Page 72 of Lost in the Dark

“For as long as she could,” he said.

“Right,” she said softly. “Does he… does my husband miss her?”

Enulf’s gaze was solemn. “No more than the rest.”

Her head snapped back. “The rest?”

“Aye.” His shoulders seemed to expand as he hauled out yet another painting. For a moment, the shadows stretched across his back, and carved lines like tusks across his face. The paintings around him wavered, for a moment the faces resembling the creatures from her grandmother’s story book. Then she blinked and everything was as it had been before.

Yet she found herself gripping her necklace. “How… how many were there?”

“Too many.” His voice was low. “They all serve the house, but in the end, they never stay.”

Anna gave herself a shake.

Those ladies must have had easier lives to return to.

“Well, I’m made of stronger stuff. Born and raised on the northern moors.” She tackled a heavy gilt frame with renewed vigor. “I’ll show my husband just how well I can serve this manor.”

Enulf made a strangled noise.

She frowned at him, but he avoided her gaze.

Fine. Best get to work. She waved aside a plume of dust and used a fresh rag to wipe years of dust and grime from the recently uncovered painting. She revealed a face of a man first, this one with a jaw the shape of a large apple and black curls. But what was he doing? There were some pale globes by his head, and was that a dress?

Frowning, she began clearing the area surrounding the face. Was he riding a horse? Or was it some kind of dance…

“Oh, Gods.” She clamped a hand over her mouth.

Heat rushed over her.

Enulf gave a dry laugh. “Found something you like?”

“I…” Eyes wide, Anna stared at the painting. At the man who looked like Enulf gripping a woman’s pale thigh, his face at the juncture—at his fantastically long tonguelickingher most intimate place. “I…I don’t understand…”

“Don’t you?” His voice was low.

Coughing to cover her discomfort, she backed away from the portrait.

But her gaze was trapped by the woman’s expression, her eyes half-closed and her mouth curved with obvious satisfaction. With…pleasure. What would it feel like to have a man doing such things to her?

Her thighs flexed and she sucked in a sharp breath.

“No,” she whispered, unable to look away.

Enormous hands plucked the cloth from her grip, his touch impossibly gentle. He eased her out of the way, and crouched beside the painting. With deft gestures, he cleaned the rest of the canvas, revealing the lady’s fingers tangled in the man’s hair, her back arched and her toes curled with delight.

Dear Gods.

She’d be chastened on the spot if a priest knew that painting left her longing for such things. Especially when the man loomed so large on the canvas, his long arms and sweeping ears appearing less human the longer she studied them.

Reaching the tarnished plaque on the bottom of the frame, he glanced at her. “Are you sure?”

“I…” She hated how the wobble in her voice betrayed her. “Y-yes?”

“Shame,” he whispered. “Wish I could say the same.”

He left his rag overtop the plaque and stood, stretching to his full height and towering over her. His eyes seemed dark as the coming night’s sky. His hands flexed, and for a moment, she thought he’d pull her close. Instead, he stalked past her. “I best leave you now, Lady. You’d be wise to not seek me out tomorrow.

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