Christina blinked at her brother. She glanced at Aedan, who frowned. Neither spoke.
“Please agree. You are perfect for this couple,” John urged. “I saw it the night you played Romeo and Juliet. That gave me the idea for the last image in the mural. Her deathbed, or the place where she sleeps in the briar.”
Christina shook her head. “I cannot.”
Aedan glanced at her and frowned. “Your sister is not interested. I am sure Amy would leap at the chance.”
“Miss Amy was disappointed, but seems content to be included. The two main characters must be perfect for this, or it will not be as good as it could be,” John said. “Now that I have a scheme, I could do the sketches and rough in the figures in a short time, and then attend to the final painting at leisure. With the right models, the work will go faster.”
Aedan looked at Christina. “He has a point, Mrs. Blackburn.”
She shook her head mutely.
“Christina, remember that Stephen’s painting of the princess is here, too,” John said.
“How could I forget that?” she said. Her voice nearly cracked.
“If both images of the princess agree, it enhances the romantic appeal, and adds a sense of reality to the legend. It would be magical, here at Dundrennan.”
“Another good point,” Aedan commented.
“I cannot,” Christina said firmly. “I will not.”
“Only you could model for her,” John said. “Sir, would you agree to pose as well?”
“If the princess agrees, the prince is willing.”
She scowled at Aedan, then at her brother. “She does not agree.”
“We could begin today,” said John. “It would just take a few sessions for sketches. Evenings might be best.”
“Providing Mrs. Blackburn is amenable,” Aedan said.
“Truly, I just cannot do this.” She felt trapped, desperate. Both men watched her, and she felt they could not understand. But the thought of posing for the briar princess again made her breath catch in her throat.
She was reminded suddenly of Stephen’s gaze, hungry and critical while she lay half clothed, feeling vulnerable, wanting so to please. She had been so young, naïve, succumbing easily to his charm, believing utterly in his talent and the ideal of true love. Fooling herself.
Yet—if she posed with Aedan, she would have time with him, hours perhaps in his arms, at least near him. She wavered. It would be a small piece of heaven. She could find solace, comfort, a secret joy to keep when she had to leave Dundrennan.
Biting her lip, she looked at her brother, tempted. Then she remembered that others would see the pictures. She shook her head. “I cannot do this again.”
“Christina, please,” John said. “It would be different this time. It will be wonderful.”
“Different?” Aedan frowned.
She sighed, turned to him. “You may as well know, since you own the painting. I brought about tragedy and scandal when I modeled for that picture. Stephen’s death, and the painting itself, only brought scandal and sorrow and embarrassment to my family.” She stood, dropping her napkin on the breakfast table. “Sit, both of you,” she snapped when they began to stand out of courtesy. “Find another princess.”
She fled, slamming the door behind her.
*
“Stay, sir,” Johnsaid when Aedan rose to pursue her. “Let her cool a little. She has a temper.”
“Trust me, I am acquainted with it.” Aedan subsided into his chair. “I knew she did not like the original painting, but I did not realize she would feel so strongly about this.”
“Perhaps she will listen to you later. Not now. Between us we can convince her.”
“I will not convince her to do something she does not want, John. Why press the matter?”
