Chapter 10

"It will work perfectly, won't it? How long will it take to cure the wound completely?"

Ava cast a hopeful glance at the little pot in her hand. A thick, dark green colored ointment inside the pot gleaming in the candle, its exotic scent filled the air in Madam Nora's little cottage.

"Certainly, it will cure any kind of wound in two or three days. Just try and you'll see the magic."

Nora answered without the littlest doubt. The fortune teller strained her eyes at her in a mysterious gaze.

"Get yourself prepared, young lady."

"For what?"

"Turn and twist of fate. It's coming your way, there's no stopping it, there's no escaping it."

Another absurd, indecipherable prophecy. She better went home now, before the night fell. Certainly she didn't want to experience another terror like the last time she left this place. It didn't stop her to come here again, though. Because she had to do it. She brought her pistol now, in her small reticule. Delilah was right. She had to bring it anywhere she went. Anywhere. Ava put a pouch full of coins on the madam's desk, intended to leave as soon as possible.

The madam's prophecy was highly dubious but the efficacy of her potions had been proven by many. On her way to the madam's house a few days ago, some villagers told her enthusiastically about how the madam's medication had saved their lives when the doctors already gave up on hope. She recalled a woman's story about his son. In an attempt to escape from a locked burning house, the man had broken his hand severely by crushing the door with his fist. The doctor suggested amputation but the man refused the procedure. Desperate to help her son, the woman came to Madam Nora and got her magic ointment. The man's hand recovered quickly and now he could do anything with his hand like nothing ever happened before.

She wished this medication would work its magic on him. She prayed he would completely recover from his injury and he would draw and paint and create many artworks exceedingly well as he did before.

As if she could read her mind, the madam reassured her.

"You needn't worry, child. He will be healed. My ointment will work."

Ava felt a shiver creeping up her nape. This woman knew the person she wanted to help was a man.

"But what cures the flesh, cannot cure the soul. His soul has been tainted by a fatal malady, and he would be tortured, he would be maddened, he would be breaking down, he would be incurable..."

Is this woman saying that the duke has some kind of mental illness? She couldn't imagine a man like him as a lunatic. She took a moment to think about him. She didn't see any symptoms. He looked totally sane.

"Do you mean something bad will happen to him? Will he be all right?"

"Oh, he will be fine, he will be all right because you will save his soul. You're

the only one who can be his remedy."

She had no idea how to save someone's soul nor to remedy any sort of disease. If only the madam knew who she was talking about, she wouldn't rattle pure nonsense like this. Ava asked for leave politely and hurried away. She had a more important thing to do rather than listening to some blithering prophecy.

*****

After a series of consideration, Ashton concluded decidedly that his interest in her was purely sensual and artistical, nothing more. For a moment, it occurred to him that it might be something more, because something she had awakened in him. But after he thought about it further, what she had awakened was purely desire of the flesh, and it was totally normal.

He was a man, young and virile, he had a healthy sexual drive. And she was a young woman, with a beautiful face and a beautiful shape. Yesterday he had seen too much of her naked skin, certainly she would have that effect on him. Any woman would do.

He should stop overanalyze about it, about everything, including the reason why he was standing here again today, before the lake outside his studio, as if he was waiting for something to come over him. He should enter the studio once he had arrived and settled himself inside, having his own personal time, instead of standing here in the cold air, staring at nothing across the lake. He chose to ignore all the voices from the back of his mind. He reminded himself, he would not overanalyze.

A peculiar sensation surrounded him, and he wasn't surprised at all. He expelled a long breath, and started to overanalyze again, trying to convey what was in his sigh. Irritation, he decided. To his dismay, it felt more like a sigh of relief, for what he was expecting had come at last.

"You've been invading my place and my privacy as well in these past three days."

He said it in a crisp voice. Something held him from turning to her. A sudden alarm that warned him, he was in danger of falling to the coming attraction.

