Chapter Twelve
Bryony looked up from her easel as the grandfather clock downstairs chimed the hour.
As usual, she had lost track of time while painting.
Laying her brush aside, she took several steps back to critique her work.
She had thought the first painting she had done of Stefan was her best work ever, but this portrait was even better.
He looked so alive, it was almost as if he was staring back at her.
She had captured his image perfectly, the beauty of his face, the aching loneliness in his beautiful dark eyes.
Too bad she had to hide it away.
To her chagrin, she found herself liking Lord Stefan way too much and it showed in the paintings.
He still mystified her. His strange hours.
The fact that he never dined with her although he often sat with her at the table.
The way he sometimes put her away from him and left the house abruptly, with no explanation.
She thought of him constantly, yearned to be in his arms, to hear his voice whisper her name.
No one had ever looked at her the way he did.
His kisses were beyond description, one day sweet and gentle, the next bold and compelling, sometimes rough, as if he was angry with her. Or maybe with himself.
She had just finished cleaning her supplies when she sensed his presence. She reached for the painting, intending to turn it toward the wall before he could see it, but it was too late.
Stefan paused in the doorway. A gasp escaped his lips as his gaze was drawn to the portrait. She had captured his very essence, he thought, the loneliness, the darkness. The other painting was good, but this…he had no words to describe it, or the way it made him feel.
Bryony blushed when his gaze met hers. Did he hate it? Why didn’t he say something?
“I did not realize you knew me so well,” he said quietly.
She stared at him, speechless, as he walked slowly toward her and took her in his arms.
“Bryony,” he murmured. “Can I hope you care for me just a little?”
How could she deny it when he was looking at her like that, his dark eyes filled with hope.
A faint smile twitched his lips. “I know little of art,” he said as his knuckles caressed her cheek. “But I know you could not have painted that if you hated me.” He pulled her closer, closer, until all she saw was his face and the longing in his eyes.
When he lowered his head, she met him halfway, her eyelids fluttering down as his mouth covered hers. He was right, she thought, as he deepened the kiss. She did care. Maybe too much. She didn’t back away when he lifted his head, content to be held in the circle of his arms.
Stefan brushed a kiss across the top of her head, pleased that she hadn’t pulled away.
She fit into his arms as if she had been sculpted only for him.
A deep breath carried the fragrance of lavender soap and always, the scent of the crimson river flowing just under her skin.
He sighed when she rested her head against his chest. Hardly daring to move, he closed his eyes, her nearness banishing the aching loneliness in his heart, her warmth chasing away the cold that was ever a part of him.
She was everything he had ever longed for, everything he had desired and never thought to have.
Bryony looked up at him. He had read her mind before. She wished he would read it now and kiss her again. And even as the thought crossed her mind, his mouth was moving over hers, his tongue teasing her lips.
Stefan swore at the sound of footsteps. Releasing his hold on Bryony, he took a step backward as one of the maids came into the room to announce that dinner was ready.
Bryony found it hard to enjoy her meal. All she could think of was Stefan’s kisses, his mouth evoking amazing sensations deep within her, his arms holding her as if he would never let her go.
And she had gloried in it, would have been content to stay in his embrace the rest of the night.
He had loved the portrait she had done of him.
The knowledge pleased her beyond words. She was supposed to hate him because he refused to let her go home, but it was impossible to hate him now, though she didn’t know why.
All she knew was that his loneliness called to her.
She had the bizarre feeling that no one else could ease the ache he felt inside.
Only her. She chided herself for her foolishness but deep inside, she was certain it was true.
He sat across from her, a glass of dark red wine in his hand. She felt the weight of his gaze, wondered if he reading her mind again.
A faint smile touched his lips. What is it you wish, fair Bryony?
She glared at him. “I knew it!” she exclaimed. But there was no anger in her voice or her expression. “It isn’t fair, you know.”
He shrugged. “I cannot help it. You are so open, so honest. Most of the time, I do not need to read your mind at all. Your face reveals everything you are thinking, feeling.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“‘Tis true, nevertheless.”
That was really troubling, she thought, laying her fork aside. How was she ever to have any secrets from him? “Are you ever going to take me home?”
