Page 63 of Wedded to the Sinful Duke

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with love and a hint of mischief. “Only if you promise to join me,” she teased.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a singer.”

“Then you can listen,” she said, leaning up to kiss him gently. “And I’ll sing for you.”

As her voice filled the room once more, Jonathan closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. He felt as if he had forgotten everything but that special moment, and nothing else existed. As Ciara’s song came to an end, she looked up at Jonathan with that playful gleam in her eyes that he loved so much.

“Now, it’s your turn,” she suddenly said with a teasing lilt in her voice.

“My turn?” he gasped in mock horror. “I told you, if I start singing, the servants will think some angry cat is lost in the manor house.”

Ciara laughed at his comment. “No, not singing,” she clarified. “Singing is my special thing. Now, you have to do something special for me. It is only fair.”

“Oh,” he nodded in understanding. “Yes, thatisfair.” He thought about it for a moment then he smiled, taking her by the hand. “I have just the thing.”

He pulled her, and together, they ran out of the music room, toward his study. He relished the sound of her chuckling behind him when he let go of her, walking up to his writing table. He touched the handle of the drawer, but he didn’t pull it out yet.

“Now, I must warn you, this is a highly guarded secret; no one else knows about this,” he urged.

“No one?” she inquired. “Not even Hector?”

“Especially not Hector,” he gasped through a chuckle. “He would make fun of me the most.”

“I would never make fun of you; you know that.” She smiled tenderly. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He nodded, pulling the drawer out and taking a sketchbook. He placed it gently on the writing table.

As Jonathan opened the sketchbook, the pages fluttered slightly, revealing a collection of charcoal drawings that captured the essence of various subjects. The first page showcased a serene landscape—rolling hills under a twilight sky, the silhouettes of trees framing the horizon. He had poured his heart into the soft strokes, hoping to convey a sense of tranquility.

Turning to the next page, he observed Ciara’s reaction to a delicate portrait of a young woman, her features graceful and expressive. Jonathan had meticulously captured the light in her eyes and the gentle curve of her smile, aiming to evoke warmth and vitality.

“Is this someone you know?” Ciara asked, her curiosity evident.

“Just an inspiration I encountered once,” he replied with a smile. “I like to capture the beauty I see in the world, whether it’s a person or a moment.”

As she flipped through more pages, he watched her marvel at the variety of subjects: a bustling market scene filled with lively figures, an intricately detailed bouquet of flowers, and even a quiet moment of children playing by a riverside. Each drawing was infused with emotion, the shading expertly applied to create texture and movement.

One drawing caught her eye—a small cottage surrounded by a wild garden, a soft glow emanating from the windows as the sundipped below the horizon. It seemed to evoke a sense of home and comfort, reflecting a peaceful life Jonathan often dreamed of.

“This is beautiful,” she said, her voice filled with admiration. “You have such a talent for bringing scenes to life.”

Jonathan felt a swell of pride at her words, tinged with vulnerability. “Thank you. It’s my way of preserving moments that touch me.”

He turned the page to reveal a self-portrait, rendered with an unexpected honesty. The charcoal lines were raw, showcasing not just his likeness but also a hint of the emotions he often kept hidden. He could feel his heart race as Ciara leaned closer, taking in the drawing.

“Do you always draw yourself?” she asked gently.

“Not often,” he admitted. “But sometimes, it helps to understand oneself better. I wanted to see how I perceive myself in the world.”

Jonathan watched her gaze linger on the drawing, feeling a warmth spread through him at her appreciation. “You have a way of seeing beauty where others might not,” she said softly. “It’s a gift.”

Her words resonated deeply within him, filling him with gratitude. “And you inspire me to see even more,” he said,turning to the last page. “This is my favorite. It is done from a painting my father had.”

The charcoal lines depicted a woman with gentle features and kind eyes, radiating warmth and strength. Jonathan had often dreamed about her, the way she would smile, the way she would sound, and how warm her hands would be. He supposed that every motherless child had that one most precious dream.

“It was my way of holding onto her spirit. She had such a calming presence, always encouraging me to pursue my passions.”

As he spoke, Ciara’s gaze softened, understanding the depth of his feelings. “You can see the love in her eyes,” she observed. “It’s clear she meant a great deal to you, that she was with you in spirit if not in flesh.”

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