Read Online The Stepsister's Triumph by Darcie Wilde - Free Book Online Page B

It was, after all, your idea. Wicked girl.
The words rose up in her mind, and she could not hold them down.
Shameful.
And worst of all:
Ridiculous.
    But Adele was gone, and it was too late to call her back. Madelene faced Lord Benedict and with an effort managed to lift her eyes from the recently swept floorboards. His gaze met hers, and Madelene felt it again—that keen sympathy that had taken hold of her in the gallery.
    Lord Benedict blinked quickly, and the moment broke. He turned away to go stand beside his easel.
    Retreated
, Madelene thought, then,
No. Surely not.
    â€œIf you’d please to sit down?” Benedict selected a stick of charcoal from the easel’s tray and used it to gesture toward the chair on the raised platform. “We’ll begin with some simple sketches. I’ll build the painting from there.”
    â€œAll . . . all right.”
    The chair was a plain one with a rush bottom, and it was angled so that she would be faced toward the windows in a three-quarter profile from Lord Benedict’s point of view.
    â€œNow, Miss Valmeyer,” he said briskly. “All you need to do is relax and keep your eyes on the flowers.” He gestured toward the pot of bright yellow primroses on the windowsill. “That’s right. Perfect. Hold still.”
    They were very nice flowers. She’d always liked primroses. She heard the rustle of paper and the quick scratch of charcoal.
    â€œLift your eyes, please,” Lord Benedict murmured.
    â€œI’m sorry.” She’d lowered her gaze to her hands without even noticing. “It’s a habit.”
    Lord Benedict made a noncommittal noise and began drawing once more.
    Say something
, Madelene ordered herself.
You arranged to be alone with this man. You said you wanted to become acquainted with him.
    She had also, however, assumed he would lead whatever conversation they were to have. That was what always happened to her. Everyone else spoke, and she listened. Lord Benedict, however, showed no sign of being interested in anything beyond the movement of his own pencil—oh, and where she was looking.
    â€œKeep your eyes on the flowers, please.”
    Madelene concentrated on the flowers. There were four blossoms and a bud. The leaves were a little browned around the edges. They were in the sun too much. Some flowers did best in the shade.
    What do I say? What do I do?
She moistened her lips.
    â€œI . . . I know this is to be a classical picture,” she said. “But no one’s told me who I’m to be.”
    â€œWhen I am done, you will be Selene, goddess of the moon, driving her chariot across the night sky.” He paused. “You’re frowning.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” Madelene forced a smile onto her features.
    â€œAnd that’s worse,” he said. For the first time, Lord Benedict’s bland politeness faltered, replaced by irritation. “What’s the matter?”
    I can feel your gaze like a hand on my skin, and I don’t know what to do about it.
“I don’t feel like a goddess.”
    â€œWhat you feel is less important than what I see,” he said flatly.
    â€œYou see a goddess?”
    â€œI do, and when I’m done, the whole world will see her.”
    He couldn’t mean it. It was flattery, meant to get her to smile.
    â€œYou’re frowning again,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
    What would Helene say?
“I’m surprised you would care if something was wrong,” she said, lightly, she hoped. “You dismissed my feelings readily enough just a minute ago.”
    Lord Benedict made a wry face. “I did, didn’t I? Well, please believe that I want nothing more than for you to be happy and comfortable during our hour.”
    â€œBecause you are so concerned for your delicate subject?”
    â€œBecause you will sit still more patiently.”
    Oh. Yes. Of course.
“I’m