Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

M ax went to sleep that night more than slightly disconcerted.

When he had hired Amelia Lennox, he’d had an inkling that she had connected with the painting.

He hadn’t expected her to read into it like she had.

Most of her suppositions could have been a guess, but she seemed to have an innate knowledge about his ancestors of which no one else was aware.

Max reached out to extinguish his candle, but before he could even pick up the tamper, the flame disappeared on its own. He shrugged, welcoming the assistance.

Like most nights, he lay back upon the bed, nearly too big for one man, an arm splayed out above his head. An arm that he knew was far too muscular for an earl, but his lifestyle as of late had been much more that of a laborer, for Max found that if he kept his body busy, his mind usually would be too.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the slight sliver of moonlight that shone in through the curtains, which he kept pulled back, for he preferred to wake with whatever sun chose to shine in the morning.

He had nearly succeeded in willing himself to sleep when a scream rent through the air, and he sat bolt upright in bed, throwing back the covers and then racing into the corridor, unconcerned with the fact that he wore only an old pair of very loosely tied breeches.

Max looked up and down the corridor before running to the balcony, peering over the railing and trying not to think of what had happened to one of his previous ancestors in this very hallway.

In her bedroom.

Without stopping to will the voice away – or to thank it – he continued down the hall until he reached Amelia's bedroom door, knowing which room the housekeeper had placed her in.

He knocked once, but when no answer responded, he pushed open the door and flew through it, likely looking the madman he was, standing in the doorway completely askew.

“Miss Lennox?” he called out, panting, seeing only a tangle of sheets upon the bed in the same moonlight that had encompassed his bedroom. “Are you well?”

The sheets flew upward as she sat up, a hand coming to her forehead. Her hair was unbound, long and dark around her shoulders, her dressing gown white and sheer, covering most of her body to where it tangled around her legs.

“My lord?” she said in a shaky voice, finally pushing back her curtain of hair to gaze up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain.

“What happened? Why did you cry out?” he demanded, and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed, confirming his suspicion it had been her.

“So much pain,” she whispered. “She loved him so much and when she thought that he had abandoned her, she went wild in her grief. It ate her apart from the inside. She never thought he would leave her and when his father told her that he had denounced her, she didn’t believe it at first. But then she read a letter written in his own hand and found out that he had gone to court the woman he would eventually marry. It was too much for her to bear.”

He didn’t know what to say as he listened to the story, wondering if Miss Lennox was telling the truth or if she had become creative with the story he had shared with her earlier.

“Why did you scream?” he asked again, and she turned her eyes on him, finally focusing.

“That was the pain she felt when she learned of his betrayal. It was the pain that she put into the curse. And the curse… My lord, it is in the painting, and until it is broken, it will haunt your family forever.”

Her lips were parted, her green eyes wide, and Max had to tamp down an unwelcome surge of lust that took him unaware. The woman was in a bed in his house, yes, but she was not for him. Far from it – for so many different reasons.

If that wasn’t enough, he was a boor for thinking such a thing when the woman was clearly distressed.

Carefully, he stepped his way toward the bed, taking a seat on the edge, far enough away that he wouldn’t accidentally touch her – to protect both her and himself, considering what had happened the last time their skin had brushed against each other’s.

“Do you often, ah… see these types of things?”

Her eyes flew up to meet his, a touch of fear within them.

“It could have been a dream,” she said, not answering his question. “After all that I learned today, all of the time I spent staring at that painting, the story must have been on my mind.”

She knows. She sees .

He leaned in closer. “That’s all you believe it is? Nothing more?”

“It is hard to say,” she said, her expression shuttered, hiding away from him. “I should hopefully know more tomorrow after spending more time with the painting. Perhaps Isolde will see fit to share with me.”

Knowing when he was being dismissed, he nodded, although he didn’t seem to be able to take his leave just yet.

“Will you start working on the painting?” he asked.

“I won’t actually touch the painting yet,” she said. “I’ll mix some colors, perhaps, and itemize all that I will need to complete it.”

“I see,” he said, peering closer at her, surprised to find a flush hiding on her cheeks, peeking through from behind her hair. “Are you sure you are well? Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

“No, but thank you, my lord,” she said in a low voice. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Of course,” he said, forcing himself to stand. “I shall see you in the morning, then.”