Nonsense. She meant nothing to him but an artistic object. He turned to face her and met a pair of siren eyes. She was standing about twenty feet away from him. A relatively safe distance, but those eyes surely had a pervasive charm because he felt awestruck. He turned away his gaze quickly as if a bright sunlight was burning his eyes. Better looked the other way.

Doubt and fear flooded her instantly. He seemed completely unwelcome. He even refused to look at her. He stared at a distance across the empty road, as if she was nothing worth his attention.

"In case you forget about it, I ordered you to stay away from my properties. I haven't changed my mind on the matter."

She gripped her skirt unconsciously, trying to hold on to anything to strengthen her will. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the little gesture.

"I'm responsible for your current situation. I have to do something to redeem it."

"I'm afraid I don't care about your troubled conscience. You only cause me a continuous disturbance by keep coming here."

She held her gaze focused on his, praying God would be on her side. She might not have the littlest bit of doubt if she wanted to make it happen.

"I promise I will never disturb you again after this, but please allow me to do something to you before I leave."

She took a little pot from her pocket.

"Let me put this medicine on you."

He didn't answer her, he didn't even spare a glance. He remained perfectly still, staring at nothing in the distance. He was completely ignoring her.

Fine. If he thought he could shut her out with this insult, then he was wrong. She had prepared for rejection and worse. She would not give up so easily. Taking a deep breath and squeezing her fingers into fist, she marched toward him with a direct, purposeful stride, eyes focused on his face in a firm, resolute gaze.

From a sideway glance, he saw her striding towards him in a determined pace. As she got near, his heartbeat's rhythm matched the quick tapping sound of her steps. Damn her, what did she think she was doing? He would make her learn the consequences of challenging him.

She was coming over him like a tidal wave, she didn't slow down her pace until she was so close, he thought she was going to crash him. He almost took a step back when she halted just half a feet away from him. He was glad he didn't do so. The world must have turned upside down if he was scared off by a silly chit.

He turned to see her in bursting anger, meaning to flare up at her rightaway, but the second his gaze fell on her face, his heart weakened. She was the fairest creature he had ever seen. He couldn't remember any woman comparable to her. He swallowed back an angry shout.

"Please! I will never ask for anything to you again after this. I promise I will disappear from your life forever. But please let me put this medicine on you right now."

Didn't she know with that look on her face, a man would give anything she asked for?

Anything at all. A man would give her the world.

But he was certainly not that man. He lowered his gaze on her in an irritated gesture.

"Do whatever you please, if it could bring you peace. After you're done, I want mine as well. You'll stop stalking me and never set foot again in any of my properties. If you still want to live anywhere in my domain, it's strictly required for you to stay out of my sight."

"Thank you." She breathed in relief and dropped her gaze to his hand. She reached for it gently and brought it to her hands. He held his breath at her touch. Her fingers were cool and soft against his heated skin, soothing as much as arousing at the same time. He marveled at her soft, delicate fingers as she undid the strip binding his hand. Contrasting with his, her hands looked small and fair, her skin was the color of snowflowers.

"It looks terrible. You may suffer some serious infections. Is it painful all the time?" Her anxious voice interrupted his imaginings. The strip was completely undone, exposing the wound in his swollen flesh.

Looking down on the severe injury, a tender feeling for him rose inside her. He must be in pain all the time. She caressed the outer side of his wound reflexively to ease the pain.

"A little..." He replied shortly, the sensation of her touch thrilled him and he feared a tinge of tremor would escape his voice. She pulled out the pot again and opened the small cloth covering it.

"Christ! What is that? It stinks like hell." He exclaimed instantly at the smell of the ointment.

"I assure you this is a very effective medicine. Please allow me to apply it to your hand." She felt a surge of panic, she prayed he wouldn't reject it right now.

He cast a suspicious glance on the tiny pot in her hand. Seemed like it was the Gypsy woman's stuffs. The Gypsy medication was quite popular in this town. To his knowledge, apart from its efficacy, it was proven to be harmless. Yet the smell was extremely unpleasant. Ashton resisted a nauseous feeling that suddenly swept over him. It would be a total embarrassment to vomit in front of her.

