Page 29 of The Untamed Heart
“I do. Now, then,” she said briskly, “if you would sit down in that chair, please.”
Marcus frowned at the slightly odd arrangement.
“I just mended that spade, why is it here?”
“I asked Neil to fetch it for me before he sat down to dinner.”
“Yes, but why?”
“Well, I cannot say precisely, but I feel it might help me. Artists are odd creatures, you know.”
“And the plant pot?” he asked dubiously, regarding the empty terracotta pot on the side table.
“Umm… the same,” she said, somewhat vaguely.
Marcus studied her for a moment, but it was clear she would not explain herself, so he sat down.
The chair had been draped with a heavy velvet cloth and was a comfortable one. No doubt she had chosen it for that reason, but it might as well have been made of marble. The pleasurable tension that had flooded his veins at her touch morphed now into something restricting and anxious as he remembered why he was here. His clothes felt too tight, the wound in his chest contracting, making his breathing short.
“Marcus.”
Eustacia’s voice was soft, and he turned to look at her, seeing amusement and chagrin in her lovely eyes.
“I just asked you to sit down. It’s just you and me here. There’s no firing squad.”
“Of course not,” he said crossly, annoyed that his discomfort was so obvious to her.
She sighed and came forward, reaching down to plump the cushion behind him. “Sit back,” she instructed. He did so, but the effect must not have pleased her, for she frowned at him, considering. Snapping her fingers, she hurried away.
Marcus wondered what she was about, but she returned a short time later and handed him a thick manuscript.
Confused, he read the title out loud. “The Stranger at Wolfenham Gate. A Mrs Wildblood novel!” he exclaimed.
“Seb only finished it last week, and that’s his fair copy. He’s taking it to the publishers on Friday.”
“But why are you showing it to me?”
“Because I feel there is half a chance your shoulders might return to their normal place instead of up around your ears if I give you something suitably lurid to read.”
Marcus snorted, gazing down at the papers. “But won’t he be furious, if it’s not published yet?”
Eustacia waved this away. “Oh, no. Seb doesn’t take his work seriously. That’s half the trouble, really. He thinks me the ‘proper artist’ and regards himself as a mere scribbler.”
“But his work… it….” Marcus hesitated, wondering how to explain. “I know there are those that would dismiss it as frivolous, and I suppose it is on the face of it, but it took me out of myself and transported me to fantastic places. I do not know how I might have fared if not for that escape.”
“Precisely,” Eustacia said, smiling at him with such approval Marcus felt something in his chest shift. He wished to always see her look at him so, it was rather… addictive. “I beg that you will tell him so.”
Marcus nodded, remembering he had promised to do so before now. “When I see him, I shall. My word on it.”
He turned the first page and read a few words before glancing at Eustacia. “But surely you cannot paint me reading this.”
She shook her head. “No, but for now I just want to sketch the proportions, to set the scene, if you will, to see how the light falls, et cetera, and I want a relaxed pose which you were not giving me. Once you are comfortable, you will not need the book.”
Marcus nodded absently, for his attention had already been snagged by the compelling narrative, as he allowed Mrs Wildblood’s gloriously macabre and romantic tale to whisk him away.
Chapter 9
The Missing Messenger