“Do you really want to go?”
“Of course I do,” she replied, only then realizing she didn’t really want to leave him.
“You can lie to yourself,” he said, his dark gaze holding hers, “but you cannot lie to me.”
“What have you done to me?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. How could she care so deeply for him when they hardly knew each other? Had he worked some kind of witchcraft on her, some magical spell to make her want to stay?
“I have done nothing.”
“I don’t believe you! You’re a witch. You’ve…you’ve bespelled me.”
Stefan shook his head. He had been born a witch but he had rarely practiced the Dark Arts once be became a vampire. “Tell yourself whatever you have to. But I have done nothing except love you.”
She stared at him. How could he claim to love her when they were still strangers? She blinked back her tears. She wanted to go home and see her family again.
He felt a stab of guilt when he saw the tears in her eyes. But he was not ready to let her go. Not yet. “A few more days,” he said. “Grant me a few more days.”
She hated the loneliness in his voice. It tore at the depths of her heart. Nodding curtly, she said, “A few more days, but no more.”
With a nod, he rose and vanished from the room.
Staring at his empty chair, she let the tears fall. Tears that had nothing to do with missing her home or her family.
The next morning after breakfast, Bryony went out to the barn and asked Hawkins, the groom, to saddle Daisy for her. She had much on her mind and a ride seemed just the thing to help clear her head. She wasn’t surprised when one of the other grooms insisted on going with her.
When she objected, he said, “Lord Stefan insisted. You do not know the area and he fears you might get lost.”
She snorted in a very unladylike way. Lost. Hah! He was afraid she would run away. Knowing there was no point in arguing, she climbed into the saddle and rode out of the yard with no idea where she was going. The sound of hoofbeats coming up behind her told her the groom was following.
It was a beautiful morning, bright and clear, the sky a brilliant blue, the hillsides and trees green with new growth.
They rode past a meadow filled with sheep and Bryony reined Daisy to a halt, an ooh of delight issuing from her lips at the sight of a dozen baby lambs frolicking in the field.
The air was filled with birdsong, the buzzing of bees, and the fragrant scent of wildflowers.
Bryony touched her heels to Daisy’s flanks and the mare broke into a lope.
Was there anything more exhilarating than riding across open fields on a beautiful spring morning?
She couldn’t think of anything until she recalled the tempting touch of Stefan’s lips on hers the night before, the feeling of his strong arms holding her close, the crush of her breasts against the solid wall of his chest as his fingers gently threaded through her hair.
Heaven help her, what was she going to do about Stefan?
She had asked Cook to pack her a lunch. The groom, James, found a shady place for her to rest and eat. James was a quiet man, tall and spare, with light brown hair and pale brown eyes.
He shook his head when she offered him a piece of fried chicken.
“Please have some,” Bryony said. “Cook has made far more than I can eat.”
He hesitated.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Bryony said.
With a hint of a smile, he took the chicken she offered, as well as the bread and cheese Bryony found in the basket.
“Have you worked for Lord Stefan very long?” she asked, hoping to learn more about her mysterious captor.
“Yes, Miss. Almost ten years.”
“Oh?”
James nodded. “’Tis a fine post.”
“What kind of employer is he?”
James frowned as he wiped his mouth. “He is a fair man. Stern. He demands obedience.”
“Do you find anything peculiar about him?”
“Peculiar, Miss?”
“Well, I haven’t known him very long, but it’s always night when I see him.”
James nodded slowly. “Aye. He is not often seen during the day. He has a rare skin condition that prevents him from spending more than a few minutes in the sun’s light.”
“So, he sleeps days, then?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“But you have seen him during the day?”
“Well, no, I haven’t. But others have.”
“Would you like more chicken?”
“No, thank you, Miss.” He glanced at the sky. “We should be heading back now.”
With a nod, Bryony rose and dusted off her skirt. James packed the trash and the leftovers in the basket, then handed her into the saddle.
A rare skin ailment, Bryony mused as they rode back to the manor. Why had he never mentioned it? He was such a masculine man, perhaps he was embarrassed by his affliction.
She asked him about it that night at the dinner table.
Stefan frowned. “A skin condition? Who told you that?”