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“The Marquess of Waverly was brawling! In public. It was a scandal!”
Ara sniffed, though her smile remained. “And I suppose that goes against every decorous bone in your body, does it?”
To say the least! Margot’s jaw tightened and she couldn’t help but notice the sudden darkening of Ara’s amber eyes and the sharp intake of breath. Margot blinked at her. “What is it?”
“You look quite displeased, right now,” she said, her cheeks tinting scarlet. “It’s distracting. With you in that robe, I mean. Like you’ll be rapping my knuckles next for bad behavior.” She cleared her throat in embarrassment. “I must admit, this impassioned side of you is quite invigorating. You’re normally so composed.”
Pleased for no reason, Margot made her way to the armchair, and sat, letting the soft fabric part over her legs, though everything else remained covered. “Percy has always been the only one to get under my skin.”
“The only one you allow under your skin,” Ara said softly.
“Is there a difference?”
Ara’s expression begged to differ but she didn’t argue. “Let’s not lose the light today. The weather has been a bit off. Lean against one arm, both knees bent and hooked over the other. When you’re comfortable, loosen the tie and turn toward the back of the chair. Let your right sleeve fall off one shoulder. Pull the ribbon from your chemise so that the neckline loosens as well.”
She paused while Margot obeyed her instructions. Extending her legs, Margot wiggled her bare toes, watching as the panel slid over her calf and exposed her from ankle to knee. Though she flushed at the impropriety, her inhibitions had lowered considerably since the first week. The human body was a natural and beautiful thing, and as Ara had said more than once, hers was first-rate. Margot exhaled and untied the cord to let the fabric pool as instructed.
“Yes, that’s lovely,” Ara said from behind her. “The sheerness of the linen limning your skin adds a level of color complexity in this light that works remarkably well.”
Margot felt the press of Ara’s gaze like a tangible stroke over her exposed nape and suppressed a tiny shiver. It was uncanny how one could feel a stare. Or perhaps that was just Ara. With their proximity over the past weeks, they’d become intuitively aware of one another.
There was a rustle of movement, footsteps, and then Ara was at her back. Margot froze as the quiet “May I?” came, requesting permission, which Ara did without fail. That was another thing about her…she was observant. They had never discussed Margot’s aversion to touch, and yet, Ara had always taken such care with her.
Margot inhaled and nodded—Ara’s gentle motions never bringing any fear or panic with them. One careful fingertip tugged on the gaping neckline of her chemise, loosening it more and lowering it nearly below her shoulder blade. Margot caught her breath as the fabric dragged over her too-sensitive breasts. She must be nearing her courses—they didn’t normally feel so full or tender.
She reached up with both hands to remove the pins from her hair and was stalled by a light palm on her wrist. The touch was visceral, making heat spark like wildfire beneath it, running along her skin and into her tense muscles. Thank God her chemise covered her chest because her nipples instantly peaked. Margot frowned, though did not react any further than that. Her nipples weren’t responsive, and other than a source of nourishment for Percy sixteen years ago, she barely noticed their existence.
She noticed them now, however.
“Hair up today,” Ara whispered, warm breath gusting against the shell of her ear. “That swanlike neck of yours is the focal point of this piece.” A light touch tilted her chin just so, fingers skating fondly over the line of her jaw. “Like this. Shoulders back.”
Once she was content with the final position, Ara got to work and they settled into their routine. Periods of silence were interrupted by pleasant conversation as well as the faint swish of bristles on paper and the frequent shifting of Ara’s body. Margot tried to remain as still as possible, though Ara didn’t seem to care whether she moved or not. During the second hour, Margot usually reclined and watched Ara work, allowing herself to fully be at ease.
Ara’s pink tongue peeked out from between her lips as she squinted at her progress. Her blue dress was splattered with paint and a smudge of blue was on her chin. She looked thoughtful and entirely too becoming.
“Why art?” Margot asked as she curled up on the seat. “Why do you like it?”
Bright amber eyes met hers before dipping back down. “I like the medium, and the texture of paint on canvas. I like how each brush stroke can transform something from ordinary to extraordinary.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and smiled, the sight of it lifting Margot’s spirits like nothing else could. What was it about that honest, simple expression? Was it the way it lit her entire face? Or was it the fact that it was directed at her? “I like painting what I see, though that doesn’t always match the reality.”
“And what do you see when you look at me?” Margot asked before she could stop herself. Ara rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. She hesitated as though she wasn’t sure how to answer or whether her words might wound. “Go on, I can take it,” Margot said, not actually sure if she could.
“A beautiful rose who has wrapped herself in so many thorns, she doesn’t even recognize the sight of her own petals.” Ara let out a small sigh, her voice lowering. “Or how much she needs to be nurtured. To be loved. To be told that she is enough just the way she is.” She met Margot’s eyes over the edge of the canvas, her amber gaze so vivid that it shone. “A woman who has been so deeply hurt that to protect her heart, she hid it away, but you have so much more to give, Margot, if you would only give yourself the chance.”
Margot shivered at the reverent sound of her name on Ara’s lips, more of the ice around said heart melting away. “Oh.”
The silence stretched between them, with what felt like so many things being left unsaid, and then Ara put down her brush. She hesitated for a second, but then hiked her chin. “Come somewhere with me,” she said. “To a party this Saturday. Let loose just a little outside of this room.”
“A party?” Margot frowned, the warmth departing slightly. “Where?”
“At the Floral Hall.”
Instant dread flooded her veins, the thought of anyone seeing her like this made her feel much too vulnerable. Much too exposed. Some aristocrats from her circles, much like Honoria though hardly as discreet as her, attended these things. What if she were recognized? “I can’t—”
“It’s a masquerade, if that helps,” Ara said softly, as if she could see right through her fears. “You can wear whatever you want.”
A knot formed in her throat. “I shall see. I have a…soirée.”
She did not, in fact, have a soirée.
