“What is this?”
Thatwascuriosity in his tone. Of course—how would he know that Anastasia had been painting her? Anastasia rarely left her cabin, and he hadn’t come to visit her. And Anastasia was not one to give up a pout easily. She was still angry with her brother; had, in fact, been deliberately avoiding him, just as he had been avoiding Katherine.
“Really, Mitya, what does it look like?”
This was no question, just a retort to make her irritation clear. Anastasia didn’t appreciate being interrupted, especially by him.
Her sarcasm was ignored, however. Dimitri turned his attention to Katherine, unable to mask his surprise.
“You agreed to this?”
“Really, Alexandrov, what does it look like?”
Katherine couldn’t resist making the same retort. She should have. Dimitri laughed heartily. She had not intended to amuse him.
“Did you want something, Mitya?” Anastasia asked with a glare.
He didn’t. Well, he did, but it was not something he could admit to his sister, and especially not to Katherine. He had decided yesterday to find out how his new tactics had worked. This waiting game had tested his patience to the limit. Each time he had wanted to seek Katherine out, he had resisted, but no more. This morning he had had to wait again, simply because she had locked herself in here with Anastasia, posing for a portrait no less. It was the last thing he expected to see.
There had also been the chance, not really anticipated, but a slim possibility, that this obsession with Katherine could have diminished in the time he hadn’t seen her. One look dismissed the notion. If he had been in Russia, with other women to distract him, perhaps. No, he doubted even that would have helped. She was still, to him, the most sensuous, sexy woman he had ever seen. Just being in the same room with her was all it took to stir his loins. He needed to have his fill of her, to make love to her again and again until she was out of his system. Boredom, which came so quickly with other women, was the only thing that would work. He was convinced of that.
He had never thought the day would come when he would wish for boredom, not when he had often bemoaned his inability to form a more lasting relationship with a woman because of it. The women of his acquaintance were only that, acquaintances. In fact, the only woman he could actually call a friend was Natalia, and that was only after he had stopped sleeping with her. But he would prefer boredom to this obsession that was monopolizing his thoughts and causing him more frustration than he had ever experienced before.
Dimitri hadn’t answered Anastasia’s question and didn’t intend to. He was still smiling as he approached her, ostensibly to view her work but actually to give him an excuse to look at Katherine without appearing obvious, by comparing the portrait with the model. That was the plan. But like every plan having to do with Katherine, this one failed too. He couldn’t take his eyes off the portrait.
He had known his sister was good at her hobby, but not this good. Yet that was not what held him transfixed. The woman in the portrait was and wasn’t the woman he lusted after. The likeness was there. They could be twins. But this was not the woman he saw every time he closed his eyes. In vivid color here was the portrait of an aristocrat, regal, dignified, patrician in every nuance of her pose, a veritable blue-blood.
In the shimmering gold gown, her hair braided tightly and cast over one shoulder, a tiara resting on her head like a crown, she could have been a young medieval queen, proud, indomitable, and beautiful—yes, Anastasia had captured a beauty that wasn’t easily discernible…
Sweet Christ, what was he thinking? She was an actress! It was all an act, the pose, the pretense.
He touched Anastasia’s shoulder to gain her attention. “Has she seen this yet?”
“No.”
“She won’t let me,” Katherine put in, having heard his question. “She guards it like the crown jewels. Is it so awful?”
“No, not at all.” He felt Anastasia stiffen at such a bland answer in regard to her masterpiece. “Ah, Katherine, would you mind stepping outside for a few moments? I would like a private word with my sister.”
“Of course.”
Katherine was miffed that he had treated her with the casual indifference he would show any lackey. But what had she really expected after all this time? His total neglect spoke for itself. Yet Anastasia had come too close to the truth. Katherine had been hoping without realizing it—for what, she wasn’t sure. But now there was a great chasm inside her filled with sorrow. Realistically, she knew his indifference was just as well. Emotionally, she felt like crying.
Inside the cabin, Anastasia turned around to face her brother. He was staring again at the portrait. “Well?” She didn’t even try to mask her resentment.
“Why haven’t you shown this to her?”
Anastasia was distracted by the unexpected question. “Why?” And again, thoughtfully, “Why? Because I have had a subject become impatient when she did not see an immediate likeness and refuse to sit long enough for me to finish.” She shrugged now. “It probably wasn’t necessary with Katherine. She knows enough about painting to understand not to judge an unfinished work. And she has been an excellent subject, not even minding sitting for hours at a time. I have been able to get so much done. As you can see, it is almost finished.”
Dimitri was still staring at the portrait, wondering what Katherine thought about while she sat so patiently hour after hour. Did she ever think about him? Did she ever remember their one night together? Had his last gambit worked? Not as far as he could tell. She had barely glanced at him.
“I want the portrait,” he said abruptly.
“Youwhat?”
He looked at her impatiently. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Nastya.”
“Well, you can’t have it.”
