Waking the Princess Read Online Free PDF Page B

seeing the hill tomorrow. I'm sorry to be such trouble, sir. Thank you again." She stepped past him, wincing and stiff, feeling embarrassed and a little regretful, too, for she had enjoyed the quiet intimacy of their encounter.
    Turning toward the door, she stopped, gasping.
    The painting hung over the fireplace. She had not noticed it until now. Heart pounding, she gazed up at her own image.
    She had forgotten what a masterpiece it was, exquisitely rendered, a passion of luminous color and sensuous shape, poignant and powerful. Lamplight and shadows heightened its astonishing dark grace.
    "Dear God," she whispered.
    He stood behind her. "You haven't changed."
    So he knew. She turned to stare at him. "I wondered if it was here. Stephen said that he had sold it to the MacBrides of Dundrennan."
    "Stephen Blackburn was a kinsman of yours?"
    "My late husband," she said quietly.
    "Ah." He nodded. "My condolences."
    She tipped her head in gracious silence.
    "I never met the artist. I bought the painting through the Royal Academy shortly after it was exhibited."
    "That was just before he... died." Although she felt his steady gaze, she could not look at him. Tilting her head, she studied the painting.
    "I was younger then. And a bit embonpoint," she added, looking up at her lush, rounded form in the painting.
    "Not at all. Curvaceous, aye, and alluring. A beautiful young lass."
    "A foolish young lass." She turned away. Sir Aedan stopped her with a hand to her elbow. Odd how his touch felt so natural. So did being alone with him, though it was scandalous. But his touch felt right, so good.
    "Do you dislike the painting?" he asked.
    "It—reminds me of an unpleasant time in my life. But that was long ago."
    "It was painted but six years ago. Not so far in the past."
    "Farther than you can imagine." She felt a sudden urge to cry. She lifted her head. "I've aged, changed."
    "The model has only gained in beauty." A smile quirked his lips as he watched her.
    "Oh, no, she's far plainer now."
    "Hardly. Let me see. May I?" He slid free her eyeglasses and laid them aside.
    Blinking at him, surprised, she did not protest. She wanted, selfishly perhaps, to hear his thoughts. Her vision softened around the edges but for his face, so close to hers. Studying him, she thought again of a protective angel, darkly beautiful, powerful in form and countenance.
    He glanced from the framed painting back to her. "The earlier version has a pleasing roundness in the limbs, and the features are the same—elegantly classic. Yet the later version..." He touched her jaw with his fingers as if she were a statue and he an art critic. But her heart leaped.
    "The later version?" she asked.
    "Shh. I see a refinement in face and figure—some might call it slenderness—that enhances the graceful bone structure. The first version is lush and wild, but the second version has an honest beauty... a vibrancy that is very attractive, though in a quieter way than the other image."
    "I do not know what you mean," she whispered. Spellbound, she felt no urge to stop him. Her pulse quickened as he tilted her cheek with his finger. "The first image has an innocence and wildness, but there is something... sad in the second. Cautious eyes, a wary mouth." His fingertip glided over her bottom lip.
    Her knees faltered for that instant. "Cautious," she said in a spicy tone. "Afraid you might try to kiss me."
    "Shall I?" His fingers stilled on her chin.
    She drew a breath. "Do not press your good fortune, sir."
    "Shall I go on?" he asked.
    She nodded, feeling as if they played a dangerous, delicious, secret game.
    "The girl in the painting is a sensual creature, yet immature. She knows love but not... life. She's lost and tragic."
    "She's the tragic princess," she said. "From the story."
    "Aye, but the first image has something the latter does not. A sort of... blissfulness."
    "Happiness," she blurted. "She was happy then, for a little while. She was adored." She knew she sounded