Painting Rain (Books of Dalthia Book 4) Page 14

  He came to stand beside me, turning to press his own back to the wall, saying nothing.

  I concentrated on my breathing as his nearness invaded all of my senses. His warmth permeated my skin and the scent of leather filled my lungs. I could almost taste the memory of his kiss as the sound of his breathing made me want to reach out to him, to stretch my hand along the wall until I could thread my fingers through his. But it wouldn’t be fair. I couldn’t touch and flirt and expect him to accept it without explaining to him the way I felt. How I had tried to ignore my feelings because of fear—fear that caring for him would be disastrous, that Stephen would find us out. Yet, by keeping him at arm’s length, I was hurting myself. My pain of late was of my own making, from pushing West aside.

  I rolled my head to the side, drinking in the sight of his profile and his lean form as he rested against the wall beside me. I was desperate to close the distance between us, but I had to bridge the gap with words before I could erase the physical distance. I had to be sure of myself, with a clear path forward, because if I moved ahead and then changed my mind, I would only end up hurting both of us. So instead of confessions, I said the only other thing that felt true.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” He lifted one corner of his mouth. “I wasn’t the one painting.”

  “Perhaps not, but you’re the reason I was able to do it.”

  He shifted and for one moment I thought he would close the distance between us, but he held back. “You’re welcome,” was all he said, but his eyes spoke more—so much more.

  I pulled myself away from the wall, pulled my eyes from his, pulled my mind back to the present. “Shall we go?” I asked in a voice smaller than it should have been.

  He pushed himself upright and motioned for me to lead the way.

  The walk home was heated. Or at least I was heated, but I could have sworn that some of the fire came from West as he walked at my side, casting glances down at me. Was it my imagination, or was he walking closer than usual? Perhaps his sleeve always brushed against mine and I had simply never noticed it before now.

  ✼ ✼ ✼

  I lay awake for hours that night, not from anger or frustration, but from nervousness. West had kissed me, had admitted that he was interested in that kind of a relationship. So how could I now tell him that I wanted the same? Because it was what I wanted. I wanted the chance to see if we could make each other happy. I just didn’t know if there was any way that I could have it. If I told him my feelings, could we find a way to have our relationship grow without anyone else knowing? I wanted to be able to stay here and continue with my studies, but I didn’t know if I could find a chance to steal time with him as well. Our being together would be a risk. Would he want to take that risk with me? Or had a couple of stolen kisses been enough for him?

  What I knew of him didn’t speak of meaningless flirtations. I really did believe that West wanted more, but I would need to find the courage to ask for it.

  ✼ ✼ ✼

  It took me a few days to work up my courage. When Stephen was sitting in the gallery with me, my nerves would steady and I would believe that I could confess what I wanted to West. But then I would see him again and his smile was so captivating, his eyes so deep, that my determination would falter.

  After several days, I finally rallied enough to take a leap of faith. I escaped out into the gardens early the next morning, making sure that Sarah knew where I planned to be. I found a bench far from the house, surrounded by the heady scent of lilacs, and I waited. My stomach quivered like the string of a viol resonating in one relentless note.

  “Venturing in the gardens again?”

  I looked up at the sound of his voice, my heart jumping at the sight of him. I forced my hands to unclench from the edge of the bench and permitted myself the pleasure of returning his smile.

  “I’m trying to be better at finding contentment,” I said. It was true, though my nervousness had not allowed it this morning.

  “Ah.” He smiled at the ground before bringing his eyes to mine. “May I sit and be content beside you?”

  “Of course.”

  I made room for him and he sat close, our arms almost touching. He must have felt the tension coming from me, at odds with my claim that I was seeking contentment, but he was nice enough not to say anything. He simply sat, lending me his calm presence, inviting me into it.

  “West?” I spoke after several moments.

  “Princess.”

  I turned my body so that I could see his face as I made my confession. “I think I was wrong.”

  “About what?”

  I swallowed, but forced the words out. “You know how I’ve felt about my sisters’ marriages. I thought some of them were being irresponsible by marrying people not of noble birth.” I searched his eyes and found them so intently trained on me, waiting on my words, that it gave me courage. “But I understand it now. No matter how prettily decorated my boxes are, I have to stop putting people into them. I want to see people for who they are, not who I think they are supposed to be.”

  He turned toward me, reaching out a hand before stopping himself. “Can I help in some way?”

  I swallowed, hoping to find the words to tell him. “I think I need to set aside my old expectations, so that I can see more clearly.”

  He leaned closer, perhaps without realizing it. “And what do you wish to see?”

  “You.” I dropped my gaze to his chest, nervous about my own confession.

  “Why me?” He scooted a little closer, bringing his scent and his warmth nearer.

  “You’re someone I want to know better.” I reached out with my hand, trying to express with my actions what my quiet voice couldn’t seem to convey.

  He grabbed my hand before I’d even reached him, pulling it up to his face, and pressing a kiss to my palm. “What would you like to know?”

  I locked my eyes with his, falling into the want I found there. “Everything.”

