There was a folded note nestled between the pencils and paints. The paper smelled faintly of something clean but not overpowering.
She opened it and read:
Lady Elizabeth,
Let your imagination run free. Sketch and live.
-A.
Her heart stuttered at the signature.
Alasdair.
The man thetondismissed as savage. The man her stepmother scorned. The man who teased and challenged and kissed her until her soul threatened to leave her body.
He had seen her. Heard her. Even in her modest, dismissive way, when she had brushed off her talent as “just a hobby,” he hadn’t believed her. And now, here it was, his answer. A gesture that said,I know who you are, even if you try to hide it.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
There was no question what she needed to do next.
Elizabeth moved to her writing desk and unrolled a fresh sheet of paper. Her fingers hovered over the pencils for only a second before choosing one. The weight felt perfect in her hand.
She didn’t even have to think. Her mind conjured the image before she sat down. She’d been sketching pieces of him fordays, his jawline here, his broad shoulders there, the slant of his crooked grin, but never all at once.
Until now.
She drew him as he had looked in the sweet shop that day, sitting like some untamed king on a too-delicate chair, a half-bitten macaron suspended between his fingers. His coat was unbuttoned just enough to suggest rebellion, his cravat slightly loose, his posture as relaxed as his grin was dangerous.
And yet there had been something boyish in the way he’d inspected the treats on display, something almost soft in the way he’d licked sugar from his thumb.
Her hand moved quickly. With confidence. The lines formed fast, alive, breathing. She added subtle color to the macaron, a hint of warmth to his cheek. A glint of green in his eyes.
When she finally leaned back to look at it, her pulse had quickened.
It was her fastest work.
And maybe her finest.
The realization made her blush.
What am I thinking?she scolded herself.You want to be the macaron now?
She wanted to laugh at herself, but the feeling inside her was too tangled to name.
She took up her pen and selected her best stationery.
You said I should let my imagination run free.Well, it seems my inspiration is not so far from reach.
I hope you’ll appreciate the subject I chose.
-E.
She folded the note and placed it with the sketch inside a large envelope. Her hands trembled slightly as she sealed it, not because she was unsure of what she was doing, but because she was more certain than she liked to admit.
Then she rang the bell.
When the footman appeared, she gave clear instructions. “Please have this delivered to the house of the Duke of Redmoor. Discreetly.”