Page 57 of The Forsaken

His eyes darkened. “‘My mother’s life was not easy with the late viscount. She was a good woman—kind. She sketched, and I drew with her to keep her company.”

She pictured Edgar as a boy: charming and quick to smile, but doing so to ease his mother’s pain. A sharp ache hit her chest.

“It eventually became something I enjoyed.” He had never spoken of his family, and she longed to know more. “Because you shared it with your mother?’

A dull flush settled on his cheeks.

“I became versed in art, as a necessity of my trade.”

“In order to advance to naval captain, I needed to develop basic skills in sketching: coastlines, headlands, islands. Those recordings help other sailors in His Majesty’s Navy identify land…” He shook his head. “You don’t know any of this?”

That was not what she asked, but having a twin brother and two older brothers, Andromena knew a clever dodge when she heard one.

“Should I?”

“Hell yes, you should.” He muttered what sounded like ill-opinions on her brothers’ and cousin’s intelligence. And then he outright did. “Your family wouldn’t have the sense to employ your talents.”

Strange how that disparagement of her kin sent her heart trembling.

Only then did he set her book down. She watched as he fished a small journal from inside his jacket.

He held it out. “Have a look.”

Their hands grazed, sending a sharp jolt through her body, and Andromena froze.

“I promise it won’t bite.”

There was a God, because he mistook the reason for her motionlessness.

She forced her fingers to open the book.

Shivers raced along her nerve endings. In the sketch he’d flawlessly captured the high, jagged lines of cliffs jutting from the sea. Waves broke upon those rocks, and the artist—Edgar—captured the white spray of those waters and the violent recession of the tide.

“Edgar,” she breathed.

“The necessity part.”

She pulled her gaze from the rendering. “This isn’t necessity, Edgar. This is a work of art.”

“Darling, now who’s making light? I could study ten years with John Constable and not even touch anywhere near your talent.” With a chuckle, he returned his journal to his pocket.

Andromena swallowed tightly as the worst thing happened: a remaining fragment of her heart fell to Edgar.

He brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “I know what you are doing, darling.”

He knows. He knows I love him…

Her stomach knotted up.

“You’ve got me talking about myself, so you don’t have to talk about your work.”

Relief slammed into her. “That’s not true.”

Edgar gave her that all-knowing look.

Her lips twitched into a smile. “All right, a little bit it was, but a bigger part of me,” Yearns. “Wants to know more about you. How you know so much about art.”

“Now, you know. And now we can go back to finding out how your damned family hasn’t put your skills to use.”