Free Jane Bonander by Winter Heart Page B

any of my uncles. They swear the Swedes haven’t bathed since the fourteenth century, and even then they all used the same bucket of water.”
    This time, Tristan actually did laugh. A hearty, virile sound that sent shivers of delight over her skin. She was so surprised, she turned her gaze, lest he see the yearning in her eyes. Until now, he hadn’t been the perfect man. Oh, he was handsome, strong, smart, and compassionate. But he’d been so sullen. Knowing she could make him laugh made him perfect, and that made him completely unreachable.
    One of the dogs drew close and sniffed Dinah’s shoe. She froze.
    “She’s a gentle creature, Miss Odell, but she can also smell your fear.”
    Dinah grimaced. “How can anything that size be gentle?”
    “If she weren’t, I’d have to put her down.”
    “Put her down? You mean you’d have to do away with her?” In spite of her fear, she was disturbed by the thought of having to kill a pet.
    “If she weren’t gentle, she’d be too dangerous to have around. Imagine a dog this size with an unstable temperament.” Tristan scratched the dog’s muzzle and she leaned into him, nearly knocking him over.
    Dinah watched the love play between dog and master and was intrigued.
    “I remember their names. You called them Wolf and Amy. I can understand Wolf, but Amy?”
    The other dog, the big one, meandered over to her and rested its head on her lap, gazing up at her with limpid eyes. Something softened inside her, and she felt a tugging at her heart.
    “Their names are Wolfgang and Amadeus.”
    She smiled. “You named your dogs after Mozart?”
    “No, I named them after my brother.”
    She gingerly stroked the dog’s head, eliciting a groan of pleasure from the animal. “Your brother? What an unusual name for a man these days.”
    “My brother is an unusual man.”
    Dinah studied Tristan but said nothing. His profile was regal, his cheekbones majestic. His haunted, dark-rimmed, stormy blue eyes gave him a vulnerability that made him human. Otherwise, he had the bearing of a god. The brother could be no more unusual than he was.
    “How are things with Emily this afternoon?”
    Dinah blinked, grateful he had interrupted her. “She was quite calm.” She thought a moment, then made her decision. “Did you know she enjoys sketching?”
    He frowned. “Of course. Until I saw that funereal piece of art over the desk in your room, I’d forgotten her passion for it.”
    “Ah, yes. There was another one hanging over my bed, but I’ve taken it down.” She sighed. “I thought it was truly ugly, but I’m beginning to think I should put it back up. After all, it’s the way Emily expresses herself, and I don’t have to like it.”
    His face was hard, closed in. “Zelda didn’t like any of Emily’s paintings. I’m surprised she didn’t have those two pieces destroyed as well.”
    “Destroyed?” What a terrible thought.
    His smile was grim. “They made incredible fireplace fodder.”
    Dinah gasped at the waste. “They may not be pretty and superficial, but they’re part of Emily, of who she is. It seems to me that to destroy them would be to destroy a part of her.”
    “Emily’s view of the world wasn’t what Zelda wanted it to be.”
    “But that doesn’t make it wrong,” Dinah countered. “Even now, your mother has a hold over Emily. She threatened to punish her from the grave.”
    He expelled a sound of disbelief. “What?”
    “According to Emily, her pictures disturbed your mother, therefore she didn’t want Emily drawing them. I think she reasoned that if they bothered her, they must have bothered Emily, too. But for Emily, they were a form of therapy.” My, didn’t she sound profound?
    He seemed to think so, too. “I can believe that.”
    Dinah let out a quiet, relieved breath of air. “Drawing calms her down. It’s better than any form of therapy or treatment I’ve ever seen. At Trenway, there was a woman who had the most beautiful singing voice.