Page 37 of Enticing the Devil

First her bones and now her brain. Good lord, don’t let her heart be next.

She turned to face the easel more squarely, putting her back to the man who was clearly intent on destroying her equilibrium and her sanity. Though she thought she heard him give a gentle huff of breath, she ignored it and a moment later he moved away from her to stroll toward the oak tree.

“How would you like me?”

His question was rough and impatient, proving a return of the man’s typical manner. Anne was relieved. She had no idea what to do with the velvety tones he’d used a moment ago.

She looked up to see him standing with his arms crossed and his chin lowered as though he expected to face some long-awaited adversary.

She’d love to paint him that way. All fierce and defiant and magnificent.

But not today.

Today, she wanted something different. Something quieter. Calmer.

“Why don’t you have a seat and lean back against the tree.”

With a heavy expression that did nothing to conceal his obvious discomfort, he lowered himself to the grass and did as she suggested.

Anne shook her head. “No need to be so stiff and proper, Mr. Thomas. Try to imagine you’ve been walking through the country and decided to take a short rest.”

He heaved a sigh as he shifted his weight, allowing more of a natural curve to his spine. Then he bent one knee to plant his foot in the grass and tossed her a look of exasperation.

It was better. If he’d just relax a bit more...

“Tell me something about your home, Mr. Thomas,” she suggested conversationally as she picked up a small graphite pencil and began to sketch her idea.

Portraits were not usually her chosen subject when she painted, but there was something about Mr. Thomas that inspired her in ways she’d never previously experienced. She wanted to capture him as a man who was comfortable being an element of nature. A man of the earth and grass and trees. A man of fresh morning air and wide-open spaces. She could almost envision a pasture of rolling hills behind him with wildflowers and sheep in the distance.

Focusing on her sketch, it took her a moment to realize he hadn’t replied to her comment. She paused and glanced to her subject to find him staring at her in that way he had.

Broody, silent, anticipatory.

“Why would I do that?”

She blinked. Must he always be so determined to be difficult?

“Well, it might be a nice way to fill the time. And I suppose I was hoping the conversation would help you to relax a bit,” she added with a hint of challenge in her tone.

His weighty scowl deepened but he shifted his weight into a slightly more natural position. “What do you want to know?”

She hid her smile as she returned her attention to her sketch. “You mentioned sheep yesterday. Do you raise them?”

There was a pause following her question, during which Anne recalled how often the gossips had used the rumor of him being a farmer as a tool to degrade him. Worried that she might have insulted him with the topic she’d chosen, she tried to come up with a less potentially touchy subject.

But then he replied, and although his words were a bit short, there was an interesting warmth in his tone. “We raise, breed, and shear them to sell the wool.”

Relieved that he was willing to talk about something she was genuinely curious about, she maintained a light tone with her next question. “If you could choose to do something else, would you?”

Finishing the basic sketch of her idea, she moved on to the wash, choosing a pale golden color that would layer well beneath the richer colors she planned to add.

His answer came after another pause. “Likely not.”

Anne looked at him then. “You enjoy your work.”

His answer was a gruff sound and a subtle nod acknowledging the truth of her statement.

She returned to her paints, not expecting him to say more.

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