Page 91 of Eternal Obsession

“My brother Alex and I are very lucky to have inherited our father’s estate in Cornwall. Alex spends a lot of time ensuring that it’s maintained in keeping with its original style,” I said.

“You really live in a castle?” Belle asked.

“It’s very cold,” Alex said.

“Wow. Ingrid, don’t your relatives come from down there?” Belle said.

Ingrid nodded, musing over which ones “Mother’s side.”

“Which castle?” Belle asked.

“Marazion,” I said.

“St. Michael’s Mount,” Alex piped up.

“I know the one,” James said. “It’s beautiful, surrounded by water.”

I smiled. “That’s the one.”

“Really?” Belle grinned at Ingrid.

With a flick of her hand and the faintest arch of a brow, Ingrid conveyed the shock of the season that she had absolutely no clue she’d just extended an invitation to not one, but two clandestine lords, owners of a centuries-old castle, no less.

And she was meant to be the investigator among them.

Silence . . .

“So let me show you one of my newest paintings, come on.” James guided us to the back of the apartment where on the far wall a modern large painting hung—the scene of a naked man and woman, their limbs entwined, their heads leaning back unnaturally.

I sensed Ingrid staring at me, trying to figure me out.

I threw her a wide smile.

“It’s by Augusta Nadam!” James announced proudly.

“Well, Jadeon,” Ingrid said. “What do you think? Now be honest.”

I recognized the work by the Portuguese artist. Augusta had displayed several of his paintings in a small gallery in SoHo and had received rave reviews. Alex had been with me at the time, though he had spent the hour we’d been in the gallery avoiding the man. Augusta had pursued Alex to the point of stalking. I could not help but enjoy Alex’s wide-eyed glare as if Augusta might leap from the painting itself.

“Well?” James pushed.

I chose my words carefully. “Nadam is expressive and fresh, but . . .”

“But what?” James said.

“But from the strokes of the brush he appears distracted, unfocused. See here.” I pointed to the canvas. “And yet it works. His desire to rush ahead compliments the piece and allows us to gauge his desire to connect with us.”

“You get all that from this painting?” Belle asked.

“I kind of cheated. I’ve met the artist,” I said. “He’s a tormented man.”

“How so?” Ingrid asked.

“Augusta is a recluse,” I said. “Apart from when he’s presenting his work, he doesn’t go out.”

Alex peered at me with his intense baby blues.

“It’s a good investment, James. You’ll be happy with it,” I said.