had been, and that there was another scent mingling in the room with them.
Cale didn’t pause in his action of moving a stool to the center of the room, and perhaps his half-bent, facing-away position helped to camouflage his physical appearance.
“I shall have the usual, of course,” he said in that clumsy voice, and with the same peremptory tone David always used. He fussed with the stool as if needing to position it just perfectly in the light. “Mademoiselle, I shall act as your model today to continue your lesson on perspective. The very brim and angle of this hat, which I have borrowed for such a purpose, will be an excellent study in the aspects of perspective. You will need a charcoal and several soft lead pencils. Put away the paints, mademoiselle. I have already told you you won’t need the brush today. How many times have I said that you must start with the drawings and sketches before you can think to paint?”
Narcise forced herself to relax slightly. He sounded just as Monsieur David would have. Cale had obviously planned this well—but what
“Always so impatient, the women, no?” Cale said to no one in particular, but Belial gave a soft knowing chuckle.
“I will shortly return with your refreshments, monsieur,” the steward said.
He left the room as Cale ordered, “Mademoiselle, please. You are wasting my time.”
The door closed behind Belial, and Narcise turned to face Cale. “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a low voice.
“Can we be heard or seen?” he replied in matching tones, looking around the room. It was clear he had something in his mouth that caused the deformity of voice and face, but now his tones at least sounded familiar.
“No, but Belial will return shortly. How did this come about?” Narcise’s hands were shaking, trembling furiously, and she could not understand her reaction to this. What did it mean? Why was he here? And why did she suddenly feel such warmth and light inside her?
“I told you you could trust me, Narcise,” he said, sitting on the stool. “Get your papers ready and begin to draw, or I fear Belial will be suspicious. Once he is gone again, I will tell you more.”
She did as he bid, feeling his eyes on her as she pulled out the rough papers that curled from being rolled for storage. A hunk of burned coal and her Italian pencils—too slender and short to be used as wooden stakes—joined the parchment on her drawing table, a few stones anchored the paper from rolling up, and then Narcise got to work.
She noticed that Cale had arranged his position on the stool so that he wasn’t directly facing the door, nor the table where Belial would place the tray of coffee and sweet breads when he returned. And once she acknowledged that added attention to detail, along with the deliberate tilt of his head to shadow his face even further, she concentrated on her own work.
Despite his disguise, what a pleasure it was to draw the man she’d previously had to sketch from memory. She saw, too, that he’d affixed some sort of false, papier-mâché nose to his elegant one, widening it slightly, and as she looked even closer, she noticed faint markings on his face, smudges to emphasize lines and nonexistent dimples.
Narcise had become so engrossed in her work, drawing the angled guiding lines for the hat that would give the sketch depth and an accurate sense of space, that she was startled when the door opened and Belial strode in.
But she felt his sharp eyes scan the room, and her drawing, and was pleased that she’d accomplished as much as she had. The steward set the tray on the table then approached her as if he were master of the place, looking over Narcise’s shoulder—something that he occasionally did, but never in the presence of Cezar. She heard, and felt, him test the air about her in a soft, long intake of breath. The fine hairs at the back of her neck lifted and prickled, but she didn’t move except to continue her work.
“You are very talented,” he said, low and much too close to her ear and Narcise tensed. “Perhaps you will give me some private lessons?”
She resisted the urge to spin and shove the dog away for his boldness. Cezar had left three days ago, and had named Belial head of the household during his absence. Apparently this expression of trust had given the man an unwarranted sense of entitlement.
“Perhaps you will leave me to my work,” she replied from between tight jaws. “Your smell is disturbing me.”
She felt him stiffen behind her then relax slightly. “Is that so?” he said, obviously attempting to force amusement into his voice. “But I cannot say the same for you, Narcise.” He drew in another long breath near her ear. “Your scent is as enticing as you are.”
“Cezar doesn’t value you that much, Belial,” she warned. “You are replaceable and I am not.” Rather than fear, it was anger that made her hand unsteady. As if her brother would allow a servant to touch her. Even he was not so base.
The steward made a sound filled with arrogance, but Narcise had no concerns about anything he might attempt. And despite the annoyance, she was glad his attention was focused on her and not Cale.
She dared a glance at the model sitting on his stool, and caught a flash of fiery eyes beneath the brim of his hat. Firming her lips she sent a silent warning back at him and resumed her drawing. She didn’t need Cale’s anger, nor his meddling in this.
“You’ve completed your task, Belial,” she said, replacing her pencil that drew light, thin lines with the heavier charcoal. Broad strokes emerged, dark and bold, filling in the shadows beneath the curve of the hat brim. She itched to work on those lips: so full on the bottom and with a soft line along the top one that would require delicate shading. “You may leave.”
“So I am distracting you?”
“No,” she said, putting the charcoal down and fixing him with fury in her eyes. “You are tempting me to introduce you to my saber. Intimately.”
Belial’s eyes flashed red, but he drew himself up and away. “Do not be so certain of yourself, Narcise.” And with that comment, which she assumed he meant to sound ominous, but which nearly made her laugh, he turned and stalked from the chamber.
“Cock-licking snake,” she muttered. Belial was a fool who’d become too important for himself. She took out her annoyance on the charcoal, crumbling a corner of it and creating an unnecessary smudge when she raked it too hard across the page.
“Does your brother allow all of his servants such freedom?” Cale asked quietly.
“He won’t come back until the lesson is finished,” she told him. “We are private. And, no, Cezar would not allow such effrontery if he saw it. Everything must be well under his control, and a servant—no matter how trusted—who over-steps his boundaries will find himself turned out or otherwise disposed of.”
“Good.” Cale moved, sliding off the stool. He raised a hand to his face, and the lump in his cheek moved, then disappeared as he caught whatever it was in the palm of his hand. “Peach pits,” he told her with a sidewise grin. “Two of them, in fact.” He placed them in a handkerchief on the stool. When he took off his hat, then tousled his curls from where they plastered to his skull, she found herself wanting to assist him.
But Narcise remained in her place, a distance away. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?” She noticed a fat black spider making its way along the edge of one of the wood planks on the floor.
“Since I doubt your brother would allow me to court you in a normal fashion, I decided I had better take matters into my own hands.” A glint of humor that she’d come to realize was part of his personality shone in his eyes, and then it disappeared.
“Court me? Are you mad?” No man
“I would have come sooner, but the arrangements took some time. But in the end, Monsieur David was grateful for my large donation to his cause, and the extra time with which to spend it. Are you well?”
She realized her brows had drawn together in a frown. He spoke to her with such familiarity; as if they’d known each other forever, as if they were friends and intimates. “We’ve only met twice,” she blurted out, hardly realizing what she was about to say. “But I feel rather as if I’ve come to know you even more than that.”
He still wore the false nose; perhaps that wasn’t so easily removed and replaced as the other elements of
