After all, carving a seal takes a surprising amount of strength.
"Aren''t you eating?"
Gwh nced up to find Hawthorne watching her with a hint of a smile at the corner of his eyes. Embarrassed, she offered him the meat pie in her hand.
She really was hungry; paired with the savory blood pudding broth, she took a hearty sip, making the pie taste even better.
"I''m good," he said. "I bought them especially for you."
Gwh didn''t hold back after that. Out of the six pies Hawthorne had brought, she polished off five, and only when she truly couldn''t manage another did Hawthorne help her finish thest one.
She drained the rest of the broth, then settled contentedly onto the lounge chair in the garden. With a full belly, a warm patch of sunshine, and nowhere she needed to be, she felt so satisfied that even the thought of bing royalty sounded like too much trouble.
Seeing her so delighted, Hawthorne felt an unexpected surge of happiness himself.
Like a magician revealing a trick, he produced an elegant little box and handed it to her. Gwh eyed him suspiciously as she began to unwrap it.
"What is it? Jewelry?"
"No."
She opened the box and was stunned for a moment-inside was a full set of Holbein paints. She looked up at him in disbelief.
"These are for me?"
He nodded. "I had someone track them down for youst week. Check if all the colors are there; if anything''s missing, I''ll get more."
A warmth bloomed in Gwh''s chest. If Hawthorne had given her jewelry, she wouldn''t have been half as surprised or touched-the Langford family had nevercked for such things. Growing up, if she wanted something, all she had to do was ask.
She could easily buy paints herself, of course. What mattered was that Hawthorne had thought of it.
In her few rtionships, Bill Crawford had never seen her as a pampered heiress. asionally, he''d give her small gifts things she never really cared for, though she never said so. After they broke up, she''d almost returned everyst present.
But this... how could it not beplete? Hawthorne always noticed the things that mattered to her. She still remembered nearly fainting with excitement at the auction when she saw a lump ofpiszuli-the rarest and most vibrant blue pigment, worth five times its weight in gold. Many artists had ruined themselves chasing it, and some had died with regret
because they could never afford that royal blue.
Every art student dreamed of brushing that opulent color across their canvas.
"It''s perfect," she said softly.
Truly, nothing was missing.
Lost in her happiness, Gwh didn''t even notice when Hawthorne''s arm slipped quietly around her, drawing her into his embrace.
"Do you like it?" he murmured.
His warm breath tickled the sensitive skin behind her ear, sending a shiver down
her spine. Gwh''s knees went weak.
"Y-yes. I love it," she managed, breathless.
Hawthorne''s knowing touch made her melt, but he wasn''t finished. His voice dropped lower, almost hypnotic.
"Do you love Holbein," he whispered, "or do you love me?"
Just like that, Gwh fell right into his trap. Her eyes cleared for a split second,
then darkened again with the desire only he could stir in her.
The household staff, well aware of their employer''s romantic mood, discreetly vanished to give them privacy. Hawthorne and Gwh lost themselves in a deep, lingering kiss before he reluctantly let her go.
"Shall we go upstairs?" he asked, the meaning unmistakable.
Gwh''s mind was a tangle of memories from the night before. "Again?" she blurted out.
Still dazed from his kisses, she
almost felt exhausted just thinking about it. Everyone said men lost. their stamina after twenty-five, but Hawthorne was more energetic than any young man she''d known.
He''d done most of the work yesterday, yet somehow she''d been the one left limp
and boneless. If he hadn''t called in sick for her, Gwh would have copsed at her desk.
He smiled. "Don''t you want to?"
Want to? Of course she did. And yet...