
She had just finished cleaning her supplies when she sensed his presence. She reached for the painting, intendingto turn it toward the wall before he could see it, but it was too late.
Stefan paused in the doorway. A gasp escaped his lips as his gaze was drawn to the portrait. She had captured his very essence, he thought, the loneliness, the darkness. The other painting was good, but this…he had no words to describe it, or the way it made him feel.
Bryony blushed when his gaze met hers. Did he hate it? Why didn’t he say something?
“I did not realize you knew me so well,” he said quietly.
She stared at him, speechless, as he walked slowly toward her and took her in his arms.
“Bryony,” he murmured. “Can I hope you care for me just a little?”
How could she deny it when he was looking at her like that, his dark eyes filled with hope.
A faint smile twitched his lips. “I know little of art,” he said as his knuckles caressed her cheek. “But I know you could not have painted that if you hated me.” He pulled her closer, closer, until all she saw was his face and the longing in his eyes.
When he lowered his head, she met him halfway, her eyelids fluttering down as his mouth covered hers. He was right, she thought, as he deepened the kiss. She did care. Maybe too much. She didn’t back away when he lifted his head, content to be held in the circle of his arms.
Stefan brushed a kiss across the top of her head, pleased that she hadn’t pulled away.
She fit into his arms as if she had been sculpted only for him. A deep breath carried the fragrance of lavender soap and always, the scent of the crimson river flowing just under her skin. He sighed when she rested her head against his chest. Hardly daring to move, he closed his eyes, her nearnessbanishing the aching loneliness in his heart, her warmth chasing away the cold that was ever a part of him. She was everything he had ever longed for, everything he had desired and never thought to have.
Bryony looked up at him. He had read her mind before. She wished he would read it now and kiss her again. And even as the thought crossed her mind, his mouth was moving over hers, his tongue teasing her lips.
Stefan swore at the sound of footsteps. Releasing his hold on Bryony, he took a step backward as one of the maids came into the room to announce that dinner was ready.
