Free The Stepsister's Triumph by Darcie Wilde Page B

He should have stayed in the mountains. He never should have begun painting again, let alone allowed himself to finish
The Prelude
. He never should have acknowledged Miss Valmeyer when he saw her looking at it.
    What on earth had he been thinking? This was impossible. He had known it would be. But the minute he saw Madelene clearly at the exhibition, his heart had begun to hammer in his chest. He couldn’t even say he hadn’t realized what was happening in that moment. He had deliberately moved too close to her. As ludicrous as it might be, he’d wanted her to hear his heart. He’d wanted her to know that she was the reason for its maddened, insistent,
living
beat.
    He should have left the gallery right then and shut himself away until the cold slowed his heart and dulled his blood. But he hadn’t, and now, his heart pounded, hard. His face burned. So did the rest of him.
    Benedict cursed again. Oh, he wanted to see Madelene again, but the high-minded artist who longed to know her heart and soul wanted to know far more than that. He wanted to know her touch, her desire, and her delight.
    And she wanted to show him. He’d glimpsed it for that one instant. She’d been thinking of something pleasant. He’d been working quickly, trying to catch the shift in her face as her expression softened and her attention drifted from the flowers to whatever it was she saw in her mind’s eye. He’d been so intent on line, shadow, and shape that he’d missed the moment when her dreamy reverie had slipped into desire.
    The sight had hit him harder than he would have believed possible. The room quite literally spun. The charcoal in his hand had snapped in two. For one mad moment, he’d seriously considered tossing the broken stick aside and instead taking Madelene into his arms.
    But of course he didn’t. He’d fumbled for calm, and a fresh piece of charcoal, and enough composure to return to work. But all the while, he’d wondered who she’d been thinking about during that heated moment.
    Had it been him?
    Please, yes
, he pleaded to the image of Madelene’s eyes on the page in front of him.
Please, no.
    Wonder and fear yanked him in opposite directions. He became strongly conscious of the sketches on his easel, and the sight of those gray and white eyes brought back to him the memory of the real thing. How was he ever going to capture the vivid color of them? How could he even begin to recreate the hidden strength of the woman beneath the bashful girl?
    Strength.
He touched the sketch with fingertips that remembered far too clearly the living touch of Madelene’s hand. He wanted to reach beneath the surface and discover the true Madelene. He wanted to know all her secrets and make her understand they, and she, were safe with him.
    She’d asked him why he cared twice now.
    This time, though, he’d been able to answer her, and it was an honest answer.
    Because I want to take that fear away. Because I want to make sure it will never return.
He let his fingers graze the swiftly drawn curls and touch the corner of the mouth that had so briefly smiled at him.
    Because I want to fall in love with you, Madelene, and I do not dare.

VII
    Dearest Cousin Madelene:
    You will forgive an aging thespian his dramatic language, but I was thrilled beyond words to hear from you again. I had no idea you were acquainted with the delightful Miss Sewell. She and I were friends once, oh, many years ago in my lost youth (for a lady such as Miss Sewell, you know, remains forever young).
    I should be most happy to meet your friends, and even more happy to see you again. Since you say Miss Sewell has already given permission, I shall write her at once to say I will call at No. 48 at eleven o’clock this Wednesday.
    I am all impatience to hear about this grand secret scheme of yours. You and your friends may be assured of my absolute discretion.
    Yr. Faithful,
    Cousin