Free The Stepsister's Triumph by Darcie Wilde Page A

woman, look at the flowers!”
    The shout was so loud and so sudden, Madelene froze. She felt the press of tears against her eyes, and the shame of them.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t do this. I knew I couldn’t.”
    She leapt off the dais and hurried toward the door.
    *   *   *
    Benedict watched, stupefied and terribly, horribly annoyed, as his subject grabbed up her skirts and ran down the length of his studio.
    Stop her!
cried the part of him that was still human
. She won’t come back!
    Panic seized him. “Wait!” he cried. “Miss Valmeyer, please wait.”
    She stopped, her hand on the door. She was taut as a bowstring, quivering with her need to run.
    â€œThat was my fault,” Benedict said. “Please, accept my apology.”
    â€œNo, it’s my fault. I . . . I don’t like being looked at.” He knew this was the truth, but that wasn’t what was driving her away from him now. There had been no bashfulness in that one heated look, the look he could not help but return.
    â€œI’m so horribly nervous,” Madelene was saying. “It’s shameful.”
    â€œThere’s no shame in being shy,” Benedict said, as gently as he could. He wanted to put his arms around her. He wanted to stroke her hair, which was the same red gold as sunrise. He wanted to murmur words of comfort to her until she stopped trembling. Then he would murmur other words, until she looked at him with that same burning need he’d glimpsed a moment before.
    â€œBut I’m not just shy,” she told him. “It’s worse. It’s . . . it’s like an illness. Some days I’m afraid it’s madness.”
    Benedict cast about for some pleasant remark to turn this whisper aside.
You know how to do this.
You used to be good at it.
But social finesse and flattery had left him long ago. All that remained was honesty.
    â€œYou are not mad,” he said. “If you are afraid, then there must be some reason for it. I only wish I knew what it was.”
    â€œWhy should you even care?”
    She’d asked him that before. What had happened to this girl, that she could not comprehend someone might actually care about her?
    â€œBecause I want to take that fear away,” he said. “Because I want to make sure it will never return.”
    Madelene lifted her eyes mutely, and Benedict felt his heart tip over. Her longing shone in her eyes, as vivid as sunlight. But her fear burned just as bright. Benedict felt his own heart swell with old, familiar need. He wanted to hold her close, keep her safe, protect her from the entire world. He wanted . . .
    He turned away, his hands tightening to fists.
    â€œLord Benedict?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” he whispered harshly. “I . . .”
    â€œDid I do something wrong?”
    â€œNo!” he cried. She winced, and he held out his hand toward her, a pleading gesture he was powerless to hold back. “No,” he said, more softly. “Please believe me, this is not because of you. I . . .”
    The door opened. Benedict lifted his head. Lady Adele stood on the threshold. She did not look pleased.
    â€œI apologize if I am late,” she said tartly. “I see you are already finished for today.”
    â€œYes,” Benedict said. “We are.”
    *   *   *
    Benedict stood by the door and waited until the sound of footsteps on the stairs faded into silence.
    Then, slowly, methodically, Benedict Pelham began to curse. He cursed himself, he cursed his creditors and his landlady who so unreasonably expected her rent every month. He cursed all manner of man’s folly and weakness.
    He never should have agreed to this commission. He should have turned away from Miss Valmeyer, and from Windford, and from the whole of the world. He never should have come back from Switzerland.