“You can paint them nude, can you not?” He asked, “Or is the work too compromising for you?”
“No,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice low and free of trembling. She was determined to win the project no matter what she thought. “I mean yes. I mean, I will paint whatever you like.”
The Devil let out a low chuckle, then gave her a subtle bow with his head.
“I hope you can paint with an audience,” he then said, walking behind her. “I need to watch your process.”
Ophelia’s nervousness heightened as the four women then completely undressed, and walked with utter confidence to the bed. The raven-haired woman posed in the center of the bed, sitting up among the crimson pillows with both arms stretched across the top of them. She laid her legs out straight, crossing her ankles. The copper-haired woman joined her next. She laid her head in the other woman’s lap, flipping her voluminous copper curls to the other side, exposing her back, shoulder, and plump derrière.
The blonde moved next, stretching out on her back on the opposite side of the raven-haired woman’s feet. The blonde reached out, and grasped one of the woman’s bare feet, and gave Ophelia an alluring look. The brunette joined them last, sitting at the edge of the bed with her back to the right bed post. She rested one leg up on the bed and bent her knee as her other footcame to rest on the floor. She then raised her arms to circle the post behind her, jutting her perfect breasts out.
Though Ophelia had never done a nude portrait before and she’d never once had an inclination toward her fellow women, even she had to admit the visual was incredibly enticing.
“Better get at it,” The Devil’s voice whispered in her ear. “I am afraid time is not on your side.”
Ophelia jolted out of her reverie. She could marvel at her situation later. For now, she was going to work. She sat her case down, then lugged the canvas and the easel to the center of the room, lining it up until she had the angle she wanted to work from. She raised her right thumb beside her canvas, finding the center point of the women posing before her, and began.
The where, who, and what of the project fell away as Ophelia picked up her sharpened charcoal and began to sketch the outlines. This was her talent, her passion, and she wasn’t going to let a little nudity stop her from using those things to help her father. Sweat pricked at her brow as the outline came together; she moved to wipe it away, and nearly laughed out loud as she came in contact with her mask. She’d completely forgotten that she’d had it on!
She shook her head at her forgetfulness, and carried on, moving away from the sketch of the four-post bed and onto the beautiful bodies lounging atop it. Every so often, her nerves would skitter to life as she felt the Devil’s hot breath flutter across the back ofher neck. Even though she never looked back, Ophelia could feel that he was right there, probably not even a footstep away.
She was nearly finished with the online when the Devil said, “Stop.”
Ophelia froze mid stroke of her charcoal.
“Something the matter?” She asked, keeping her eyes forward.
“This was supposed to be a painting, not a sketch,” he said behind her.
Ophelia’s annoyance from before ticked upward, but she swallowed it.
“It is a painting,” she replied calmly, “This is just to get the proper lines.”
“They are too dark for an outline,” he countered. “Look here.”
The Devil raised hand toward the canvas, careful not to touch the charcoal lines, and traced a finger over a particularly dark line of one of the bed posts. He said something else, something that was no doubt important- but Ophelia didn’t hear it. She was too distracted by the hand in front of her. The hand that had appeared in every practice sketch she’d ever created these last twelve years, a hand that had transfixed her since the moment she noticed them.
The man behind her, the elusive, infamous Devil of theDevil’s Masqueradethat no one seemed to be able to identify- was none other than Lord Perfect himself.Tristan.
CHAPTER THREE
“Are you listening to me?” Tristan demanded.
Ophelia shook her head, shocked at what she had just discovered.
She moved to pick up her pot of wheat-gold paint and a fine haired brush, and began to paint over the bed post that Tristan was still pointing at. She began to tremble as she continued to both study his hand and paint over the offending dark line at the same time. Could it really be him?
Mister Manners himself? Lord Perfect? The Golden boy of his otherwise devious friend group?Hewas the Devil of theDevil’s Masquerade?
“See how the paint covers the lines?” she forced herself to say, “You will not see the sketch marks when I am done. I promise.”
Silence stretched for a long as Ophelia continued to paint, then a begrudged “fine” left Tristan’s lips.
That is definitely Tristan’s voice! How did I not recognize before?
She supposed it was because she was used to only hearing the man yell or speak snidely to her. He’d never been a supporter of her friendship with Theo, and they’d never were quite able to have a civil conversation. Which brought her to her next worry: what if he recognized her? Would he tell her secret? Would he demand to know why she was doing this all in the first place?
Her worries ran abound as she did her best to focus on her work, but with him standing so closely and her now knowing who he really was, her hands once more began to tremble. She clenched the brush tight, trying to force her body to stop, and ended up snapping the thing in half.
