Painting Rain (Books of Dalthia Book 4) Page 12

  I finished scrubbing my hands and dried them off, then reached up to discover my hair in complete disarray. I must be a sight. I reached up to remove pins but felt his hand wrap around my wrist, stopping me. I spun in surprise. I hadn’t even heard West approach, and now I was looking at him and he was staring at me and I wanted nothing more than to melt into a wall and disappear, while at the same time wishing he would take just one step closer.

  He took a step back, his voice quiet when he spoke. “Don’t take your hair down.”

  “Why ever not?” I asked, my voice strained and higher than usual.

  “Because if you do, I doubt I’ll be able to keep myself from kissing you again.” For a second I thought perhaps he was mocking me, but there was nothing teasing in his expression, no laughter pulling at his mouth.

  I swallowed and looked away. He stepped back farther, giving me space and gesturing toward the stairs. I needed to escape this villa, to return home as quickly as possible so that I could shut myself in a room where West would not be. But I looked down at my dress, smudged and spattered in paint, and the thought of walking down the lane left me mortified.

  West nodded his head toward the stairs. “Your cloak is in the entry,” he said before leading the way to the staircase. I followed meekly in his wake, down the steps and along the corridor until the front doors came into view. He found my cloak and brought it to me. The mess of my dress and hair made me want to curl in on myself, and the moment he offered me the covering I snatched the fabric from his hands and threw it about my shoulders. I rushed toward the door, toward fresh air and freedom and distance from what had just happened.

  I wrapped my cloak firmly around me, my arms hugging it closed in an attempt to hide my dress. Despite the mild weather, I pulled my hood up to cover my unruly hair and block the view of my face.

  I hurried up the hill, my breath labored by the time we reached the street. My eyes stayed fixed on the ground in front of me. My cheeks itched where my tears had dried.

  West’s booted feet easily kept pace with me, and I couldn’t help trying to go a little faster.

  “Are you trying to outrun me?” he asked after I almost ran into someone.

  “Of course not.”

  “I hope I haven’t embarrassed you.”

  Of course I was embarrassed. “I acted inappropriately.”

  “According to whom?”

  “Everyone!” I threw the words at him in frustration, but he just raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want to speak of this.” Ever.

  “Of what? You kissing me?”

  My stomach clenched when he said the words, throwing the truth out into the world where it could be heard and judged. “It was a lapse of judgment.”

  “Is that all?” I felt his eyes on me, but I wouldn’t turn to meet them. “Well then…” He dipped his head and put a little more distance between us.

  I slowed. “Have I offended you?” I had always seen West as strong and unflappable. To think I could hurt him left me off balance.

  He looked over at me and smiled. “Nothing to worry about; I’ll recover well enough. I always do.”

  “Always?” Was my offending him a regular occurrence? That thought didn’t sit well. Especially considering I had just kissed him and he had been entirely understanding about it.

  More than understanding. He’d said he wanted to kiss me again. Why had he said such a thing? We would never…he and I could never…

  He must have been teasing, trying to make the situation less strained. Except that my feelings were so taut that I was liable to snap at any moment. Today. Yesterday. It had all been exhausting and terrifying. I couldn’t think clearly right now. I just needed to return to the Brooks’ home.

  My feet continued to eat up the distance as my mind galloped through the last day. The moment my boots hit the stairs of the Brooks’ home, I ran inside, not stopping to greet Lady Brook, not allowing the footman to take my cloak, but hiding inside it until I reached my room. I shut the door and leaned my back against it, covering my eyes and muttering, “What have I done? How could I do that?”

  ✼ ✼ ✼

  The sunlight spilling through my window made the insides of my eyelids glow red. I rolled over, ignoring the day’s beckoning. It was Sunday, so there was no need for me to rise. I tried to convince my mind to stay silent, to let me drift back into oblivion. But the memory of pressing my lips to West’s was insistent. The way I’d leaned into him had been like falling; I couldn’t stop it. Apparently I lacked all self-control when I was attracted to a gentleman, and I remembered only too well how that had ended with Tobias.

  I gave up my search for sleep and readied myself for the day. Sarah brought me something to eat, then laced my dress and set my hair. Leaving my room, I pulled my skirts close to quiet them as I treaded softly down the corridor and descended the stairs. The Brooks enjoyed their lazy Sunday mornings, and I had no wish to disturb them and no wish for company.

  Slipping into the library, it was easy to find parchment and quill in the desk that sat in the corner. I’d never particularly enjoyed letter writing, but I’d grown used to confiding in my mother and my sisters lately, and my separation from them was more difficult than I would have expected, especially in this moment.

  I wrote to Marilee, surprised at how well I was able to articulate my distress when putting it to parchment. It wasn’t merely that I was embarrassed. I also felt terrible for putting West in such a difficult position. No doubt he would now be uncomfortable around me. The least I could do was stay out of his way for the day. I would remain inside, visiting with the Brooks when they awoke so that he wouldn’t have to worry about navigating our now awkward situation.

  I finished my letter, sealing it and returning to my room, where I hid it. Perhaps I could write another letter to Marilee that I was willing to send, but this one—this confession of my misconduct and admission of feelings that were beyond my control—would stay safely locked away in my trunk.

