Page 85 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Beatrice felt a surge of anger at his words, at the way he presumed to dictate her creative process. But she swallowed her pride, knowing that, for now, she had no choice but to comply.
“Of course, My Lord. In fact, I have the painting you commissioned in Westback’s usual style, just completed yesterday. It’s over there, leaning against the wall. Eastfold followed her gesture, his expression softening as he took in the painting. It was a serene landscape, all soft colors and gentle lines, a far cry from the turbulent seascape on her easel.
“Excellent,” he uttered, his lips curling into a cold smile. “This is more like it. My client will be most pleased.”
Beatrice watched in silence as his men carefully removed the painting from its resting place, wrapping it in protective cloth and placing it in one of the canvas bags.
“I will have your payment delivered to you within the week,” Eastfold said, his tone businesslike. “And I will be back soon with new commissions. I have several clients who are most eager to acquire a Westback original.”
Beatrice’s stomach twisted at the thought of more paintings, more deadlines, more of her soul poured into the canvas forEastfold to sell to the highest bidder. But she forced a smile, inclining her head in a nod of acquiescence.
“Of course, My Lord. I look forward to our continued partnership.”
The words tasted like ash on her tongue, but she forced them out, knowing she had no other choice.
For now, I must play his game, dance to his tune. But it will not be forever. Somehow, some way, I will find a way out of this nightmare. I will reclaim my art, my life, my freedom. I must. Because the alternative is too terrible to contemplate.
Eastfold’s smile widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “As do I, Your Grace. As do I.”
With that, he turned on his heel, striding out of the room with his men in tow. The door closed behind them with a soft click, but to Beatrice, it sounded like the slamming of a prison gate, the sealing of her fate.
She sat in stunned silence, staring at the closed door. The room seemed to shrink around her, the weight of his threat pressing down on her chest. She felt a profound sense of isolation, a loneliness that gnawed at her insides.
Her gaze fell to her brushes, still wet with paint. She rose mechanically, her movements robotic as she began to clean them. The familiar rhythm of rinsing and wiping usually broughther comfort, but now, it felt hollow, an empty gesture in the face of her inner turmoil.
Kenneth’s face flashed in her mind. She longed to go to him, to seek his comfort and support. But the memory of their argument, the cold anger in his eyes, and the biting words they had exchanged stopped her short.
How could I turn to him now when he clearly doesn’t trust me? How could I turn to him after everything that’s happened? He sees me as a burden, not a partner.
The realization cut deep, a fresh wave of despair washing over her. She had never felt so alone, so trapped. Even her art, once a sanctuary, now felt tainted by Eastfold’s threats.
I need someone to talk to. Someone who will understand, who will help me find a way out of this nightmare.
A name floated to the surface of her thoughts—Catherine. Her dearest friend, her confidante, the one person who knew her better than anyone else. Catherine would know what to do.
I’ll go to her.
A flicker of hope sparked in Beatrice’s chest.
I’ll tell her everything, and together, we’ll find a way to stop Eastfold, to break his hold on me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Beatrice sat with Catherine in the drawing room, feeling much calmer after having poured out her heart to her dear friend.
Catherine’s expression was simultaneously sympathetic and indignant as she listened to Beatrice’s tale.
“I swear, I’m going to kill Kenneth for treating you this way,” she declared, her eyes flashing with anger.
Beatrice managed a small smile, placing a hand on Catherine’s arm. “Please, spare your energy in your condition, my dear. It’s not worth the strain.”
Catherine sighed, leaning back against the sofa cushions. “You’re right, of course. But it doesn’t make me any less furious on your behalf.”
Beatrice hesitated for a moment then took a deep breath, deciding it was time to share the truth she had kept hidden for so long. “Catherine, there’s something I need to tell you,” she began, her voice soft but steady. “Something I’ve kept secret from almost everyone, but I trust you more than anyone in the world.”
Catherine leaned forward, her brow furrowed with concern. “What is it, Beatrice? You know you can tell me anything.”
Beatrice nodded, steeling herself for the revelation. “It’s about my art, about how I’ve been able to continue painting even after everything that happened with Patrick and the scandal.”