"I pray you didn't put poison in that foul smelling... mud." He grumbled, but he didn't withdraw from her.

Strangely, his annoyance got her amused like a silly joke, and before she knew it, she grinned and replied on a whim.

"Now that you mentioned it, I would be tempted to do so if it occurred to me earlier."

Her reply took him by surprise. No one dared to respond him like that, especially a woman. He looked at her instantly and found a twitch of smile curving her lips. What the devil? He meant to intimidate her, not to amuse her.

She got aware and tighten her lips at once, checking him with a quick glance. She shouldn't spoil his mood in this critical moment. But he seemed rather surprised than irritated. Relieved, she pretended to be busy with the ointment.

"May I?" She took his hand carefully and brushed the ointment on his wound. The stinky cream was cool on his skin, and the sensation of her soft fingers rubbing his skin was incredibly good. He would not care if the ointment was a poison indeed, as long as he could feel her caress.

"It would be a little uncomfortable..." She warned him with a careful glance. A second later, a searing sensation struck in his wound. It felt like his hand was burning, hot and painful.

"But it won't last long, only at first. Less than two minutes. Please hold on a little longer."

"Is it that bad? Are you quite all right?" She asked anxiously. Ashton said nothing in response. It was painful indeed, terribly painful, but he'd rather slay himself than wail and whine in front of her.

"It won't be long." She assured him and rubbed the edge of the slash with her thumb gently somehow it distracted him from the pain. She squeezed his hand in her grip lightly as if she wanted to give him strength.

Unexpectedly a warm tenderness crept over him. No one had ever done this to him for a long time. No one had taken care of him. He never knew he was still yearning for a simple kind of affection, that his heart was still beating for it. He had been dead in places, he was numb, his heart so frozen that it ceased to feel at all. He didn't feel pain or sorrow anymore. He felt nothing. Once he was even grateful for it, for the pain was too hard to bear, unbearable to endure.

He was living everyday only to do his duty, to serve his purpose, to fulfill what was expected and required from him, which his father had failed to do. All his life, he had been striving so hard to do it well, and it was not to redeem his father's nonfulfillment. No, he didn't care about that selfish, irresponsible bastard.

He determined to do it only for one significant reason, to give meaning to his mother's short and tragic life. That his mother would not have suffered living in a loveless marriage and bearing him for nothing, that all her sacrifice would be fruitful.

But why, at her fingertips, something was unexpectedly awaken. Some kind of strange yet familiar emotion, old and new at the same time.

The hot stinging pain faded gradually with the passing time. She stopped caressing his hand as if she could feel it. She took some new cloth from her pocket, then began to bind his wound again. He watched her in silence. Her eyes cast down on his hand, so he was safe from their magical charm, but her long eyelashes swayed gently caressing her cheeks everytime she blinked, and it had the same sort of effect on him.

She released his hand when she finished the job. Far too short, he thought with regret. He wished he could make the pain last a little longer. If it what it took to feel her touch, it's a pain worth bearing. Pain never felt this good... He would be damned, he couldn't help the sinfully irrational thoughts occurred to him relentlessly in the past three days.

"Your hand will heal in two or three days. Please take it with you, you can apply this again after you clean up the wound tonight."

She handed the pot to him, praying he wouldn't reject it. He said nothing in response, but he took it anyway. She felt a great relief.

"I will no longer bother you. As I promise, this is the last time you see me."

One last look and she spun around, stepping away from his place, and from his life as well, eventually. He watched her as she left him alone with the quiet sound of the blowing wind. After the sight of her back disappeared at the end of the road, she would be gone from his life for good, forever.

A single golden leaf blew past his face. It swirled and flew in a soft autumn breeze, drifting away through the air. In any second it would be gone, and it could never be found again.

He would never see her again after this. He should feel a great relief, for at last he got rid of a terrible distraction. Finally he would be able to breathe easily again.

