Page 67 of The Shadow of Breninsol
“You’d have thought that priceless artifacts such as these would have been handled with more care,” he remarked in a soft voice.
Eleanor raised a brow in question, as he waved an elegant, gloved hand at the sculpture’s heads. “There’s a number of them without limbs and all their ears are missing.” Goosebumps ran along her skin. “Although, I don’t think I’ve seen any like this outside of the museum.”
“No, Your Lordship? No lords have them decorating their grand homes?” she asked, latching onto the conversation.
“These are ancient. Not many lords are fond of old things. They prefer anything new.”
She made a noncommittal noise and followed next to him as they weaved through the array of sculptures.
“Apart from the Three Sisters Mountains, this is one of the kingdom’s great mysteries: the artists who sculpted these. The Artist’s Guild has spent years studying in this hall. From what I’m told, they’ve never managed to recreate sculptures of this quality. Sad really,” he said, in almost a thoughtful voice as he looked up at the forms in front of them.
A man and woman, partially clad, wore distressed expressions while they looked into the distraught eyes of the woman betweenthem. The three of them desperately held each other, as if they were clinging to the only thing that mattered in their world. No matter how much their fingers intensely gripped another, they remained frozen in this position for all eternity. As cold and unyielding as the man standing next to her, with eyes that looked off into the distance.
“How so?” Eleanor asked. She wanted to know why a powerful and rich aristo would bother himself with caring about something as unglamorous as the statues in this hall.
He didn’t look at her, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the sad scene in front of them. “Isn’t it a shame that we might have lost a truly great artist and know nothing about them?”
She didn’t quite understand his meaning. “I don’t see why it’s any sadder than the unknown artists in the other galleries. There’s plenty of them in this museum, lost artists.”
“Lost to time,” the marquis mused, but his tone was so soft she thought he was saying it more to himself.
They moved around the hall, adding to the echoing footsteps and occasionally pausing at a statue. Eleanor didn’t want to look at them anymore and wished they were elsewhere, but she couldn’t resist stealing glances at the man standing next to her. The rich indigo and silver long-coat and feathered hat momentarily distracted her from seeing the man himself. He was beautiful, perfectly so. Every feature seemed as if it could have been chiselled from the cold stone in front of them. His face was clear cut: a perfect balance of his elegant brows with his straight nose and full lips. He held himself still, nearly impossibly still. If it wasn’t for his colourful clothing, she could have mistaken him for being in the museum himself, posed on a podium for thousands of people to admire every day.
Despite the cold, distant look on his face, his mercury eyes felt warm to her.
“Tell me,” he said with a quick glance in her direction. “You have my undivided and uninterrupted attention. Why, instead of spending your time flirting and making your case to become my Favour, have you been giving me recommendations of the other courtesans?”
Eleanor swallowed.Shit, she’d done something wrong, something that had made her stand outagain. “Your Lordship?”
“Your false surprise and sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed.” He raised a brow in challenge, daring her to say otherwise.
She coughed, uneasy with this type of conversation, and found herself wishing that he had a secret sex fetish. “Perhaps I think the other ladies would be more suited to your unique tastes?”
His lip curled. She didn’t know if he was pleased with her answer. “Oh, you have no idea about my unique tastes.”
She inhaled sharply and willed her knees not to drop. Somehow, he’d made that sentence sound far,farmore obscene than it should have been.
“There’s a party tonight. Would you like to come?” he said, snapping her attention from watching Breninsol’s passing streets from the comfort of the carriage to the man next to her.
“With you?” Eleanor asked, trying to sense if this was some social court trap. She understood why he paid for her time today under the excuse of their bargain. But to ask her, rather than demand her presence by going straight to Madam Grace,confused her. He simply desired her companionship, not to act out any sexual fantasies. Unlessthiswas some twisted, aristocratic sexual fantasy. His suggestive words from the museum came back to her. “I’m not having an orgy with you!” she blurted out.
His eyes flashed with something she couldn't read, and it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “As disappointed as you may be at the prospect, everyone will be fully clothed.”
Eleanor shifted her gaze to the brightly coloured shop canopies they were going past. “Why?”
“If you don’t want to…” he replied softly.
From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw uncertainty in him. “That’s not what I was asking. Why me? I’m sure there are plenty of court ladies who’d be more than willing…” she trailed off, subtly letting him realise her meaning.
“As strange as it may seem, I’ve come to like your company. You intrigue me, enough to extend an invitation to my party tonight.”
She raised a brow at his frankness. “You prefer the company of a courtesan over one of your own?” Eleanor couldn’t help the slight smile that found its way onto her lips.
He brushed at something on his trousers before he looked intently at her. “I think there’s more to you than your situation. The ladies of the court…they want something from me. Something I’m not willing to give.”
“And you don’t think I want something?”
His lip quirked. “Everyone wants something. But you…” His grey-blue eyes searched hers, as if they’d tell him what it is he was looking for, “Whatever you want, I don’t think I can give you.”