“See you in the morning.”

He backed out of the room like a fool, but he wanted to drink in his fill of her. He might never touch her, but he would watch her for as long as he could.

When he fell into his bed just a few minutes later, for the first time in a long time, he fell quickly into a solid sleep, visions of a dark-haired beauty filling his head.

The next morning, Amelia didn’t even stop to break her fast before marching down the stairs and into the music room.

She needed to have a word with Isolde.

She crossed her arms as she stared at the painting.

“You can just tell me what happened!” she exclaimed. “No need to send me into a panic in the middle of the night, causing the earl to come running into my room.”

A very attractive, ruggedly handsome earl, she should add. One with muscles in places she didn’t even know were possible to build them, who appeared so strong that she was sure he could pick her up and toss her over his shoulder with ease.

When he had burst into her room, shirtless, all she had been able to look at was that trail of hair that began at his chest and ran deliciously over his abdomen before stopping and finishing beneath his unfastened breeches below.

Just one small step and they could have come crashing down…

Amelia could sense Isolde’s admonishment, and she shook her head at her.

“Just because you had a bad experience with a Blackwood man doesn’t mean that I can’t look,” she hissed at her, glancing toward the doorway to ensure no one overheard her. “Besides, it is not as though I will act upon such lustful thoughts! The man is an earl. I know better – not that I am judging. I promise.”

Did Isolde just tilt her head in understanding?

Amelia peered closer, deciding that it was time to take this a step further.

She had been pleased to discover that all of the supplies she had requested in her letter of response to the earl had been purchased and set out for her – including the easel. She sat down before it, stretching the canvas over top and setting out her paints in front of her.

She wasn’t going to touch them to the Isolde’s portrait.

She had something of her own to paint first.

Amelia closed her eyes, returning to the scene she had envisioned the night before.

It hadn’t been a dream as she had told the earl.

She was certain that Isolde had been sharing a vision with her.

Her brushes swept over the canvas in front of her even as her eyes remained closed, the colors before her swirling of their own will before returning. They were mixed whirls of dark navy and purple and the black evil that Isolde saw in the man who had sealed her fate.

The truth of that night began to surface as Amelia learned the intentions and emotions of all who had been there.

She opened her eyes, returning to the present as the scene played out, coming alive off her painting, the figures taking shape before her and acting out the past in the music room around her. Isolde was in the middle of it all, her flaming hair spread out around her as though wind was sweeping through the room. The earl of that time was standing before her, an evil smile on his face as all that he had planned was coming to fruition.

And there, appearing at the door, was Isolde’s lover.

He was trying to tell her the truth of it all, but she was so overcome in her pain that she refused to listen to any word that emerged from his mouth, and soon his pain became wrapped up in hers.

Amelia watched with wide eyes as Isolde chanted a curse, one that swept up all of the emotion and energy in the room, channeling it into the painting of her that was sitting near the side.

A painting that Amelia sensed from Isolde’s lover was one gift he had planned to bestow upon her when he asked for her hand.

“By the tears of a love unjustly torn,

And the blood of an artist's heart forlorn,

I invoke the powers of darkness and light,

To avenge this cruel and wrongful plight.

Upon the House of Blackwood, I cast this spell,

Until my story all do tell,

Misfortune and sorrow shall be your plight,

Endless as the darkest night.

The portrait of me, with pain imbued,

Shall hold the curse in colors true.

Each stroke of brush, each line and hue,

Bears the weight of love we knew.

Until the truth is brought to light,

And justice served to end this blight,

The heirs of Blackwood shall suffer the same,

In endless cycles of grief and shame.

Only when love and truth combine,

And past misdeeds are left behind,

Shall this curse be lifted, and peace restored,

To the House of Blackwood, forevermore.”

A spark flashed before her as suddenly the scene went black, the only remaining image was that of Isolde’s lifeless body falling to the floor.

Amelia began to shiver as it all fled along with her own power, and Isolde’s form slowly faded. Amelia had to step backward until the backs of her knees hit the chair behind her, and she fell into it with a thump.

It was only then that she realized she wasn’t alone.

“My lord,” she greeted the towering presence in the doorway, “How long have you been here?”