Page 109 of The Art of Sinning
“It’s not—” She huffed out a breath. “Lookat it! For once, Jeremy, reallylookat your painting. The woman doesn’t resemble me because your subjectisn’tArt sacrificed to Commerce. It’s Hannah being sacrificed on the altar of your father’s obsession with his mills.”
He froze, gaping at the picture. “That’s not... It was never meant to...”
Horror swept through him. She was right.
He’d made Commerce older, as would be appropriate. But in so doing, he’d actually painted an image of his father as he’d looked years ago.
Jeremy’s chest tightened, his ribs feeling as if they were closing in on him, crushing him, making it hard to breathe. The painting he’d been driven to do was not what he’d thought at all.
And now that he could see it, everything fit. Commerce was his father, a man so consumed by his legacy that he’d sentenced his daughter-in-law to death rather than lose the possible future of that legacy. Even the work’s background had elements of the bank where Father had done business. And though Jeremy had painted a wound in Art’s chest, the knife dripping with blood was actually poised over Art’s belly.
“Oh, God... oh, God... oh, God...”
Yvette stepped nearer, tears trickling down her cheeks. “You said you didn’t know why you were compelled to use me as your model. But I know why. Because I look enough like your wife to play the role you needed.”
“No,” he whispered. “That’s not true!” He didn’t want it to be true. There was something deeper between him and Yvette, something real and sweet and pure, something beyond Hannah’s death.
“Itistrue. You know it in your heart. You’re trying to purge your grief, and you’re using me to do it. Because you can’t get past the horrific choice your father made.”
“Not justhishorrific choice.”
She blinked. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“It was mine, too.” Bile rose in his throat. No point in not telling her all of it now. “I chose not to be there when I should have been. If I had been—”
“Thenyouwould have had to make the horrific choice.”
“Yes! And I would have chosen my wife. Not a babe who might end up dying anyway. She deserved better than that.” He clenched his fists at his sides. “Especially after she was forced into marriage to a man who couldn’t love her.”
Sympathy softened her features. “She wasn’t forced,” she said gently. “She knew the possible consequences when she shared your bed.”
“She didn’t know we would end up enslaved in a life we didn’t choose. She didn’t know I’d be wed to the mills as much as to her.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“Maybe not, but her death...” Unable to bear Yvette’s pity, he faced the fireplace. “I failed her, don’t you see? I failed her by not being there.”
She came over to place her hand on his arm. “Jeremy—”
“No!” He shook off her hand. “You don’t understand. Father never wanted her to be my wife. Yet even knowing that, even realizing that her time was near, I still left her to his care. Itrustedhim. Because the work of the mills had to go on. So instead of staying with her, I let him convince me to go to a damned meeting in Philadelphia where everything was about money and how to make it!”
About commerce. He cringed. Oh, God, the painting fit that, too. How had he not seen it before?
“So I suppose you’re right,” he continued in a low voice. “Art Sacrificed to Commerceprobably is about her and him.”
“Or perhaps her and you,” she said in an aching voice. “It’s you as the model, isn’t it? Your mother said you looked like your father, but it goes beyond that. You blame him... and you blame yourself. So both of you wield the knife.”
“Enough,” he said in a ragged whisper. He felt bludgeoned by the truth, bludgeoned by the past.
“I’m sorry, Jeremy. I didn’t say all that to make you feel worse. I just wanted to explain why you and I shouldn’t—”
“Damn it, Yvette, you might be right about the painting’s true purpose, but you’re wrong about you and me.” He fixed her with his gaze. “I didn’t use you to purge my grief. You’ve been the first real light in my life in years. The moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you. The painting was just an excuse to have you.”
Her eyes warmed, and she seized his hand. “Then prove it.”
That stopped him cold. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“Mend the rift with your family. Return to Montague and settle your affairs. Stop running.” When he tried to jerk his hand from hers, she clung tight to it, refusing to release it. “Because the only reason I can see for your not going home is your inability to get past the deaths of your wife and son. Unless you can do that, you’re not ready to begin again with a new wife.”
