Page 36 of Enticing the Devil

Chapter Thirteen

As usual, Anne was awake early the next morning. After breakfast, she made her way to the specified site of their next task—portrait painting. Each competing pair had been assigned a location by random draw, which put Anne and Mr. Thomas in a far corner of the garden. Since today’s event was expected to take a significant amount of time, it was the only one scheduled for the day. Something Anne was quite grateful for. The last couple days had been rather trying. Physically...and in other ways.

At least today’s event was something that gave her a great deal of pleasure and wasn’t terribly taxing. Best of all, she was finally going to be able to paint Mr. Thomas, which gave her a rather intense little thrill.

The garden was quiet in the soft morning sunlight as Anne strolled slowly along the path toward the southwest corner of the garden. From prior explorations, she knew that spot to be well shaded beneath a spreading oak, with a row of tall hedges to one side and riotous flower beds showcasing a range of colors to the other. At this time of day, the lighting would be gentle and indirect, and though they were each to have their turns as artist and model, she hoped Mr. Thomas wouldn’t be opposed to allowing her to take up the paintbrush first.

When she reached the little spot of grass, she saw that two easels had been set up along with a tall stool beside a table containing a variety of brushes, an array of watercolor pigment blocks in every shade, and various other items needed for the task ahead, including smocks to protect their clothing.

Anne would have preferred her own paints, but as she examined those provided, she acknowledged they would be more than adequate. Lily certainly didn’t do anything by half measure.

Taking up the smaller of the smocks, she slipped her arms through the narrow shoulder straps then wrapped the long apron strings around her waist and tied them securely in front. She’d intentionally chosen a gown that had short sleeves and was devoid of any flounces that might get in her way.

She’d just started to arrange the paints and brushes to her liking when she heard a footfall behind her.

Delicate thrills passed along her nerves, igniting thoughts she’d very forcefully kept dormant all morning. One breath of awareness and her efforts were blown away.

How on earth was she to spend the next few hours staring at the man when all she could think about was how he’d kissed her? It had taken hours of analysis in the dark of her bedroom last night to convince herself the kiss had been nothing more than an odd impulse triggered by the frustration and proximity of having been stuck in the maze.

No doubt Mr. Thomas regretted the act and had likely vowed to himself that it would never be repeated. In which case, Anne had determined it would be best to act as though it had never happened.

She only just managed to remind herself of that decision when he stepped up beside her and her heart gave a violent little lurch. Forcing an appearance of calm she absolutely didn’t feel, Anne tipped her head to look up at him. And forgot anything she might have said.

His nearly black eyes met hers and her knees weakened. The strength and breadth of him felt overly large beneath the oak’s wide-reaching branches, yet she wanted to step into him and feel that strength surrounding her.

How could a man feel so dangerous and so safe at the same time?

Foolish.

She looked back to the paints and managed to mutter a sufficient, “Good morning.”

Rather than return the common greeting, he reached past her to pick up one of the paintbrushes in his calloused fingers.

His tone was contemptuous as he grumbled, “I can’t believe someone thought this would be a good idea.”

Already on edge, Anne took his comment personally. Simply because watercolors were often seen as a quaint little hobby for young ladies didn’t mean it wasn’t a true art form. “Painting is as worthy a pastime as fishing or hunting, Mr. Thomas,” she replied curtly.

He leaned across her again to replace the brush and his words stirred the hair at her temple when he replied, “Not when I do it.”

She blinked and lifted her gaze to find him staring rather closely—and way too intently—at her face. Trying her best not to show how deeply his nearness—and his emanating warmth and his heavy focus and his earthy scent—affected her, Anne asked, “Have you some experience with it then?”

The corners of his mouth actually lifted in a self-deprecating smile than made her bones melt.

“None at all.”

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