Floats the Dark Shadow Read Online Free Page A

a person. But never with Averill. “Beware the bedraggled Amazon doesn’t skewer you for the insult.”
    “The Amazon is far too merciful to inflict pain.” Even in shadow, his blue eyes had a luminous glow she knew her own did not possess. “Theo,” he said hesitantly, “I must apologize. I promised to pose.”
    “Yes?”
    “There were arguments at home…exams for which to study….”
    “Or not?” Theo hated the acid in her tone.
    “Or not.” Averill shrugged elaborately, but did not look away. “Sometimes I am tempted to fail again just to aggravate my father.”
    Theo did not look away either, though she was sorry for her cut. “But you are succeeding. For yourself.”
    “Yes. The new school of psychology fascinates me—almost as much as a new poem.” He smiled ironically. “I was distracted this past week, but that is not why I avoided posing.”
    “Then why?”
    He hesitated. “I think I fear what you will see if you paint me.”
    “Fear?” The resentment melted. Of all the reasons she had imagined, that was never one.
    “You see very clearly.”
    “I thought…” She had suspected him of gallivanting about the city with Casimir, drinking champagne and seducing actresses. But that had never been the most probable reason. “I thought you were remembering Jeanette.”
    For a moment Averill looked utterly stricken. An instant later, he smiled ruefully but his gaze was shuttered. “I can never forget Jeanette.”
    When Theo first met Averill, they were both coming out of mourning. Averill’s beloved younger sister had died a year before. His father had told the world her death was caused by a freakish carriage accident, but Averill had wormed a different truth from him—a truth Averill confided not to his mother, nor to his other sister, but to Theo. Jeanette had committed suicide. Last week was the anniversary of her death.
    There was a painful silence. Theo knew she had overstepped some boundary, even though it was one he had opened for her to cross. Of late, the special rapport they shared seemed to have faded. When she chased after it, it only eluded her more. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, which covered both her sympathy for him and her own hurt.
    He shook his head, then abruptly returned to their earlier conversation. “The fiacre will come for you at ten. That will give us time to tour the catacombs before the concert.”
    She smiled valiantly. “I’ll be ready.”
    He turned to go, then swiveled around. “I will keep my promise. Soon.”
    “When you can,” Theo answered. Despite her yearning to paint him, she could not bear to push him.
    Cupping her face tenderly, he kissed her on both cheeks. The first kiss was barely more than breath, the second warm, soft, and faintly moist against her skin. At each touch of his lips, a thrilling vibration played along her nerves. Drawing back, Averill smiled at her—that smile so full of secrets.
    “I will see you tomorrow night,” he said, and then went dashing down the stairs.
    Feeling dazed, Theo wandered back inside. “Tomorrow,” she murmured.
    A sudden rush of sunshine poured into the studio. All around her, the walls she had painted wine red glowed in the afternoon light. She crossed to the windows, watching the grey rain clouds scudding across the eastern expanse of Paris, leaving pure cerulean sky behind. Montmartre fell away beneath her in a cascade of steep roofs, chimney tops, and trees frothy in their new spring finery of green leaves and creamy blossoms. Theo raised a hand to her cheek. The vibration of her nerves spread until her skin tingled everywhere. Her heart was thrumming from the softest brush of his lips. Each beat sounded a different emotion. Excitement. Apprehension. Sorrow. Hope.
    She was in love.
    How infinitely stupid.
    Theo had been sure she was en garde . Safe from further hurt. Safe from broken promises and disillusion.
    In California, with a dowry of money and horses promised her, there had been suitors.