Page 44 of His Beauty
He nodded once, then took a deep breath and pulled his hand out from under hers. She tried not to feel bereft, and when he gripped his cup with both hands, she realized it was only because he felt uncomfortable.
“Rose and I were married when we were quite young. We were both determined to be good spouses, though we didnae have much in common.”
As he began, Bonnie felt herself exhale, relaxing slightly against the back of the chair behind her. Not because she wanted to be more comfortable, but because she knew what was coming and was bracing herself.
“Rose was a painter, as ye ken. No’ watercolors, which is common for young ladies, but oil painting, which is almost a science. I loved watching the way her canvas could blend and shift right before my eyes, and she used her fingers as often as the brushes. As I told ye before, she’d asked for a private space where she could lock everyone else out and suggested the auld stables.”
“Which you were not using otherwise,” Bonnie offered softly.
“Aye. It was simple enough to help her set up a studio there, and while she was often cold in the winter, the servants made certain to keep the braziers warmed. I think she liked the fact, when she didnae want company, she could lock us all out.”
It was the way he said it which hinted at the deeper pain.
“And…did she often not want company?”
Lyon lifted his cup but didn’t drink from it. His haunted eyes met hers over the rim. “I think she…changed. I loved her, I truly did, and I believe she loved me. But a few years into our marriage, after her third miscarriage, she…” He shook his head. “She wasnae the same.”
Perhaps it was chemistry, or something within her brain. Bonnie had read about how trauma could affect women that way. “I am sorry,” she whispered, chill seeping into her stomach despite the warmth of the coffee.
“Aye, well, as she changed, so did her paintings. I could tell she was hurting, but I thought if I left her alone…” He sipped at the coffee, then immediately reared back. “Satan and all his little minions, whatisthis swill?”
Her gaze jerked up. “You do not like coffee? Why did you order it?”
“Because ye did. This is really coffee?” He peered down into the dark depths of his cup. “I usually content myself with water or tea, although I had coffee infrequently at school. I dinnae remember it tasting quite so…”
“Bitter? Hot?”
“Foul.”
She tried to hide her smile. “Perhaps some cream and sugar…?”
“Perhaps I dinnae force myself to drink something I’d no’ force upon swine.” He raised his hand and gestured to the server. “Tea please.”
The man nodded and hurried away, and Lyon turned back in time to catch Bonnie’s slight smile.
“What?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “I like that you do not do things you do not want to do merely for polite society.”
“So ye think me impolite for refusing to drink coffee, just because that’s what ye’re drinking?”
“No, Lyon. I think you brave.”
He snorted. “Drinkingthat coffee is brave. No’ drinking it is basic self-preservation.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant when she’d called him brave, but since he was focused on the server bringing him his tea, she didn’t explain it. Besides, if she knew him—and she was certain she did—the praise would make him uncomfortable.
When he was settled with his tea and the offending coffee had been removed, Bonnie watched him sip and nod in satisfaction. When he placed the cup down, she leaned forward.
“So Rose changed?” She wasn’t going to allow the topic to drop.
His eyes flicked briefly to hers, then to the pastry on his plate. “I dinnae think I realized how much. She began to lock herself away with her paints and turpentine more and more frequently, and then, one late winter morning…”
A muscle along the smooth side of his jaw jumped, and she longed to soothe him.
His voice lowered. “Keith burst into the library to find me and tell me the stables were afire. When I reached the courtyard, it was already an inferno—the auld straw and all of her paints, I assume.”
“She was inside?”