  He pressed another kiss to my palm and then to my fingers. “And will you tell me everything about you as well?”

  My stomach tightened at the thought, but I swallowed and answered honestly. “I’ll try, though sometimes I think you already know too much about me.” I let out a nervous laugh.

  He shook his head. “I could never know you too much.” He leaned in and kissed my temple. “Stephen will not approve.”

  “I know,” I breathed as his lips moved down to brush my cheek.

  “These early morning walks may be the only chance we have to visit.” His lips skimmed closer to mine.

  “I know.” My answer was lost by his mouth moving over mine. This kiss wasn’t bold and hungry like the one he’d given me before. This kiss took time. It was patient and calm. It was full of care. I didn’t rush it or push it further; I simply enjoyed the feel of his fingers on the side of my neck and the gentle caress of his lips.

  When it ended, West pulled back and took a stuttering breath. Then he smiled, his eyes alive with joy. I grinned and hid my flushed face in his shoulder.

  “Will you go for a walk through the garden with me?” he murmured into my hair as his hands slid up and down my arms.

  I nodded and sat back, accepting the hand he offered to help me stand.

  “Well.” He cleared his throat as he wound my hand over his arm. “I’ll certainly have plenty to tell my mother in my next letter.”

  I just laughed, knowing he wouldn’t tell anyone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE WALK TO Sterrino’s villa later that morning was sweet torture. As Stephen took up the front and West walked beside me, we shared furtive glances, shy smiles and stolen brushes of our fingers. It was tentative and so sweet that I blushed nearly the whole way there and fought not to grin like a fool.

  Upon reaching the gallery, I pulled my eyes away from West and focused on my work. My mind was alive with ideas for different scenes and I sketched them out as quickly as I could.

  I jumped when my
papers rustled, and looked up to see Master Sterrino looking over my drawings.

  “Good,” he murmured, then raised his eyes to mine. “This week we start the real work. It seems you already have some thoughts about what you might want to paint. Today I want you to choose one of your sketches and plan out how to execute it. This won’t be a quick, rough painting for the sake of practice. This will be a piece I want you to be proud of. I will look over your proposed painting at the end of the day and tomorrow we will start.”

  “Thank you,” I managed to say before he left.

  I sat down, a thrill shooting up my spine, and covered my mouth to hide the grin that could not be held back.

  This. This was what I had been waiting for. This was what I had come here to do. I would be able to plan and execute a painting under his expert eyes. I would be able to use all that Joseph had taught me, the many techniques that Dante had expounded upon, as well as the emotional discipline that Sterrino had led me to discover. And he would be there, to help and advise and guide me.

  I gathered my sketches and pencils and hurried down the length of the gallery before running down the stairs. If I was going to sketch out and plan my first piece for a master painter, I needed the inspiration of the open air and the sun shining on the color of the world.

  Winding my way through the hedges and bushes of the garden, I found a spot with an open view to the lake. Only then did I realize that I had nothing to sit on. I rolled my eyes at my own forgetfulness and turned back toward the villa. I needn’t have worried, though. West was there, with a stool and lap desk in hand, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

  I smiled. “Do your duties as guard include being my memory?”

  “I’ll admit, it’s one of my more difficult responsibilities.” He tried to look serious, but then let his smile out. “You merely let your excitement take over.” He went to step past me, but paused to murmur, “It was quite adorable.”

  I swatted his arm with the back of my hand. “I’ve never been adorable in my life.”

  He just grinned and set up my stool.

  I sat and arranged my sketches. “And where will you sit?”

  “I was going to stand for a bit,” he said from behind my shoulder.

  I pulled my papers close and turned to him. “You can’t watch me.”

  He raised his eyebrows in a challenge. “It’s my duty to watch you.”

  “Well, do it from over there.” I pointed in front of me. “I don’t want you to see.”

  The corner of his mouth rose in unison with one eyebrow. “I’m going to see it eventually.”

  “Yes, but if I’m going to put my soul into this, I need to be able to do it without you looking over my shoulder.”

  “So it will be a surprise for me?”

  I tried not to blush. “Something like that.”

  He gave a bow. “As you wish.” He winked at me before sitting on the ground with his back against the low stone wall that separated the villa’s gardens from the more rugged terrain sloping down to meet the lake.

  I commenced working, but realized that though I was used to him keeping an eye on me, it was different now. His focused gaze made me warm and cold at the same time. “You’re going to have to come up with something to talk to me about; otherwise, your staring is going to make me too nervous to work.” I gave him what might have qualified as a scowl if I hadn’t smiled in the middle of it.

  He propped his elbow on his knee and rested his head against his hand. “Nadine is expecting another baby.”

  I shook my head in feigned exasperation. “I’ve known that for months. You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “She and Trenton can’t agree on a name. She wrote to me, frustrated that after three children, they suddenly feel at total odds with each other about naming this child.”