He inhaled the first air of freedom and felt his breathing hard and aching. Something beneath his chest squeezed, painful, he didn't know what it was. His heart, perhaps. He knew this feeling before a good long time ago. He was feeling like this when sometimes he saw his mother's belongings accidentally after her death. Her old shawl, her comb, her gloves.

"You said you want to redeem yourself for the trouble you caused me."

She halted her step at his words, but she didn't turned to him immediately. Instead, she just turned her head aside.

"I'll consider your debt paid in full if you do something for me."

She turned around and looked at him straight in the eye. Unexpectedly his heart skipped a beat.

"I will do anything."

"Let me paint you."

The words hovered in the quiet air like a spell, caught them both in a stunned silence.

"Be my muse."

He must be insane, he was totally out of his mind. The brazen request should never be made, but the moment it was said, he felt greatly relieved he had done it before his senses came back and ruled him. Such a sweet tempting torture she was, he just wanted to endure it a little longer.

She stood perfectly still, but couldn't bring herself to answer. Suddenly he was crazed by fear that she would reject his request. A second of wait felt like an hour of torture. When the pressure peaked to its extreme culmination, he uttered the question in measured composure.

"Do you accept my term?"

He detected a slight gleam in her eyes, like suspicion or hesitation. She stared at him in a state that seemed as if she was on the alert.

"In one condition." She answered the question with a cautious reply.

"I accept as long as I am not to be painted nude."

"God, no!!"

He chuckled, couldn't help a grin escaped his face.

"You're crazy. Where the devil did you get that insane idea?"

And his smile stole her breath. She never saw him smiling nor laughing before. He was always beautiful in any state but when he smiled he was... dazzling. His eyes sparkling with a hint of laughter. Oh, he had the most mesmerizing blue eyes. And she just loved the way his long eyelashes cast shadow on his cheeks, how it made his cold eyes tinged with wistfulness, with a hint of melancholy. Also he had dimples on both cheeks when he smiled, they looked terribly good on him.

Just a second and his smile faded but the last vestiges of it lingered, made his face glowing. When he cast his eyes on her again, they shone with amusement and a faint smile touched his lips. He never looked at her like this before. His gaze were always laced with hatred and disgust. But with just one look, a look like this, he could redeem a thousand times his contemptuous glare.

What's in her pretty head, how did it ever occur to her that he possibly wanted to paint her nude? He couldn't help chuckling the second he heard it, and the way she looked at him while saying it. The serious, overly cautious expression. He was greatly amused. It had been a long while since the last time something had tickled his funny bone. He couldn't remember it. And the idea of painting her nude was ... interesting. He would be very pleased to do it. And also painting her in that damp, transparent chemise.

"So, I gather your silence indicates your acceptance?"

"And as long as no indecent exposure required." She added quickly.

"I promise there will be nothing indecent at any rate."

Foolish, but this little bargain delighted him. He was completely unconscious that he was smiling at her now, something that was unthinkable in the past. She was definitely not a fool, she was complete with regard to every detail before accepting a term.

Ava struggled to keep a clear mind. It was hard to think when she was presented with that mind blowing smile.

"All right."

She said after a moment's consideration.

"I accept your term."

The relief and excitement he felt had never been greater or stronger, but he remained deceptively calm as he walked past her toward the studio.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow here at this hour."

*****

She had spent hours of thinking, but she still couldn't figure out what was behind this unexpected turn of events. She couldn't believe he asked for something like that to her. So far as she knew, he couldn't tolerate a minute of her presence around him. Now suddenly he asked her to be his muse, he wanted to paint her. How curious... What turned his hatred toward her into an artistic interest in a span of their short little encounter?

In some senses, she didn't believe he just wanted to paint her. What was he possibly up to? A sudden thought came upon her. Was it a scheme against her? Did he have some bad intentions to her?

The unpleasant thought made her feel uncomfortable. The longer she thought about it, the more restless she got. It made no sense. If he wanted to get rid of her from his land, he could simply send her father and Roger to take her away.

