ColorMeBad Read Online Free

glinted on the gilt lettering that
spelled out the titles and the names of authors. A few candles around the
perimeter of the room brightened what corners the firelight didn’t reach.
    Rushmore poured a quantity of amber liquid into a small
tumbler and took it to where she stood shivering by the mantelpiece. “I nearly
had an apoplexy thinking you would waltz in while my sainted brother was here.”
    “I have a bit more sense than that, thank you,” Hecuba said.
    Rushmore smiled at her again and her heart lurched in her
chest. It was not comfortable and she frowned at him. “A shame,” he said. “You
waltz beautifully.”
    “Is that why I’m really here tonight?” she fired back.
“Another waltz? Because I am not in the mood, Mr. Rushmore.” He grinned more
widely still and with an effort Hecuba reined in her irritation. She would
never get that second painting by being abrasive and it was clear Rushmore was
going out of his way to provoke her. To give herself a moment to think, Hecuba
took a large swallow of what turned out to be whisky. She’d expected brandy and
was pleasantly surprised. “This is excellent,” she said, but was prevented from
elaborating by another bout of the shudders.
    Rushmore frowned down at her. “We need to get you out of
those clothes,” he said.
    “ We need to do no such thing,” Hecuba retorted.
    “Fine,” he said. “ You need to get out of those
clothes, unless you fancy being ill and sore of throat for the next week.” She
said nothing and he pressed onward. “I’ll turn my back, I promise. You can wrap
yourself in a blanket, sit by the fire and drink all the whisky you like while
your clothes dry.”
    Hecuba mustered a sharp response, but as she opened her
mouth to speak a chill went through her and shook her so hard that she bit down
on her tongue. The whisky turned to fire when it struck the tender spot. “Very
well,” she said instead, “but you will kindly keep your distance.”
    Rushmore nodded easily, as if sharing drinks with indecently
garbed women were part of his everyday experience. Perhaps it was. Hecuba’s
frown deepened but she accepted the blanket he pulled from one of the
armchairs, waited until he’d turned his back, set her whiskey on the mantel and
disrobed with all the speed of which she was capable. Shoes and stockings were
spread first on the warm stone hearth, then her black shirt and trousers. Her
chemise and drawers were mostly dry, so she kept those on while she retrieved
the blanket and wrapped herself in soft green wool. Thankfully she’d left her
stays at home—they impeded her range of motion far too much for comfortable
burglary.
    She turned to find that Rushmore was standing too casually
by the window, facing away from her. Firelight danced in the windowpanes.
    “You’re cheating,” said Hecuba. “I suppose you saw
everything in the reflection.”
    “Not everything,” he admitted. “Not nearly as much as I
wished.”
    Hecuba retrieved her whisky and considered hurling it at his
head but chose instead to take another swallow. Warmth was beginning to return
to her chilled limbs, soaking into her bones with every crackle of flame or sip
from the glass in her hand. “You may as well turn around then,” she said
through the pleasant burn of the liquor.
    He turned back toward her and froze, sweeping her
green-draped form with a gaze that went from her damp, tousled hair to the curl
of blanket that warmed her bare toes. “Boadicea,” he said.
    “Bless you,” she replied tartly.
    He laughed at that. “I’m a painter,” he explained. “I see
dramatic potential in everything—and you look very much the barbarian warrior
queen at present.”
    Hecuba didn’t want to admit how much more pleasing that was
than if he’d told her she was beautiful. It warmed her even more than the
whisky in her belly or the fire at her back. A change of subject was needed.
She looked past him to the wall where The Thief had hung before