  I settled into my sketches as he told me the details (likely exaggerated) of his sister’s quarrel with her husband. Then he moved on to tell me of the many quarrels he and Nadine had fought when they were young. I chuckled and sketched, and at the end of a few hours I had several ideas for paintings put to paper. Each one was infused with lighthearted fun and joy.

  West helped me carry everything back inside. Our return walk was slow and ambling, both of us comfortable being side by side.

  When we entered the villa, I had to adjust my expression to something professional. Or at least an expression that didn’t look as though I were a lovesick maid.

  We climbed the stairs and West helped me to arrange my space, though I was fairly certain he was merely trying to get a glimpse of my sketches. He winked at me before returning to his post along the wall.

  I shook my head and let out a happy sigh just as Dante appeared at my side. The amusement slipped from my face. Dante hadn’t spoken to me since our conversation just after I’d auditioned for Master Sterrino, the one where I’d confessed my relationship with Tobias. I had wondered if he would be working with me at all, now that the master had accepted me as a pupil.

  His face was impassive as he looked at the detailed sketch I had pinned to my easel, but then it transformed into a scowl. “Is this yours?”

  I decided not to be offended by his tone. “I am planning my first full painting project.”

  “It’s very…cheery.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I’m merely surprised.” He cut his eyes over to meet mine and his confusion was obvious. “Your best pieces thus far have not been cheery in the least.” He looked like he wanted to say more, so I waited until he continued. “I have to wonder how much your good mood is due to your overtly friendly interactions with your manservant.”

  Did he know something of my relationship with West? Or was he only trying to guess at my change in subject matter? “Is my mood really any of your concern?” I tried to say it without being overly defensive, but I suspected his question might have been motivated by jealousy.

  A small cough escaped his mouth and he shook his head, as if he disapproved. He lifted his chin and said, “I suppose not,” in clipped tones before turning his back on me.

  The interaction left me puzzled and effectively ruined my good humor. I caught West looking at me, a question in his gaze. I gave him a smile and waved it off as if nothing were amiss. Dante’s opinion of me was no longer my concern. Yes, it worried me that he had so easily tied my cheerfulness to West, but his accusation that I was happier after a simple conversation with West felt more like petty jealousy than actual suspicion, so I let it go, determined to reclaim my muse and continue with my plans for my painting.

  ✼ ✼ ✼

  Upon returning home that afternoon, I forced myself to sit and enjoy my usual tea with Lady Brook before taking a stroll in the gardens. Thankfully the lovely, mild weather in this portion of the realm made my frequent garden visits not at all suspicious.

  I chose a spot to linger that was well hidden from any prying eyes and waited for West to appear. Of course, there was a chance that Stephen would take on the task of keeping track of me while I wandered, but I hoped it would be West.

  I was surrounded by the fallen petals of flowers that had been scattered by the wind sometime in the night. I crouched to gather them and began arranging them into the likeness of a large blooming rose there on the cobbles.

  “What token of affection am I expected to bring to the lady who can make her own flowers?”

  My eyes crinkled with happiness as I tipped my head back to see him. His uniform certainly did not detract from his well-formed physique. I reached up and he pulled me to my feet. “I can only make imitation flowers. I much prefer the real thing.”

  He skimmed his fingertips along my forehead, pushing my hair aside. “A painting wouldn’t die in a season.”

  “Flowers are like the legend of the phoenix. They only die so that they can come back more vibrant and beautiful.” I looked away, embarrassed that I had said it out loud. It was something I had thought about often as I painted flowers throughout the seasons,
but I knew it was a fanciful idea.

  “I love that you think in that way.”

  “In what way?”

  “I can’t even describe it. I suppose it’s because you see outside of the immediate. You see a broader picture than I do.”

  “Only in some things. I’m afraid I don’t see nearly enough in many other ways.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “That’s something I’m working on.”

  He just smiled before taking my hand so we could walk side by side.

  The silence stretched, but before it could become uncomfortable, I voiced a question that had lingered in my mind for some time. “Do you ever get tired of following me about day after day? Of sitting and waiting?”

  “Ah, you think I do nothing when I watch you.”

  “I know you sometimes make things,” I clarified, hoping that I had not offended him. “But thinking back on the years you’ve been my guard, it seems that the majority of the time you are simply stuck wherever I am, without the choice to leave.”

  “But it is my choice. And I’m not idle. Even if my hands are occupied working with leather, my mind is always assessing you and those that surround you. Each time a new person enters the studio, I have to be certain I know who they are. I have to note whether or not they are acting differently from their usual behavior. Passing people on the street, I must watch for any sudden movement both close by and from afar. I have to always know where you are, so that I can be certain you don’t slip away.”

  I dropped my eyes, hearing the significance of that last phrase. Because I had slipped away from him before. Lylin and I had left Fallon Manor without anyone knowing, to go after Tobias and Rhys.

  “On that day,” he said carefully, obviously knowing where my thoughts had gone, “did you ever consider asking for my help?”

  I looked up to see lingering hurt in his expression. I had never before considered that my independent action had made him feel as if I did not value his role. “It was the first thing I thought of, and the first thing I suggested after reading his note.”