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I scanned Eddie’s troubled face as we viewed the paintings. I wished I could find a way through the walls he was systematically building around himself. We both knew this strange non-betrothal of ours might yet turn out to be a horrible mistake. But we had always been friends. Now I could feel him slipping away from me.
One of the canvasses was unfinished. In it, I was seated astride a chair, with my back to the artist, looking provocatively over my shoulder. I had finally succumbed and allowed Eddie to paint my face on the understanding that he would never sell or display those pictures. Although we had never had a sexual relationship, I knew he became aroused when he painted me. I recalled a comment one veteran artist made to me. “If I don’t have an erection while looking at the beautiful, naked body of my model, I cannot expect my pictures to reflect true passion.”
Eddie stared hungrily now at the painting, taking in the long sweep of my naked back, the wild tumble of my hair and the curve of my buttocks. Unexpectedly, he pulled me into his arms, a look of desperation crossing his features.
“We should finish that picture,” he grunted. “Here, now.” I felt his hardness press insistently against my stomach. “Feel what you do to me,” he demanded harshly, his breath coming fast and ragged. Catching hold of my hand, he drew it slowly down to his bulging crotch. His eyes fluttered closed. I felt a brief, welcome thrill of desire sting my nerve endings into life. It was a dim flicker in comparison to what I had once felt. But it was no use pining for that which I could not have. Perhaps this was what we both needed. Second best might be better than nothing at all.
“Look at me then,” I murmured, and Eddie’s cobalt eyes flew open. Abruptly, his dreamlike expression changed.
“Eddie? Dita?” Eleanor’s voice called from outside, and Bertram charged through the door. Eddie immediately sprang away from me, turning to bend over a stack of canvasses to hide his face. Eleanor burst in and began to chatter excitedly about a letter she had received from a friend who was planning to visit. Mechanically I expressed interest in her conversation, all the while watching Eddie from under my lashes. It wasn’t Eleanor’s arrival that had driven the forceful passion from his mood—of that I was sure. It had happened before we heard her voice, when he had opened his eyes and seen my face before him. Could it have been thoughts of someone else, not of me, that had stimulated his lust? It was a deeply uncomfortable thought. And, hard on its heels, there came another question. Who was he thinking about?
* * *
“It’s high time you showed your face in the regional offices, Eddie. You can start by going to London to supervise the negotiations for this export contract.” Tynan had abandoned his wheelchair and, although he still leaned heavily on a walking stick, his strength seemed to be returning.
“What about Cad? I thought negotiations were the clever brother’s forte?” The bitter note in Eddie’s voice when he spoke of his brother made me wince. I didn’t believe he could truly take his rightful place as the heir apparent until he could purge that venom.
Tynan shook his head firmly. “Cad is dealing with a delicate issue at the Lancashire mills, and anyway, you must begin to take control. It will enhance your status if the London employees get a glimpse of you.”
“What about it, Dita? D’you fancy a London-ward trip?” Eddie’s eyes were alight with restless excitement, and I realised that, although he had no desire to engage in Jago business matters, the idea of a trip to the capital—or perhaps anywhere that was not Tenebris—most definitely appealed to him.
“You are, of course, most welcome to remain here in Eddie’s absence, my dear,” Tynan assured me with gentle, old-fashioned courtesy. He left us then to take a leisurely stroll around the lake, while Eddie and I trod a more strenuous path toward Athal Cove.
“My parents have a townhouse in London.” Eddie was full of plans for our escape. “We can stay there. You will love London, Dita. There is so much to see and do. All life is there.”
“When a man is tired of London…” I began.
“He is tired of life,” Eddie finished Doctor Johnson’s famous quote.