  Noises drifted up from outside my window and when I pulled my drapes aside, I was met with the sight of two men grappling with one another in the yard below. Alarm jumped into my chest for a moment before I realized that it was Stephen and West. They were sparring. I knew that training was something they did regularly, but I hadn’t had a chance to watch them in several months.

  I was captivated by the movement, by the inherent danger they posed to one another, though I knew they had no wish to actually inflict harm. They took turns lunging at each other from different angles, fighting hand to hand, straining against the other’s hold until one or the other was overtaken.

  Eventually they broke apart, going in opposite directions as they wiped at their brows and stretched their muscles. I assumed their training session had finished, but they each retrieved a sword and my heart lurched into my throat as the sunlight glinted off of steel as they clashed once more.

  It was an oddly thrilling spectacle. I was anxious for their safety, but also excited by the movements and the raw show of strength and agility. When Stephen’s sword came dangerously close to piercing West, I gave a startled jump and the pain in my scalp made me realized that my fingers were twisted and twirled in my hair. I allowed myself one last admiring look at West’s form before forcing myself away from the window. The last thing I needed was to continue thinking of all the ways I found him attractive, all the things that reminded me that I’d kissed him and that I’d enjoyed it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I DID MY best to act as if nothing was amiss as West, Stephen and I made the usual trek to Sterrino’s villa the next morning. I tried to return West’s friendly smile without blushing and walk at a normal pace when the tempo of my pulse wanted my feet to go faster.

  I had been relying on it being Stephen’s turn to stay with me, but somehow it was West who remained, heightening my awareness and making me flush. It was a relief to arrive at my workspace, to know that I could spend the next several hours consumed by my work instead of the aching p
ull I felt toward my guard.

  I distracted myself so thoroughly that half the day was gone in a trice and Sterrino was at my side, ready to see what I had created on Saturday. He examined my self-portrait and his eyebrows jumped. Whether for good or bad, I had managed to surprise him. After a while his head raised up and down in a slow nod. “We can work with this.” He set it down and gave the painting I was working on a cursory perusal. “And it looks like you’ve already found a way to occupy yourself for today. Continue on. I will check in tomorrow.” He gave me a nod, which I don’t remember returning, then moved on to the next student.

  I breathed a sigh, relieved that he approved, at least to some extent, of what I was trying to do. I went back to work, losing myself in the process once more, and didn’t stop until almost everyone had gone. I was considering putting everything away when Ingrid grabbed my hand, dragging me toward her work area. “I need you,” was all the explanation she offered.

  I resigned myself to another stint as a model, but my heart quickened when she veered off course, heading for West. “You too,” she said, motioning for him to stand. He did so with obvious reluctance before she grabbed his wrist and pulled him along as well.

  West raised an eyebrow at me, but I shrugged, unable to get any words past the lump forming in my throat. She was going to make us pose together. My face burned at what she might have in mind. I had seen plenty of models in the time I’d been here, some draped only in fabric, others asked to press against one another in the pose of lovers.

  “Now, you stand here.” She took hold of my arms and placed me in front of a chair.

  Thank heavens I was standing. As much as I liked Ingrid, I was not about to debase myself by lying on a floor or sofa, especially if West was involved. She turned me so that I was at three-quarter profile, then commanded West to sit in the chair behind me. “You’ll be reaching out, taking a hold of her arm as if to stop her from leaving. No, not as if she is a criminal. She is your love and you do not wish her to depart.”

  West’s grip gentled, the warmth of his hand sinking into me. Ingrid backed up, giving instructions on how to turn our heads, lift our chins, pull back our shoulders, and so on.

  She sat down with her pencils and I tried to look as if I weren’t preparing to run away. At least I didn’t have to face him and stare into his eyes. The thought made me swallow.

  “Very good,” she said after sketching for what felt like a day.

  I let out a breath, grateful it was over.

  “Now I want you to stand right behind Raina,” Ingrid said to West, coming over to move us about. I tensed all over again, realizing she was not finished. “You’ll be close behind her, your hands resting on both her upper arms.”

  The heat of his broad chest hit my back and my breathing wavered as his hands rested on my arms.

  “Now lean down as if you’re going to whisper something in her ear, and Raina, I want you to look at the floor, as though you’re feeling shy or nervous.”

  As though I was feeling nervous? My body screamed with nerves. My mouth remembered far too well what it was like to have his lips pressed to mine; my arms knew the feeling of being wrapped around him. Now she asked us to pose this way and thought I would have to feign nervousness?

  My cheeks burned and I hoped my face was turned away enough that West couldn’t see it despite his very, very close proximity.

  I put all my energy into being sure my breathing stayed even while Ingrid sat and sketched, and sketched, and sketched. I suppressed my need to tremble at the feel of West’s breath as it hit my neck, as his thumbs traced circles on the backs of my arms.

  Would the torture never end? I peeked up at him, and the intensity of his gaze on my face made it even more difficult to breathe.

  “Now, I want you in almost that same position, but this time, West, you need to tighten your grip on her arms and pull her back against you.”