She just noticed that she had walked absentmindedly all the way here. Before her stood the elegant county cottage. A black stallion settled nearby caught her eye, and she knew that he was positively there, inside the studio. She strolled towards the front door.

With every step she made, the uneasy feeling grew stronger. Her heart beating faster when she reached the front door. She stared down at the door handle in growing anxiety. Something held her from pushing the door open. Like her fate was sealed the very moment she stepped through the door, like she could never escape the destiny awaiting her inside if she dared to enter it. Suddenly she felt an urge to turn back and run away. She could do it in a second. If she never came, he wouldn't come to find her anyway.

"Come in."

His voice came from beyond the door. Too late, he already knew she was here. She pushed down the door handle and found him standing across the room before the fireplace. He was watching the flames as they flickered and cracked, burning the dried woods. The fireplace had been lit up perfectly well and the room was filled with a gentle heat. Some curtains had been thrusted aside, allowing some natural light to stream through the window. The studio was surrounded by a warm comfortable ambience. She had no choice but to walk toward him. At first she felt like she was a prey coming to its predator, but when he turned to her, her fear diminished gradually.

He looked calm and collected. He stood still in his sleek elegance, perfectly civilized and dignified. He would not do anything untoward. Perhaps she was just too overwhelmed by an unreasonable dread.

She halted two feet away from him.

"Shall we start?"

"Sure." He took a box on the mantelpiece and handed it to her.

"Here, you need to change your clothes."

"What is this?" Ava opened the box and found a long white dress made of silk and a strip of knitted material, looked like it was a sort of waistband. To her relief, the dress was loose and entirely proper.

"What do I represent in this outfit?"

"A meadow elf." He replied as he returned her glance shortly.

Then he made his way out to allow her some privacy. She changed her clothes quickly and stood before the fireplace, waiting for him. She felt uneasy about this situation. To spend a long hours with him in private was unimaginable.

She did feel a momentary foolish, girlish excitement two days ago when he showed some reactions to her. She did think he was the most handsome man with the most dazzling smile. After he accidentally rescued her and got terribly injured, she did feel a strong tender feeling for him and feel indebted to him. Guilt and regret drove her to do crazy things for him. When she knew that he might possibly lose his hand, she did feel a strong empathy for him.

But he was definitely not a man she wanted to stay close to for a long time, especially with no one else between. He was cruel, conceited, ill-tempered, judgmental, and domineering. He was capable of verbal abuse and perhaps physical abuse as well, though she wasn't certain about it. She had a deep sympathy for his miserable upbringing, but she knew it had caused him a permanent damage that was impossible to fix. Of course, she wouldn't say he was all bad. He was honor-bound, he was dignified, he was a true gentleman to see to her safety, but he was nothing gentle and undoubtedly he was a difficult person.

When she said she would do anything to redeem herself, she meant anything but not this one.

She glanced at the long case clock standing in the corner. It was eight past ten. She just wanted to get this over as soon as possible. She stared into the fireplace, watching flames curling and swaying. A few moments had passed but there was no sign he was coming in.

Apparently he gave her more time than she needed. Should she go and tell him she was ready? She was thinking to do so when a sketchbook laid on the commode caught her attention. It was another sketchbook, not the one she had saved from the lake two days ago.

A curious feeling tickled her senses. She glanced at the closed door before took the book and opened it. Soon she was fascinated by a series of magnificent drawing. She flipped quickly through the sheets in awe, until a sketch caught her still.

Suddenly she forgot to breathe. On the sheet staring back at her was her eyes. The face beautifully drawn in an impressive accuracy on the paper was hers. He had made a drawing of her before. Clearly he made this sketch only based on his memory, but how could it be remarkably detailed? He must spend a considerable time observing her face and imprinting it to his mind. Or was he simply a brainsick genius? She found a date written at the outer corner of the paper. It was made two days ago...

"Who gave you permission to touch my personal belonging?"

