“You have to understand, I don’t trust easily … if at all. I had made myself vulnerable to you. You said you wanted to be with me, and then it came out you were engaged. I felt … betrayed. So, I protected myself by pushing you away.”

“I’m sorry.” He got up quickly and knelt in front of me. “Oh, my little gentle-heart. You had every right. I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorrier.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Are we really going to argue over who’s sorrier?”

“Of course we are,” he said, grinning. “You act like you’ve never met us.” I laughed as he kissed my hands, first the backs, then the palms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to them, and more than anything I wished he’d kiss my lips. Instead he stood, still holding both my hands. “I think I’m going to play a little music. Would you like to join me?”

“You haven’t learned to turn your pages by now?” I teased.

“Am I that transparent?”

“It seems you’re completely hopeless without me.”

“I fear I am.”

I pulled my hands from his so he wouldn’t feel them tremble. He was giving me that look again—desire mixed with adoration mixed with upmost respect and, as always, hope. I pretended to study the dancing flames of the fireplace to distract myself from crying.

“Those eyes in that firelight…” he murmured. I could feel his gaze on me, and I forced my expression neutral as I sat up straight. “They are my mistress.”

All my efforts were crushed, and I let out a short laugh, biting my lip against the urge to cry, my face burning without help from the warmth of the hearth.

“Don’t move,” he said, and I didn’t dare. I sat poised, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Waiting. Would he … touch me?

Instead he retrieved his sketchbook and knelt beside my chair. I broke into a smile. Magnus gave a small sound of chastisement, and I quickly resumed a more serious air. But inside, every part of me was smiling. My heart. My soul. My fingers gripping my knees. Part of me was scared this didn’t mean what I wanted it to mean, but I was too happy to acknowledge it fully.

I was plain. I had no family, no inheritance.

But Magnus was drawing me.

Me.

It was a few minutes of silence, with just the pencil scratches and my own breathing as he worked. From the corners of my eye I saw him look at me and then down at the page again, and each time he did the urge to kiss him became unbearable.

Finally, he signed and dated the drawing before handing the book to me.

I gasped.