She recalled her joy at the Academy Exhibition. “No, not at all. I do not regret our day. Truly. With you, I did not wish it to end.”
“Neither did I. And you owe me nothing, Evelyn. I… Your presence here has…” Fingers rubbed at her wrist, traced the chase of veins. “I had forgotten myself and what I worked for – to see Ernest settled, Uncle and my other dependants secure, to protect my tenants and estate. But look at these diamonds; I have enough, and in striving to make more I had forgotten to take pleasure in life.” His eyes locked with hers. “I had forgotten affection and comfort. The pleasures that cost nothing.” He kissed her wrist once more, lips lingering. “You have reminded me to immerse myself in life – a life I wishyouto be part of.”
Evelyn’s pulse stuttered. What did he mean? In what way? How–
Nine chimes from the mantelpiece clock. Daylight hours now long submerged; the allotted time for holding secrets had expired.
’Twas nightfall.
“You do not know the full truth,” she whispered. “My deception.”
She thought he’d splutter or frown but instead his lips curved. “But I know you. I know your circumstance and your frail sister. I recognise your strength. I saw your determined response to that vermin tonight.”
“Yes, but…” How to find words for this man who prized honesty above all else? So hopeless as he stood gazing at her, fingers still caressing her wrist in tender reverence.
Shame ensnared her.
Never before had she considered the wider implications to her trickery, but Casper, Lord Ernest, Lord Virgil and Lady Owlswick, who had solely showed her and Artemisia kindness and aid, had all been dealt a pack of lies – her name, status and past, an elaborate hoax, not an experienced widow but an untrustworthy spinster.
No unique work of art but a fake.
“Did you steal the painting, Evelyn?” he whispered.
Oh, if only she had.
Her gaze plummeted as a pain sharp and saddening struck, and she denied herself even a final glimpse of his eyes filled with such soft emotion and rough desire.
When next she viewed them, they would be filled with disillusionment and hurt.
And that would be her punishment.
“No, I…” She snatched her hand away and spun.
Swallowing heavily, she marched to his beloved painting…
And began to unbutton her gown.
“Evelyn?”
She refused to turn at the throaty appeal.
Instead, she replicated the pose of that day so long ago in Father’s studio – loosening her hair and wrenching the shoulder of her gown to bare her pale scar. She curled fingers at her throat, the other hand clenched in her skirts.
The twisted truth.
A strangled gasp from behind, but still she refused to turn, and instead made her confession to the depiction of her younger self.
“I amThe Veiled Fall of Innocence, Casper. I am Miss Evelyn Pearce. Not a widow nor model but Sir Henry’s daughter, and I posed for this portrait.” She paused, bit her lip. “I learned to paint at my father’s knee, studied his techniques, and so I devised a plan. A plan to deceive a rich duke. To paint its twin and sell it to you. To pay Filgrave and leave London.” She gazed at that young girl, saw only foolishness and impetuous folly. “I know how important honesty is to you, and I apologise with all my heart and being for this wicked act.”
Casper had eulogised that the girl in this painting was not twisted away in fear or shame but in order to confront her future with courage and tenacity.
And yet here that girl stood, face hidden in both fear and shame; it burned her eyes and clogged her throat.
“You admired this young woman,” Evelyn stuttered. “Her strength and fragility. You spoke that she bore an honest power.” She shuttered her gaze. “Yet all I have brought you is lies, and as such…never could you trust me.”
Evelyn thought she’d be able to turn… To look into his dismayed eyes and accept her punishment.
But tears and cowardice rose like a night-time spectre, her craven heart ruling her limbs.