A sudden snarl startled her and she turned back. Before she could even think of anything, the sketchbook was snatched from her with a strong jerk. She stared back round-eyed at him, his face went white with fury.

"I'm sorry."

Damn. She had seen the drawing of her in his sketchbook. She must be imagining she was something special to him now. She must be thinking he had been attracted to her. But he shouldn't care overmuch about it, he had asked her to be his muse. He said openly he wanted to paint her. She must have known he had some kind of interest to her.

"Sit over there!" He motioned to an armless settee, anger made his voice harsh. She obeyed in a rush, the next second she already settled herself there.

"You're not allowed to do anything here other than sitting there and staying perfectly still. Keep your hands away from my things."

She was still overwhelmed with the unexpected discovery, she barely felt fear or shock. She mused on him, wondering what was he thinking when making a sketch of her? Was she on his mind every second of it? Though, she shouldn't be too surprised about it. She had known it from yesterday that he wanted her as a muse.

"Before you got the wrong impression on your mind, let me be clear about this." He said as if he could hear her thoughts.

"I've been working in this project for a long time, but it hasn't finished yet because I cannot figure out a face for the elf. I've tried to draw it in every way I could think of, but none of them felt right... So it remained faceless... when I saw you lately, I found that you could portray it quite well. Amongst the other women in this small town, looked like you're the best I can get."

She remained silent for a moment before finally replied.

"I see."

He couldn't tell if she was content with the explanation or if he was satisfied with his own deception, but she didn't say anything else and sat still, waiting for him to begin. So he took the paintbrush and started to make a few basic lines.

"Where do I put my hands? Is it all right like this?" She settled her hands properly on her lap.

"Yes." Ashton murmured an approval idly. He didn't really care about her pose. Actually this was just an excuse to look at her as long as he pleased.

"I need to know, how long will it take for me to stay here?"

It didn't occur to her until this morning. Polly would be terribly worried about her if she didn't come home until nightfall.

"You can leave by midday."

And so did he. Selene and her family would be expecting him for lunch.

Ava felt a great relief. It didn't take as long as she thought. Midday was only less than four hours away. She would be free after this. It was easier than she thought. She had worried overmuch about this.

Time passed in silence. The only sound in the room was the soft cracking fire in the fireplace. She didn't know how long it had been when she finally said.

"Excuse me, can I speak? Or should I stay still like a statue?"

"Do whatever you please, just don't change your position." He answered as his eyes fixated on the canvas.

"How is your hand? Are you feeling better right now? Does the medicine work?"

"Miraculously. My hand is significantly getting better. It showed a great progress in recovery."

"Glad to hear that. Does it hurt when you're drawing or painting like now?"

"Just a bit. There's a slight pain, but it's nothing."

He moved his gaze from the canvas and met hers.

"I have to thank you."

"You saved my life. I can never pay what I owe you." She replied politely.

Seemed like he was in friendly mood now. Perhaps she could ask him some questions that haunted her for months. She stayed silent for a while before speaking carefully.

"May I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How is he?"

Ashton felt an unreasonable prick in his chest. He knew instantly who 'he' was.

"He is doing fine. He could do well without you."

She said nothing in reply. His hand ceased moving and he glanced at her with growing curiousity.

"Do you still... care about him?"

He wasn't really certain why he switched the word 'love' in the last second. Love is a strong word, too strong, and for some unfathomable reason, he dreaded she would say something he didn't want to hear.

"I do..." She said it profoundly, and he could feel the words were coming from the heart.

"I hope you treat him kind."

And there were many, so many many questions she wanted to ask about him, but she knew she couldn't.

Did he ever smile and laugh again after the day they were apart? Did he ever mention her name? Did he think of her every second in every waking hours of the day as she did? Did he dream of her when he was sleeping? Did he awake in the darkest hours of night and the first thing he could think of was her? Did he miss her as much as she missed him? Did he really already forget her? Why did he never come to see her or send her a message? Well, they both knew there was a great risk if he did. She couldn't really blame him for that. But still, she wondered if she was feeling this way alone.

