The Robber Bride by Jerrica Knight-Catania Page B

but instead he pulled out the half-finished canvas of Victoria. His hand worked fast and furiously as he filled in her features. Rosy cheeks, pink lips, green eyes. His heart ached as he looked at her finished face sometime later. He couldn’t explain the turmoil he felt, only that he felt it. Deeply.
    Even harder to explain was the feeling that came over him when he moved lower on the canvas. He had already traced her breasts and waist. Thankfully the portrait stopped there. Painting her breasts proved to be difficult enough. Why the devil was he growing hard over the thought of Victoria? He had painted at least a hundred pair of breasts over the years, and none had ever elicited such a reaction. And she was the last person he expected to have this reaction to.
    Fin tried to shift his thoughts back to earlier in the evening, to his rage over her activities, to his fear over the outcome, and soon the painting was done. The sky was just beginning to turn pink with the day’s first light, and Fin’s exhaustion finally set in. Now he would be able to sleep.
    As he stared at the finished product in his deliriousness, he imagined a black mask over Victoria’s eyes. Before he had a chance to really think about it, his brush was working fast in the black paint. Back and forth, palette to canvas, until finally, the mask was complete.
    He stepped back, still wondering how he had missed it that night with Lady Beecham. Didn’t he know Victoria better than anyone else in the world?
    No. He didn’t know her at all, did he?
    Weary, Fin put down his palette and brush and left the studio before he got carried away and painted a noose about Victoria’s neck.
    ***
    Victoria paced her room. Her nerves had her stomach in knots. Good God, what was she going to do? If Fin knew about her—or even suspected what she was doing—
    “Oh, God.” She moaned and fell backwards to her bed, throwing her arm over her eyes. “I’m going to hang.”
    “For what?”
    Victoria sat straight up in her bed, shocked to find her brother in the doorway to her room. “Don’t you know how to knock?”
    “What the devil are you doing up, Victoria? It’s four in the morning.”
    “Yes, I know,” she replied haughtily. “I couldn’t sleep.”
    Her brother appraised her clothing, and she realized for the first time that she was still wearing her black men’s clothes. “Is that the new bed fashion?”
    It would be best to ignore him and make him feel bad for barging in. “It is when it is . . . ahem . . . a sensitive time of the month.” That ought to get him out.
    Instead, he smirked. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. What’s going on?”
    “Tom, there is nothing going on!” Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She needed to think. No, what she really needed to do was pack her bags and run far, far away.
    “I’ve never seen you so on edge before.” He moved into the room and shut the door behind him.
    Victoria sighed. “Yes, well, you haven’t seen much lately, have you?” It was a low blow, but she couldn’t help it.
    “You’re right, and I’m sorry,” he said. “But I don’t regret going to Jamaica.”
    “Nor should you. I’m sorry I said that. Just promise that next time you leave you’ll take me with you.”
    Tom laughed and crossed the room to her window. “Looks like Leyburn’s up, too. Perhaps we should all get together for a drink,” he suggested jokingly, but it still set Victoria on edge. The thought of being in the same room as Fin right now terrified her. Not that Fin wanted to be in a room with her now, anyway. He’d made that more than clear.
    Truly desperate to be alone, Victoria sought to move the conversation along. “Was there anything in particular that you wanted?” she asked.
    Tom turned to face her. “So eager to get rid of me.”
    “Well, I would like to go to bed.” She hoped she sounded sufficiently exhausted despite the fact her nerves were still jumping wildly beneath her