  I was going to murder her in her sleep. I was going to make her pay.

  He did as she asked and I almost squealed as his chest came flush with my back. I was going to lose consciousness from lack of air. My breathing was not steady or quiet, and it was humiliating. I wanted West to be exactly where he was while at the same time wanting to run so far and so fast that I could pretend this had never happened.

  “Let me just get the tension in your fingers,” Ingrid muttered as her charcoal moved with speed and precision across her paper. “And the angle of both of your arms. I’ll definitely have to use this one when my real models come in.”

  “If you’re going to have models to work with, then why do you need us?” I asked through clenched teeth.

  “The different poses wouldn’t leave me alone, and it would have kept me up all night if I couldn’t see it and make a decision on how to proceed. I’m so glad you were still here, Rain.”

  “Rain?” West asked close to my ear.

  I shook my head, firstly because Ingrid had never called me that before, and secondly because the husky, intimate quality of his voice left me completely dazed.

  “Last one, I promise,” Ingrid pledged with a wave of her charcoal. “West, slide your left hand around her middle.” She pulled over a new piece of paper and I tried not to burst into flames as West slid his hand across my stomach with agonizing slowness.

  Ingrid looked up and scowled before grabbing a paintbrush and throwing it at me. “Raina! Stop looking as if you fear he’s going to eat you.”

  “This is not at all appropriate,” I muttered, unable to think past the fact that West surrounded me completely in that moment.

  Ingrid scoffed. “We do not adhere to social strictures inside these walls. Propriety is not the point.” Her words were sharp and impatient.

  “It’s all right,” West murmured, no doubt sensing my extraordinary anxiety. “You can relax. I have you.”

  I forced myself to do as he suggested and leaned against him, closing my eyes and resting the back of my head against his shoulder, letting myself enjoy being encircled by his warmth. His arm around my waist tightened a bit more, and his thumb on the back of my arm continued to slide up and down. Saints, I wished it were all real, that I could turn around and breathe him in.

  “Perfect!” Ingrid said, pulling me from my imaginings. She set her papers aside, clearly finished. I pulled myself straight and felt West’s hand slip away before he stepped back.

  Air hissed into my lungs as I sucked it in, and a chill ran up my spine with the loss of his heat. I tucked my hair and brushed at my skirt as I returned to my space, trying to remember what I had been about to do before Ingrid pulled me away, but my entire body was jittery, my hands visibly shaking until I clasped them together.

  “Are you preparing to leave?”

  I turned at West’s question and remembered that yes, I had been about to leave. I nodded, not trusting my voice, and set about putting things away. West joined me, separating the clean brushes from the ones I had used.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I told him.

  “I’ve helped you before.” He pointed out the simple fact in quiet tones.

  “Yes, but now it’s…” What was it? Different? Uncomfortable. Yes, it was that.

  “Nothing has changed, Princess,” he assured me, and I grabbed onto his surety.

  “Of course nothing has changed,” I agreed without looking at him.

  He continued to help, and I let him, because any more objection would just point out the obvious discomfort in which I was drowning.

  The walk home was brisk, the energy between us so thick that I could barely breathe. He slipped away as soon as we entered the Brooks’ home and I tried to navigate my way to my own room without tripping over my feet. I collapsed onto my bed and tried to sort it all out. How was I going to keep acting as though our relationship were professional—or at least only friendly—if whenever he was near I felt like lightning was jumping between us?

  I put my hand to my forehead, still not believing that I had kissed him. It m
ust have been a moment of madness, or weakness, or sheer stupidity—I wasn’t sure which.

  Groaning, I rolled to my side, thinking how differently I acted now as opposed to a few years ago. The rigidity I had demanded of myself would never have allowed me to even notice a guard, let alone develop feelings for him. I didn’t regret that I had changed, but I couldn’t help missing the control I used to wield over myself.

  I rubbed my arms where his hands had rested, wondering how I could possibly have such a powerful reaction to him when he was so calm and considerate.

  My attempts to shake off my emotions and go about my day were less effective than I would have liked, but having at least a little bit of space from him through the evening allowed my nerves to settle enough that I no longer feared I might fly apart.

  ✼ ✼ ✼

  I slipped through the door that led to the garden the next morning, closing it softly behind me before venturing among the foliage. An early morning mist clung to the leaves, catching the sun’s rays and winking at the world. I breathed deep, filling my senses with the scent of the flowers and the feeling of air on my skin as I tried to push thoughts of West from my mind.

  My success was marginal.

  The cool of the morning woke me up, enlivening my mind and sharpening my thoughts, but after a while I began to feel chilled and turned back toward the house. It was then that I saw the man I was trying not to think of striding toward me with deliberate steps, his head bent. “West,” I said in alarm.

  He looked up and slowed, but didn’t stop until he was only a few paces away. “Good morning, Princess.”

  My hands clenched together, no doubt turning my knuckles white. “Shouldn’t you still be sleeping?”

  “Sarah always informs us when you leave the house.” He looked me over. “You look chilled.” He stripped off his jacket and threw it around my shoulders, his hands lingering at the collar before dropping away.