She prayed life treated him kind. She prayed he didn't suffer a great sorrow and loneliness as she did. She prayed he already moved on with his life and she prayed he was happy now. Time eventually healed everything and better times had come to her. She hoped they did for him.

There was a gleam of sorrow and longing in her eyes. Deep and intense. Strangely, a strong emotion stirred inside him like a maelstrom, fierce and unrestrained. He never experienced this sort of feeling before, perhaps he had, but definitely not this intense. Something like rage, an unreasonable one, overtook him beyond his senses.

"How bad is that?"

"What?"

"The pain of separation."

She stared idly at the fireplace, completely unaware of another increasing heat in the atmosphere.

"Very bad. I've never known such a devastating feeling before, like I have no reason to live another day..."

"Then you must hate me as hell for that."

How did she supposed to react to that statement?

"I don't."

"I doubt that very much." He said with obvious cynicism.

Ava glanced back at him and just realized his expression had turned cold and ruthless. She had no idea what possibly changed his mood in a matter of seconds.

"That's true."

"That's rot. I'm the one who forced you both into a devastating separation and you said you don't hate me for that? What are you? A saint?"

Blast it all! She did nothing and he acted like a wounded animal ready to kill its opponent.

"Well, if you're so convinced about it, then I suppose you find it reasonable."

She did it again. It was the second time she returned his remark. He thought it was time for her to learn that no one crossed him without consequences. No one. He eyed her and spoke in deceitful calmness.

"Are you trying to challenge me?"

Ava watched him in alert. She knew very well what was coming when he looked and sounded like that.

"I dare not."

"You are. You enjoyed your foolish little counter against me. I can sense your satisfaction in doing so."

She couldn't believe it. She was certain she did nothing, absolutely nothing and he was mad to bring her to heel. She pitied the poor Lady Selene Wyndham who would have this impossible peevish as a husband. She couldn't imagine how a woman could live with him everyday for the rest of her life.

She eyed him back and replied in the same manner.

"If you insist, Your Grace. Who can deny you?"

She stood up from her seat. She would no longer accept the barrage of insults and intimidation he always threw at her.

"I think I no longer serve the purpose of my presence here. I only provoke you to an unnecessary quarrel with me. It's better if I leave now."

She walked toward the door, not bothering about changing clothes.

"Don't you dare walk out that door before I dismiss you..."

She was completely ignoring him and he flew into a rage. In a second he already breezed across the room, grabbed her wrist and turned her to face him. The sudden violent move must have shocked her to death. He meant to give her a hard lesson but when he saw her flinching, when she looked at him with the fearful look in her eyes, suddenly the rage turned into a surge of guilt and remorse.

She bursted out in a desperate look.

"Do you have to be this cruel to me? Whatever you might think or believe, I never meant to challenge you. I have no defense against you. Why would I ever want to vex you?"

And the words struck him in the right place. He had been unnecessarily cruel to her. He knew certain things could provoke him to explode very easily, but this time he had acted like a total creep. He had overreacted to her response, in fact he was the one who pushed her to the edge. Moreover, how could he used such physical force to threaten a defenseless woman? He released his grip and stepped back to give her some space. She rubbed her aching wrist reflexively, and the faint red stain there made him overflowed by a terrible guilt. He glanced quickly at her face and felt relief to find no tears.

"I..."

He almost blurted the word 'I'm sorry' but he held it back. It must have been decades since the last time he said the words.

"I need you..."

Why he let the sentence strangled with a pause, only God knew. Because he didn't understand either. She looked even more shocked and he corrected instantly.

"I mean... to finish the painting."

Silence hung in the air afterward and lasted several seconds before it dispeled by his quiet voice.

"Please stay."

How odd! She couldn't believe it. One moment he was burning, the next second the fire was completely dead like being poured by a heavy rain. She looked over him and it surprised her that he looked beaten, his eyes downcast and tinged with regret. When he raised his eyes, they looked morose. Somehow it touched her, and made her feel vague. She walked to the settee, sidestepping around him. She sat there again.

