Read Online Leslie Lafoy by The Rogues Bride - Free Book Online Page A

it’s more a matter of being uninspired by still lifes. Have you ever tried to paint something more interesting to you?”
    Emmy nodded and sighed. “The cat won’t sit still long enough.”
    “Yes, they do tend to have a mind of their own,” she allowed. “When they’ve had enough, they’ve had enough.”
    “I could paint you!”
    Simone couldn’t think of anything to say. Well, anything that would be considered even marginally nice. If Emmaline couldn’t paint a flower in any sort of recognizable way, the odds of her being able to faithfully render a face were—
    “Would you sit for a portrait, Simone? Please say yes. You could give it to your sister and her husband for a present.”
    She was trapped by kindness and knew it. “Well…”
    “Oh, thank you!” Emmy cried happily, putting her coffee cup back on the cart. “This will be ever so much more fun than empty wine bottles and wilting flowers on a silly pedestal. How would you like to pose?”
    “It’s not enough to sit in a chair and look important?”
    “Of course not,” Emmy assured her. “I need to capture the true essence of you. Your energy and your confidence. I want people to look at the painting and know that you’re the most interesting person they could ever hope to meet.”
    Given Emmy’s artistic ability, the only thing people were going to know was that Emmy should stick to embroidery. “Maybe we could offer the cat some fish and a little bowl of cream. Where is he?”
    Emmy laughed and took the cup and saucer from her, saying, “Why don’t you wander about the furniture and look for someplace you’d be comfortable posing and I’ll get my canvas and paints ready? It won’t take long. I always have several canvases prepared in case the muse suddenly strikes and I’m overcome with a flood tide of creative urges.”
    If that expectation weren’t the very definition of groundless optimism … But, bless Emmaline’s heart, she was so hopeful and confident that there wasn’t anything to do but go along and let her make the attempt. As Emmy went to a storage cabinet in the far corner of the glass room, Simone removed her riding jacket and laid it over Tristan’s coat on the back of the chair. By the time her friend had returned with a very large, very white new canvas, Simone had decided that the chaise had the thickest cushion and the best chance for being comfortable for a near eternity.
    “How’s this, Emmy?” she asked, sitting down and arranging her skirt so that the riding split in it wasn’t glaringly apparent.
    “Tilt your head a bit to the side, I think.”
    Simone did as asked, thinking that she had to look like one of Fiona’s cats watching a bird through the window.
    “No, I was wrong. Put it back the way you had it.”
    Simone gladly obeyed and tried not to sigh too loudly as Emmaline began tilting her head at various angles as she studied her from behind the easel. God, it was going to be a very long day. If it weren’t for the promise of—
    As though conjured by the very thought of him, Tristan strode into the conservatory. Simone smiled and let her gaze slowly skim him from his handsome head to his manly booted toes. It was such a pleasurable trip that she took it again in reverse. His dark eyes sparkled as she met his gaze and his smile tipped up knowingly.
    “What are you two doing?”
    Emmaline’s eyes widened and she whipped around, grinning. “I’m going to paint Simone’s portrait!”
    He sucked in his cheeks and cocked a brow but kept his opinion to himself as he stepped to his sister’s side and gave her a hug. Looking over the top of the canvas, he met Simone’s gaze again and said softly, “Good morning, Simone.”
    Her heart raced and she would have sworn that she’d felt his fingertips grazing her lips. “Good morning, Tristan,” she managed to say despite being decidedly breathless. “I forgot to return your coat to you last night and brought it over. Thank you for being so