“What are you doing right now?” he asked her suddenly.
“I… I told you,” she said carefully. “I am having a glass of water.”
“No, not that.” He shook his head. “I mean…” An idea came to mind, a strange one, and one that Evander hesitated on because it was not something he liked to share with people.
But I have already shared so much with Miss Finch, have I not? More than anybody else. So, why not one more thing…
Briefly, his mind cast back to when he had opened himself to Miss Finch in Lilliane’s bedroom. He had not meant to be so earnest with her, but the words had come as if of their own volition. He had poured out his heart, not because he wanted to, but because Miss Finch allowed him the chance. She did not judge. She did not mock. And she did not think him weak.
If anything, she had liked how open he was being. That, he now realized, was the true catalyst for what had happened after. And that, he decided, was why he needed to trust her again.
Evander wanted to change; he wanted to be a better man than he had been all his life, and this was where it started.
“Come with me,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
He looked right at her. “I said come with me.”
Without waiting for her response, not willing to give her a chance, Evander turned and strode from the kitchen. He listened as he did, smiling to himself when he heard her footsteps falling in behind.
They walked silently through the mansion, up the stairs, and down the hallway. He could sense her mind turning, no doubt both curious and a little wary of where he was taking her, and what he would do when they got there.
It was his art gallery where he led her, and only once they were inside did she finally speak.
“What are you doing?” she asked him as he strode toward the easel.
There was a blank canvas sitting on the easel, ready and waiting. Evander walked to it, collected his brush and palette, and turned back to look at her. Even without the natural moonlight, she looked as she had in the kitchen. Somehow, she was morebeautiful, more perfect, and the feelings that this stirred within Evander confirmed that this was the right choice.
Funny that not so long ago, all he wanted was to have her as he had the last time. Now, what he planned felt even more intimate than that.
“That stool…” He indicated a stool across the room. “Bring it here.”
“I don’t…”
“The stool,” he commanded firmly. “Bring it here.” He looked at her with warning, she hesitated, he held his look, and she relented. “Good.”
“Here?” she asked as she picked it up and carried it back.
“There.” He pointed to a space five feet away. “Place it there and sit for me.”
“What are you…”
“I am going to paint you,” he said without flourish.
She balked, looking nervous for the first time. “Excuse me?”
“Is that a problem?”
He expected her to argue. That was, after all, her primary mode of operation. Evander almost wanted her to, as he enjoyed their banter, just as he enjoyed any chance given to overpower Miss Finch and remind her who was in control.
But she must have seen something in his eyes, the way he looked at her, how serious he was being. This wasn’t a normal request; this was a deeply personal moment, and Miss Finch recognized it the same way she had yesterday when he found her in the eastern wing.
“As you command.” She placed the stool down where he pointed, and she sat.
“Your legs,” he directed her. “Fold them.” She did so without question. “Your hands, on your lap… yes, like that,” he said as she did his bidding. “A straight back… yes. Chin pointed…” She did do it immediately. “As for your face, relax, Miss Finch. No need to be so nervous.”
“Who said I am nervous?”