His friendship had eased the frustration of the delayed travel, but her mind had once more become fascinated with forming images of all the ways her family would be worried. All the people who might have been sent out to search forher. Were they even now huddled around a fire in a similar cluster of trees? Maybe debating where they would search on the morrow? Or maybe they’d already gone to Fort Versailles and realized she’d never reached its walls. What panic would well in Papa’s mind with that knowledge?
Damien shifted beside her, reaching for his pack. From his satchel, he pulled out the book where he’d tucked the drawing of Gulliver. Next, he extracted a pencil, something her people hadn’t known of until Brielle’s husband first introduced it to them. As he opened the book to a blank page, she leaned in, just close enough to see but not brush against his arm.
He turned to her, brows raised. “What should I sketch? Choose the subject.”
He wanted her to decide? She glanced around the area, searching for inspiration. Only the fire and the darkness and the two of them existed here. Even Gulliver stood just outside the circle of light. She didn’t want a drawing of her, and the fire didn’t seem interesting enough. As much as she would love a sketch of him, he may not be able to manage that without seeing his reflection in something.
A thought slipped in, bringing a smile she couldn’t deny. “How about a picture of one of those stories you told me earlier, when you first learned trapping. You decide which one.” But she hoped he chose the tale of the beaver that escaped from a trap right in front of Damien’s eyes. He’d forgotten to set the spring fully, and when the animal scampered a dozen steps away from the iron, it turned back to eye Damien, chattering a scolding that nearly made his ears burn, or so he’d said.
Damien’s brows furrowed as he studied the blank paper,then he tipped the book away from her and brushed the pencil against the blank page. He drew for a while, which gave her the opportunity to watch his face. The intensity that marked his features as he focused sometimes gave way to other emotions. Once, his mouth tipped in the makings of a smile. Occasionally, uncertainty would crease the corners of his eyes. Several times, his gaze lifted to stare out into the darkness beyond the fire.
At last, his gaze shifted her way, and he studied her as though trying to decide something. He’d probably been drawing a half hour, but she had no sense for how long a sketch would take. He might be hesitant to reveal his art, though.
“Do I get to see it yet? It doesn’t have to be finished.” Whether he was finished or not, pretending he planned to work on it more might make showing his sketch easier.
His gaze sharpened, and he dipped his chin back to the drawing as he added a few more strokes with his pencil. Once more, the corner of his mouth tipped up the smallest bit.
Then he straightened and turned the book toward her. As much as she wanted to watch his face as he shared the art, she was too hungry to know what he’d drawn.
Her gaze took in the flowing water at the top of the image first, a river fading off the upper edge of the paper. Then she pulled her focus back to see the entire image.
A beaver stared at her, head cocked, its pert nose and the glint in its eye laughing at her. It held its paws together, maybe because it clutched something within them, but it seemed to be almost clapping with glee at the escape it had managed. Its flat tail was tucked underneath it.
The entire image was impossible not to smile over.
“That sneaky little thing.” She raised her grin to Damien. “Is that truly how it looked when it escaped from your trap?”
He was watching her, his expression more unguarded than she’d ever seen. So vulnerable she wanted to reach out and touch him, to assure him the sketch was excellent.
He glanced down at the paper as he nodded. “That’s how I remember it. I was peeved when I first looked up and saw the beaver there, but that expression on its face made it impossible to do anything but laugh. Any beaver that can best me like that deserves to run free.”
A smile curved the corners of his mouth as he stared at the drawing, his eyes soft with memory. As much as she admired the strong, competent side of Damien Levette, it was this gentleness that drew her even more strongly. Made her want to reach out and touch the corner of his mouth, to connect with him through more than words.
She refocused on the sketch to push that thought away. This time, she didn’t study the beaver’s expression as much as she did all the other tiny details. The nuances of shadow and light in its coat, as well as the grass rising up around it. Even the river flowed with more life than she would have thought possible to portray with something as simple as a charcoal pencil.
Perhaps she spent too long staring at each detail, for when she lifted her gaze back to Damien’s face, his expression had returned to that vulnerable look. Yet this time he seemed to be trying to mask it with a layer of protection.
She reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “Damien, this is remarkable. Especially in such a short amount of time. You have a rare talent.” At least she assumed this ability must be rare. It was so hard to fathom how he could re-create ascene so vividly with only charcoal and paper. This sketch would be ruined by adding color.
His eyes roamed her face, as though searching for her true opinion. Maybe for a sign she didn’t really feel the way she’d said. Surely he saw the depth of her appreciation.
She tightened her touch on his arm, offering a gentle squeeze. He reached over and slipped his gloved hand over hers, lifting her fingers from his arm. But then he raised them to his lips and pressed a kiss to the backs of her fingers that she felt even through the layers of leather and fur.
His eyes stayed locked with hers throughout the action, and maybe the depth of his gaze—the intimacy—was what really stole her ability to take in air. Her breath stilled even as her heart sprinted.
The rich brown of his eyes darkened to almost black, drawing her in. Would he kiss more than simply her fingers? Every part of her wanted him to. She’d come to admire this man in every way.
And then he closed the distance between them.
19
Charlotte’s eyes drifted shut as Damien’s breath grazed her skin, his lips brushing hers soon after. The touch sent a jolt all the way through her. Not an unpleasant shock, but a tingle that brought her closer.
He responded, his mouth caressing hers with a touch both gentle and possessing so much power it stole the strength from her body. His hand slipped up to her neck, reaching behind her head. If only so many layers of fur didn’t separate them. With so much heat welling inside her, she might never be cold again.
He gentled the kiss long before she wanted him to, yet the slow give-and-take captivated her even more than the intense press of before. Did he have any idea what his touch did to her?
With a final lingering caress, he pulled back, though only far enough for their breath to mingle in the air between them. His inhales came as heavy as her own, and the sweet taste of him nearly lured her back for another kiss.
