Page 93 of A Virgin for the Duke of Ash

Evie could not help the hoarse laugh that escaped her lips. Mr. Turner’s manners truly were a little rough around the edges, but the aristocracy had always made adjustments for the idiosyncrasies of artists.

“I am truly sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Turner, but she was, indeed, correct,” she admitted with a sad smile.

The artist looked at her with a compassionate smile.

“Well, let this be your first lesson then, Your Grace,” he told her with a conspiratorial look. “Never hold back what you are feeling at the moment.”

Evie looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean, Mr. Turner?”

“I find that when I am at my least constrained, I produce the works that I am proudest of,” he confided in her. “Whatever emotions you are feeling, do not let them hold you back. Paint as you feel if you will, Your Grace. Do not paint simply because it is what you think others would like to see.”

She smiled bitterly at him. All her life, she had been bound by rules and etiquette. While her grandmother and brother had given her more leeway than most young ladies of thetonwere allowed, there were still times when she felt trapped in the role she had to play in Society.

Most certainly, nobody had ever told her to let go of what she was feeling and to paint her grief as she saw fit.

But could she really do it? Could she put a name, animageto the darkness she was currently in?

“Whatever emotions you are feeling, Your Grace,” Mr. Turner told her. “You can release them all on the canvas and find that it will not judge you, whether you are right or wrong, or whether it is proper or not.”

He stood up and reached for his hat. “I suppose I have disturbed you long enough for today. I hope that we can have many more of these conversations in the near future.”

Evie stood up and nodded to the older gentleman. “Your words have provided me with a great comfort, Mr. Turner. I do look forward to seeing you again in, say, a week?”

The artist smiled brilliantly at her. “I would like nothing more, Your Grace, and—dare I say—I look forward to all the wonderful things you will create in the meantime.”

She laughed hollowly. “I do not know if I will be capable of any masterpieces at the moment, but I will do as you advised me today, if only so that I may indulge myself and unburden my thoughts for a moment.”

“Then my visit has been all the more worth it, Your Grace.”

She saw the artist at the door and thanked him once more for coming to see her, despite her earlier reluctance. In return, he reminded her of their next lesson and even managed to extract a promise from her that she would at least try to put her brush to paint tonight.

Later that night, when all of Blackthorn Estate had gone to bed, Evie summoned the courage to light her lamp, flinching slightly as she watched the flame flicker and dance before her.

After the tragedy that had claimed the lives of both her parents and an entire wing of the estate, Evie had always feared the flame. The very thought of it licking at her clothes at her skin used to make her recoil in sheer terror.

Tonight, as she watched it sway to and fro, confined in the glass casing of the lamp, she was entranced.

She had felt fire before—in Daniel’s arms as he kissed her fiercely. Passionately. As if he meant to devour her, body and soul.

She had felt the scorching heat of his touch as it slid along her curves, delving into her deepest secrets until she cried out in pure, undiluted pleasure.

She had felt the warmth of it washing over her when he tenderly brought a wet cloth to wipe the evidence of their arduous lovemaking between her thighs.

When he gathered her into his arms and wrapped her up in his embrace as she drifted into slumber.

She no longer feared the flame, for in her mind, Daniel had become the fire that burned through her soul and heart, incinerating all of the prejudices and fear she felt before.

And now that he was gone, she felt confused. Cold. Empty.

How could he easily give her up like that? How could he turn away from everything?

She could not believe that he could be so unfeeling—sherefusedto.

Evie sighed as she dipped her paintbrush into the paint and swirled it. Now that Daniel had decided to cut their ties, it felt as if she had been thoroughly burnt.

She laughed mirthlessly when she thought about how he was referred to as the Duke of Ash, for after the searing heat of all that they had shared, there was nothing else left of her.

Not even the embers remained.

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