Anna opened her eyes, and for a moment she was entirely confused. Where was she? What was this big, beautiful chamber where muted winter light streamed through the windows?
And then it rushed back: the dangerous ride through the icy rain, the pleasures she’d shared with Ezra and Oliver. And falling asleep with both men at her sides, their hands sliding along her skin until she drifted into dreams.
But as she looked around, she realized both of them weren’t in the bed now. Oliver was there, sprawled on his stomach beside her, covers low on his hips, revealing the muscled plains of his back. He was lightly snoring and she smiled. She would let him sleep—he had more than earned it, and not just the previous night.
But Ezra was nowhere to be found.
She leaned over and pressed a kiss to one of Oliver’s shoulders. He made a soft sound of pleasure but didn’t wake. She was careful not to wake him as she got up, either.
Her dress was in a pile on the floor, but she didn’t want to take all the time to don that, so instead she grabbed for a silk robe that was draped on the back of a chair. It had to have been Ezra’s because it was leagues too large for her. Still, she tied the long sash and slipped from the room, padding barefoot through the quiet house. Ezra didn’t appear to be upstairs, so she crept down. There had to be servants in this big, rambling estate, but she didn’t see or hear them. A blessing since she wasn’t ready for them to see her sneaking around in their employer’s robe, her hair tangled from sin.
She saw the door to the studio slightly cracked and went to it, drawing a deep breath before she opened it and looked inside.
Ezra stood before a canvas by the window, light haloing him like some kind of glorious fallen angel. He hadn’t seemed to notice her entry, for he was entirely focused on his work. He didn’t wear a shirt and the muscles in his arms stretched and contracted as he slashed brush strokes across the canvas with confidence. Occasionally he paused, drawing a deep breath and tapping his mouth with the handle of the brush as he tilted his head in intense scrutiny of his own work.
“Ezra,” she said softly.
He jumped a little at the sound of her voice and looked up at her. “Anna, I didn’t hear you.”
“No, you seemed very focused,” she said. “I’m sorry to interrupt you.”
He set the brush down and shook his head. “Not at all. Were you having trouble sleeping? It’s very early and we were up late.”
She blushed a little at the memory of what had kept them all up so late. He smiled, like her expression gave away so much that pleased him.
“I’ll admit, when I woke and you weren’t there, I worried,” she said, stepping farther into the room.
He tracked her every movement and suddenly his expression was a little darker. A little more intense. “Hmmm. But Oliver was there.”
She nodded. “Yes. But sound asleep, and I did not wish to wake him. He would never say it, but I know he was exhausted by yesterday. Having to drive in such weather, worrying about me. Between that and the amazing things we all shared, I think no one deserves rest more.”
Ezra inclined his head. “That is likely true. He does not easily shed the role of servant. Even when he is between your legs.”
Anna swallowed. She knew that was true. Oliver might give her pleasure, protection, care…all that she could desire. But he would also always hold himself just a little away. Never let her give as much as she took. Did it trouble her? More now than ever before.
She shrugged the thoughts away. “May I see the painting?”
He smiled, broader this time, and she caught her breath. The man had only smirked and tempted and teased his smile until now. But this…this was something else. He looked younger, warmer, when he truly smiled. And she wanted him as she stood there in this space that was so very much his.
“Not yet,” he said and motioned to a seat by the fire. “But you can keep me company if you don’t wish to return to bed.”
She did so, tucking her legs beneath her, smoothing his robe so she wouldn’t be too revealing. Not that the man hadn’t seen her naked and spread out already. She gripped the arms of the chair at the memory.
He returned to his painting. Back to those confident brushstrokes. Her gaze shifted to the paintings around her, the ones that she could see.
“You are very talented,” she said.
He didn’t lift eyes from his work, but he smiled a little again. “As are you, Your Grace.”
“Please don’t call me that,” she said, and immediately wished she could take it back when her voice broke. She felt so vulnerable. Even more so when he paused in his painting and lifted his icy blue eyes to hers. He held there and then slowly inclined his head.
“My apologies, Anna,” he said. “I used the term playfully, but I know that there can be complicated feelings about a title. And I’ve guessed that your marriage might not have been the happiest. I won’t do it again.”
She drew in a breath at that response. How many times had she asked for what she wanted or needed in her life, only to be met by resistance or indignation or even cruelty? This apology and earnest promise not to cause her pain again was so refreshing. So attractive.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He lowered his gaze to the piece. “I’d actually like to know more about you.”