When he watched her returning to the settee without saying a word, he was moved. She was softhearted and forgiving. She wouldn't make his man beg for forgiveness. She was understanding. She was gentle and caring. She was kind and honest, simple and true. She was everything he was not and he could never be.

He had sensed it the moment he saw her in the meadow. His instinct didn't lie, what moved him to paint her was far beyond that beautiful face. He was inspired by the beauty that was invisible, true beauty that lied within her. She had touched what was left in his heart, that he didn't know existed.

He returned to sit behind the easel and started again. The longer he laid his eyes on her, the more he couldn't stop doing so. There was a strange feeling he tried to comprehend, it was like his enthusiasm in art. Strong, undeniable, irresistible, addictive, intoxicating. Something that he could not forsake despite good senses, good judgment or logic. Something beyond his control. He never knew he would ever feel this way for her. He felt like he was drunk in an intoxication, it got him faded. Faded and forgotten everything. Insanely, it felt like this time was the only hours he lived. His heart no longer dead, no longer numb, like it had been resurrected. It felt something again at last.

Time passed too quickly. A few hours in one day was far too little, far too short. Soon he would no longer have the chance to see her. His paintbrush poised in the air when a thought occurred to him. He glanced at her over the easel. The paintbrush swept the textured canvas again after a brief moment, and his hand moved very, very slowly now.

With every ticking sound of the clock, Ava reminded herself that time would bring this torture to an end. She couldn't endure it any longer to be with him. He might be breathtaking in the facade, but he was simply insufferable. His arrogance, his quick temper, and his changing mood overwhelmed her. He had returned to his composure now, but who knew what was going to happen the next minute?

When all the hands on the clock pointed to the number twelve, she nearly jumped from the settee in pure excitement. Finally, she could walk away from this exasperating situation. She maintained her composure, sitting still as she spoke politely.

"I can't believe it's twelve o' clock now. Time really flies. Do you still need me to stay a little longer?"

He rose from the seat and collected the tools.

"No, you need not."

Just the answer she had expected. She stood up in great relief and walked to the commode where she settled her clothes.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the same time."

She halted at once and turned to him. Ashton never knew he would take a great pleasure in seeing the surprise look in her face.

"Tomorrow?"

Her eyes widened in an entirely amusing expression.

"But I think I just have to do this only for today..."

He wiped the clean wet head of the paintbrush with a small cloth after dipping it into a glass of water.

"Never say so."

She swallowed a lump in her throat.

"Is tomorrow the last time I have to come?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm still working on the preliminaries. I'm going to make this one a realism painting. It will definitely take more time."

From the corner of his eye, he could see her frozen in her feet. Several seconds passed in silence.

"All right, then. How long will it take to finish the painting?"

"A week, I suppose."

"A week?!!!"

She couldn't help a hint of reluctance escape her voice.

"But I..."

He raised his gaze and looked at her now.

"When you said you accepted my term, I thought you have committed yourself."

"I have..."

But she didn't expect it to be alone with him for hours in a private situation for a bloody full week.

He sat on the stool again and crossed his arms. Ava thought he was going to show his dissatisfaction, but his expression was surprisingly neutral.

"If you quit now, what I've been starting would be in vain. This painting would forever remain unfinished."

He said it in inoffensive tone and this time he didn't look threatening or intimidating at all.

"Anyway, I will not insist if you don't want to. Looks like now 'anything' is too much of a burden to you."

"No, of course not. I'll never see it as a burden."

She responded quickly. She didn't want to disappoint anyone by leaving in the middle of something she had been engaged to, especially when she had already given her words. Though, she had learned that next time she had to be more careful in her choice of words. It was a promise, and she never broke her promise. She took a deep breath. Only six more days to go, perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as she thought.

"I'll not quit until you finish the painting, I'll do my part until it's done.